jayisreading's reviews
515 reviews

This surprisingly large collection of short stories really showcased Jemisin’s talent in storytelling and her control in crafting stories from different genres and timelines. Many of these stories aren’t particularly long, yet she managed to breathe so much life into them that made me want to read more about some of these worlds. (I’m also aware that a few of these stories were prototypes—of sorts—for actual novels, which I need to check out!) I was really taken to the pervasive Afrofuturist elements in many of these stories, the way they dreamed for something more.

Like most short story collections, I found some to be more compelling than others, but all-in-all, I know any fan of science fiction/fantasy will be able to find at least two stories that will stick with them.

I had to return the book because my loan period ended. I don't think I'll be picking it back up though. Unfortunately, the first chapter didn't really grab my attention.

This was a surprisingly reflective collection and a significant departure in tone (and perhaps even style) from Chung’s previous short story collection, Cursed Bunny. While Cursed Bunny leaned into the weird and classic horror, the horror of Your Utopia is more insidious and reminiscent of what I would say is a reflection of our world today and the possible direction it’s heading towards. This short story collection puts utopia and dystopia in conversation with each other with technology in mind. Each story grapples with the meaning of a “better” world as a result of technological advancements, if that actually is the case or not. Relatedly, “hope” and “empathy” are contentious concepts in this collection as each story switches between perspectives of the human and nonhuman, often resulting in a different emotional response, depending on who is speaking and what the theme happens to be. I also found the afterword from the author particularly illuminating, as it went into some of her inspirations and reflections on real-world circumstances, ultimately, adding layers to already complex stories.

I enjoyed most of the stories for different reasons, but I was especially taken to “A Song for Sleep,” which was told from the perspective of a highly advanced elevator who is drawn to an elderly resident of the building it operates in. I was really taken to how emotionally impactful this story was in how it reflected on what it means to be human from the perspective of a nonhuman.

While I did find that I wanted some of these stories to be a bit more fleshed out, they weren’t unsatisfying by any means. I’m really impressed by the depth of this collection and the questions it poses about the world we are (and could be) living in.

This queer coming-of-age novel was so full of love, even if the overall tone was one of sadness. It really warmed my heart to know that the protagonist, Daniel, who is a young gay Mexican American, received so much support from his loved ones. Whether it was while he was trying to find his footing at an elite Northeast US university as a first-gen scholarship student, or in México where he reflected further on his identity and family history, he always had a support system brimming with love. I found it refreshing that Ordorica leaned into writing this novel from a place of tenderness as a way to frame Daniel’s journey of self-acceptance. One way this was shown was through Daniel’s friendship with his roommate, Sam, which became something more as time passed. I really appreciated seeing such gentle acts of care between these two young men, and my heart ached when it became clear that Sam wasn’t fully ready to accept this change in their friendship. A second form of tender love that moved me was Daniel’s relationship with his family, particularly his abuelo. It was wonderful to see how often Daniel’s family said “te amo” to him, to know that they would always be there for him. I think this particularly struck me because, as a queer person of color from an immigrant family like the protagonist, I feel that “I love you” is something many of us rarely hear, so it made me happy that Daniel’s life was filled with te amos.

Structurally, I found it effective that we not only got Daniel’s first-person perspective for this novel, but that it was done in a journal-like form that was being written to Sam (who was addressed as “you” throughout). I thought it really brought Daniel’s introspective personality to the forefront, allowing the reader to really understand what he’s going through. As a result, all the intimate moments that Daniel had (especially with Sam) were especially powerful and heartbreaking.

I did feel the ending was a little abrupt, but overall, this was a beautiful debut novel from Ordorica that made me long for more coming-of-age novels that centered care and gentle love for QTBIPOC.

Note: I would like to thank the publisher for sending me an ARC. 

Taking place in a (more) dystopian United States, Adjei-Brenyah jumps straight into it and pulls the reader into a world where prisoners are given the option to fight to the death, gladiator-style, in exchange for freedom… assuming they survive. Furthermore, this is broadcasted to the world as entertainment. I was and continue to be haunted by the thought that the ideas presented in this novel are not entirely farfetched, that they could very well happen today or in the near future.

I’ll admit that this novel didn’t entirely work for me, mostly because there was a lot of jumping around between character perspectives that made it hard to follow the story. However, I can’t deny that this is a vitally important book that needs to be read to better understand—even if slightly—why prison abolition is needed. I’m still (un)learning things, and I found the footnotes in the novel informative but also chilling, knowing that they were actual facts about incarceration in the United States.

