jayisreading's reviews
520 reviews

This short story collection was a bit of a let down for me. I wasn't entirely invested in any of the stories, nor did I find the writing especially riveting. That being said, it could have been that I was in a bit of a reading slump, because I normally enjoy stories that focus on relationships and everyday life. I can definitely appreciate Ali's reflections on the human condition in each story though, as well as the particular care and focus to reveal the worlds of these characters in modern Pakistan (primarily Karachi).

This was a deeply introspective poetry collection that focused on a lot of themes, though they were primarily through the lens of being a queer Black person. Blain scrutinizes the legacy of colonialism and systemic racism in their poems and how this impacts those in a similar position as them, while also making the words across these pages deeply personal.

I was really taken to the way Blain structured this collection into three sections. The first section, Place, draws attention to locations that had particular meaning to the poet. The second section, "Art," is a reflection on the art world and Blain's relationship with it. The last section, "Child," is perhaps the most abstract, with contemplations on identity and positionality throughout their life. Blain moves deftly through political and social issues across time, which especially shine in their letters to various Black folks and are interspersed throughout this collection.

Despite the intensity and density of the themes in this collection, Blain's poems are incredibly accessible, so much that I think they are a great entry point for readers who are new to poetry and want to explore the mentioned themes above.

Some favorites: "Burning Sugar," "Dear Philando Castile," "Oakland," "Lézignan-Corbières," "Toronto," "I Hate White People in Art Galleries," "Dear Archibald Motley Jr.," "Dear Diaspora Child," "Everything on Earth," and "Spiritual Dysphoria"

I want to first praise the fascinating premise, especially considering that it was clearly based on colonial Korea in a fantasy setting. Lee also brought to attention the importance of art in life and society, turning it into a literal weapon to signify its value even during war. He also reimagined really interesting politics that clearly drew from historical figures and events of the Korean peninsula while under Japanese rule.

And, with that said, I was underwhelmed by the novel and wanted more. Lee was working with a fascinating setting and powerful themes that all felt underdeveloped. I wanted to learn more about the politics of what was happening; a better understanding of the magic system and mechanical dragons; as well as a stronger idea of characters' motives and desires. Regarding the last point, Jebi (the protagonist) was clearest in what they wanted, even if what they wanted wasn't particularly revolutionary. I don't think there's anything wrong with that, but in a fantasy novel that demanded action, it conflicted with Jebi's interests and made the overarching story less interesting.

I think there's still a lot to take from this novel, and I know many readers would love the incredible queer representation (and seamlessly woven into the world) that is present. The novel had a lot of potential across the board and, unfortunately, they weren't fully realized.

This was such a beautifully crafted graphic novel, and I'm kicking myself for not reading it sooner. It's a hefty book with over 500 pages, but you'll fly through those pages pretty quickly because of how engaging the story is. Mohamed does a stunning job weaving into our reality the existence of wishes, creating an elaborate system around the different types of wishes that could be made, as well as the issues that come with making certain kinds of wishes. There are a lot of fascinating debates around the ethics of making wishes that really had me thinking about what I would do if I were ever given a first-class wish.

The graphic novel is divided into three stories, though they are all interconnected through a devout Muslim man who is trying to get rid of three first-class wishes. Each story was so gripping, though I was especially taken to the second story that focused on Nour, whose struggle with depression was so well presented in all its complexities that tie into one's culture, one's position in society, and more.

I could not have asked for more from a story, if I'm honest. Mohamed is a brilliant storyteller and illustrator, giving the reader plenty to chew on as you read, while also not overwhelming them.

Well, this novel was more devastating than I expected it to be. Told from the perspective of two Syrians—Hussam and Wassim—the reader watches the two men coming to terms with their tumultuous pasts while enduring the shakiness of present life impacted by pain and heartache. Hussam and Wassim couldn't be more different. In Vancouver, Hussam is an openly gay refugee dealing with his trauma through every imaginable vice. Meanwhile, on the streets of Damascus, Wassim is in grief from losing so much, much of which he let go of himself when he realized he couldn't keep up with the illusion of leading a heteronormative life.

Ramadan explores grief and trauma with such care and compassion, while also refusing to shy away from the ugliness of it all. I was really taken to the way he explored race and queerness in this novel, and how the journey in coming to terms with one's identity is different for the two protagonists. It's an enormous undertaking to have two complex narratives told in one novel (especially because it's not just about identity), but I thought Ramadan was rather successful in delivering a cohesive and compelling story.

