jayisreading's reviews
521 reviews

Just when you thought the stakes couldn't get higher, Parker-Chan raised them with more political intrigue and a surprising amount of darkness that will have you on the edge of your seat. There are more perspectives we're getting in this sequel to really reveal the complex web that the author crafted. Parker-Chan seized this opportunity and did a phenomenal job fleshing out fascinating, morally grey characters, many of them changing a fair bit compared to She Who Became the Sun.

Once again, Parker-Chan dives deep into gender and sexuality, though I felt there was more discussion on femininity in the sequel than in the first book, which was refreshing. I think more could have been done on this front, especially considering that we got more of Ma's and Madam Zhang's perspectives on ongoing politics and scheming, though I didn't think it was unsatisfying either— I absolutely loved that the author continued to explore (toxic) masculinity. I was especially invested in Baoxiang's perspective and the way he negotiated with his own sexuality.

In the first novel, I didn't feel the fantastical elements worked particularly well. I think this was attended to rather well in the sequel, and the ghostly elements really did add a lot to the story (particularly towards the end).

Parker-Chan did a fantastic job wrapping up a strong duology. Despite the significant losses and violence in He Who Drowned the World, it all played out well like a high stakes chess game that you can't help but feel invested in.

This was a wonderful debut short story collection from Qian. I found that each story stood on its own very well, yet they all connected to each other thematically (and, in a couple cases, had some recurring characters). Qian explores themes ranging from living in a consumerist society to struggling with loneliness, bringing to the forefront particular anxieties that East Asian women face in the twenty-first century. I like that these stories really showcase the complexities of being an East Asian woman, with each character pushing at the seams of what society expects from them. Qian takes care to explore the nuances of cultural identity in contemporary times that greatly influence the way the protagonists of these stories navigate their surroundings.

Something else that stood out to me that I found especially striking was a deep reflection on one's journey through life, specifically that everyone is at different points in their lives. While these stories were delicately crafted, I found that Qian also managed to depict the messiness and weirdness of life, especially to demonstrate how things are never going to quite work out the way you want them to. And, through it all, there's still something wonderful to find in this world.

I'm somewhat surprised that I've gone as long as I have knowing very little about this classic, but it happens. To start, the prose is absolutely beautiful, and I imagine it's even more so in Spanish. Unfortunately, I had a hard time focusing. This is more of a problem related to my reading habits, but the chapters were much longer than I anticipated. I found that I frequently lost track of what was happening because I'd have to stop at random moments to do something else.

However, I just couldn't care very much about the characters, who are supposed to be the driving forces of the novel. I didn't find Fermina to be a compelling character. Florentino had more depth, but wow, is he massively problematic. It was incredibly difficult to look past the fact that an elderly man had sexual relations with a fourteen-year-old girl, for one. There's also the obsessive love for Fermina that didn't strike me as romantic at all, and I found the ending rather lackluster and frustrating, for the most part.

I'm not upset that I read this novel, but I certainly am disappointed that it didn't end up being as gripping and beautiful as I thought it'd be. 

Africa Risen is an ambitious anthology of short stories by authors from Africa and the African diaspora that really showcased where science fiction and fantasy can go as genres, and I really appreciated the incredible diversity that was found in this chunky book. Unfortunately, out of thirty-two (!) short stories, I only found a small number of them especially engaging, another small handful being so-so, while others were a miss/let me unsatisfied. I'm inclined to say that the main reason I felt meh about this anthology is because I just didn't have time to sit with each story due to the fact that this was a library book that had a wait list. However, anthologies often tend to be a mixed bag for me (and many others, I imagine).