I will say that Adjei-Brenyah absolutely floored me with one sentence from this novel: “I thought of how the world can be anything and how sad it is that it’s this.” I still remember being hit by a wave of grief and anger after reading this line, thinking how applicable it is to our world as it is right now. I thought about how Black people deserve so much more than this current world. I also found that I was thinking a lot about the atrocities committed and that continue to be committed by the U.S. government, and how millions of people deserve a better world than the one we’re living in.

To echo the words of a few characters from this novel, “Suck my dick, America.”

A collection of letters wrapped in compassion, Kai Cheng Thom—a trans Asian Canadian woman—writes from the heart to embrace every human as sacred beings. In spite of the pain she has dealt with in her life, in spite of all the hateful people in this world, she writes with hope and sincerity. She writes to trans women, sex workers and their patrons, herself, among others to remind them (and the readers) of the love and beauty that exist in this world. Especially in a world that’s weighed down by hurt and grief, Thom’s words are more needed than ever for us to take a moment to reflect.

I also appreciated that, between each letter, she invited the reader to practice an act of self-love and self-reflection. For example: “Write a letter of forgiveness to someone. That someone can be yourself.”

I read this collection and listened to the audiobook simultaneously, and I found that hearing Thom reading each letter herself left a greater impression on me.

Unfortunately, I ran out of time and had to return the book. Will be picking it up later.

I'm not in the right headspace for this novel, and I know this is one that requires my full attention.

On the surface, this novel is heartwarming and charming, following the (relatively romanticized) calm and gentle rhythms of the day-to-day happenings at an independent bookshop in a fictional neighborhood of Seoul. However, what I found particularly striking about this novel was its anti-capitalist undertones. It especially comes as a surprise, given the hellish work–life balance and capitalism’s relentless presence in South Korea. As Hwang aptly points out a few times in the novel, life really is a bit of a rat race.

Hwang’s novel is one that pushes back against this culture. She asks the readers to slow down, to take a moment to breathe, to question where we’re placing our values and why so much of it is career- and success-oriented. The protagonist, Yeongju, does a lot of meandering through life as she tries to figure out the purpose of her bookshop and the end goal. Along the way, we see these answers slowly appear in her interactions with other characters in the novel, all of whom are also trying to find their purpose and end goals, especially in a fast-paced society driven by capitalist ideologies.

For me, what I found particularly comforting about this novel wasn’t so much the bookshop vibes, but, rather, the quiet call to take a moment to rest and not get caught up racing to the top. (In a way, an analogy was made with selling and reading bestsellers.) I think of Tricia Hersey’s Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto, in which she wrote: “Rest is radical because it disrupts the lie that we are not doing enough. It shouts: ‘No, that is a lie. I am enough. I am worthy now and always because I am here.’” While the characters aren’t necessarily in a state of complete rest, the slower, wandering pace gives the reader a moment to pause and reflect.

If you’re looking for a plot-driven novel, you won’t find it here. If you’re looking for strong character development, it’s… kind of there. More than anything, I found that this novel was something of an intervention to propose an escape—even if temporary—from the rat race, which Hwang manifests through her characters’ interactions and musings. I didn’t find the novel particularly revolutionary in its message and, admittedly, even found the directionlessness a bit maddening at times, but I think I picked it up at the right time to be reminded to revisit my values. I also have one really nitpicky thing that might not bother everyone, but I was terribly annoyed by the inconsistencies in romanizing Korean words/names. It was hard to tell how to accurately pronounce them without hearing or seeing the original.

This was a fun read and follows a young Palestinian woman on her adventures primarily around the SWANA region. There was something almost fantastical about the way the story unfolded, perhaps because it was following a similar storytelling pattern as many folktales. It also seemed like Nimr wanted the reader to take something more out of this novel than all the adventures her protagonist goes on.

It was nice following such a witty and resilient Palestinian protagonist, Qamar, who really did what she could to make the most of her situation. I was also reminded of the dual nature of humans, who are capable of doing kind but also terrible things, as the reader discovers from Qamar’s journey. I did feel that the pacing of the fourth and final part of the novel was a bit rough compared to the previous parts, which did make the novel’s ending a little unsatisfying.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from this novel, but overall, I was pleasantly surprised.