I felt a bit ambivalent about the way the novel ended, but not in a way that totally dissatisfied me. I'll also say that Ramadan may have packed a little too much into this novel, but it wasn't particularly overwhelming to me.

The Liberators was one of my most anticipated books of the year, especially because I absolutely adored Koh's memoir. Her writing remains beautiful with its poetic and sparseness, making every sentence meaningful and intentional. I thought the way she jumped between characters' perspectives worked really well (which I often find to be a hit-or-miss) to help move the story at a steady pace. I wouldn't have minded if the novel was longer, but it seems the decision to keep it under 250 pages was an intentional one that worked in Koh's favor.

I will say that the sparseness of Koh's prose might not be for everyone, and it may be especially dissatisfying for those who were hoping for more explanation/context than what she gives. I admit that this novel will make far more sense for those who have some knowledge of modern (South) Korean history and its ties to liberation, but Koh gives just enough to demonstrate the impact that history has had on the Korean diaspora, especially.

While I think I might have preferred Koh's memoir, The Liberators proved to be a strong debut novel that will work really well for some, while others may find that it will fall flat. For me, I initially had some mixed thoughts, only to find that sitting with the novel for a few days have made me really appreciate how everything unfolded across the pages.

Note: I received an ARC from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

I read this novel in preparation for Hayao Miyazaki's upcoming (at the time of writing this review) film, The Boy and the Heron. I'm very curious to know how Miyazaki will implement elements of this novel into his film, given that it's anything but fantastical. However, I can see why this novel left such an impression on him, with many of its philosophical messages making their way into Miyazaki's oeuvre. 

I felt that How Do You Live? was very reminiscent of The Little Prince, both novels carrying philosophical messages, though I felt Genzaburo was more didactic with how he set up his novel. You could technically see this novel as being two narratives woven into one. One narrative focuses on a teenage boy affectionately nicknamed Copper, who must contend with circumstances that challenge the way he perceives the world. The other narrative is found within the journal pages of Copper's uncle, who responds to his nephew's situations and questions with life advice, much of which considers one's position in society and, as the title of this novel suggests, how one lives in this world of ours. 

I wouldn't go so far as to say that this novel has a particular charm like The Little Prince (and that could be a result of the translation, though it wasn't bad by any means), but I can see why Miyazaki was so drawn to this novel, given its gentle yet firm approach to self-reflection. While it's not particularly revolutionary in what it does and the messages it coveys, How Do You Live? was still a poignant read.

As the title suggests, this coming-of-age novel was easygoing, following Yuki Hirano to the mountains of Japan. Yuki is incredibly displeased that he has to leave his comfortable city life because his parents signed him up for a forestry training program, but eventually discovers the joys of the Kamusari villagers' lifestyle and principles.

This was somewhat of a predictable novel, but it was a comforting and illuminating read that was reminiscent of Studio Ghibli films. (I especially think of Isao Takahata's films more than Miyazaki's, to be honest.) Comforting, in the sense that you get the small joys in life that are so often highlighted. Illuminating, in the sense that you get insight into a deeply important subculture of Japan.

I will say that I was a little annoyed with how forgiving people were of a side character's infidelity. I was also a bit taken aback when I saw that a prize for one festival was the chance to sleep with any woman in the village (even if this isn't enforced). I suppose this might speak to a remote village's old-fashioned beliefs/customs, but these were my main issues.

The blurb for The East Indian states that this is one for anyone who enjoyed works by Esi Edugyan and Yaa Gyasi. I think it would be more accurate to pair The East Indian with Edugyan's Washington Black than Gyasi's works, considering that both focus on a boy of color coming of age in North America who have a knack for the sciences. Charry similarly wrote with great detail and care to unveil her protagonist's experiences as an "East Indian" (i.e., South Asian) indentured servant in colonial Jamestown.

I thought Charry navigated race and, to a lesser extent, class in seventeenth-century Virginia rather well. With regard to race, it was made clear that Tony's positionality is somewhat of a unique one, as he is neither Black nor white, but a result of having darker skin, is still deemed "lesser" by the English. Throughout the novel, Tony reflects on this positionality in a way that never came off as didactic or preachy, but clearly recognized the significant influence this had in his interactions with everyone.

I did find the novel to be a bit unevenly paced, but not in a way that took away from the overall reading experience. Ultimately, I really appreciate that Charry took time to craft a story focusing on oft-unheard voices in colonial America. Whether this was her intention or not, I found it rather illuminating to step back and reflect on the global movements of peoples for centuries.