Some favorites: “March Magic” by WC Dunlap, “Mami Wataworks” by Russell Nichols, “The Soul Would Have No Rainbow” by Yvette Lisa Ndlovu, “The Sugar Mill” by Tobias S. Buckell, and “Exiles of Witchery” by Ivana Akotowaa Ofori

This was a fun and short book to read, though I should add that it's rather gory and violent (i.e., "fun" is subjective here). The protagonist, Mumu, is an alien who disguises themself as a human (sometimes a woman, sometimes a man) in an attempt to get by and be accepted in the human world. This is explored through dating/sex, though this usually leads to a grisly end for the human, considering that they are "hunted" in order for Mumu to survive—

Mumu serves as an allegory of sorts for queer people (particularly trans people), expressing their fears of society and the harm that they might face, but also desiring acceptance. Mumu is doing what they can to "pass," and if it's not appearance, then it's how they carry themself (e.g., struggling with walking on two feet). I thought the author did a wonderful job showcasing the range of emotions, from grief to love, as Mumu went from one date to the next.

Most interesting about Walking Practice is the language and typesetting. I'd be curious to see the original, just to see what got lost in translation (e.g., onomatopoeia, which is rich in the Korean language). I also thought the typesetting was absolutely fascinating in some places, where the text expanded and contracted to show the constant shifting happening for Mumu (not only bodily but also mentally). In addition to the language, the act of seeing these shifts add so much dimension.

If you can stomach body horror and violence, this book is worth picking up. 

I think Hersey could have written an essay for the point she wanted to make and come out of it with a stronger case than writing a book/manifesto. At its core, the concept of rest being a form of resistance is a great one. I really enjoyed how Hersey broke down the importance of rest in the introduction, especially to show that this is more than a matter of physical health.

After the introduction, though, Hersey started to lose me, and I felt that she was just repeating her points. I also feel that there are words that she used such as capitalism that required a little more contextualizing. She threw a lot of these words around to the point that they started to lose meaning. In addition, I felt that Hersey made some claims that weren't supported by evidence.

The book also ended up being far more spiritual than I expected. I didn't particularly enjoy the spiritual aspects, though this is absolutely a matter of personal taste. It didn't negatively impact the overall points Hersey was making.

Again, I think this manifesto could have been an essay and would have been far more compelling to read. I felt that the book started dragging a lot because it was so repetitive.

Sally Wen Mao strikes again with yet another lyrical and thought-provoking collection and, this time, puts the (mis)treatment of East Asian women in dialogue with stolen Chinese art (e.g., silk and porcelain). It was especially interesting to see how Mao explored how her two subjects experience objectification and fetishization in tandem with violence.

Much like her past poems, Mao plays a lot with form and style, ranging from concrete poems in the shape of vases through her "On Porcelain" poems, to free verse poems. Her poems shift in tone more in this collection, I feel, than her previous two, which I found engaging.

Some favorites: "On Porcelain" poems, "Batshit," "On Silk," "The Kingdom of Surfaces," "Playing Dead," "American Loneliness," and "On Garbage"

Written with tenderness, Roses, in the Mouth of a Lion is a queer coming-of-age novel that gives the reader a glimpse into the life of a Pakistani American girl in New York City during the 1980s. Throughout this novel, the protagonist, Razia, is constantly at odds with her family's traditional values, especially when she starts to grapple with her queer identity. The novel is as much a novel about being queer as is it is a novel about being Muslim and being a part of the Pakistani diaspora. Rehman highlights the difficulties that many children of immigrant households face in trying to find themselves while dealing with clashes in culture, religion, and tradition. I found that Rehman did a wonderful job exploring the thorniness of it all, and the conflicted feelings that continued to grow in Razia as she grew older.

My main complaint about the novel is about the ending, which I thought was rather abrupt. I felt Rehman could have taken time to build up to the ending she presented, but it ended up being rushed and I felt like I was left hanging.

This was a really great exploration of what it means to be queer, Pakistani American, and Muslim, though, and while some of the characters (including Razia) got on my nerves, I found that I was mostly touched by the earnestness of the story.

This was such a fascinating and disturbing read, especially in the way it reframes what motherhood can look like. The protagonist, Damaris, is a childless woman who adopts a stray female dog that she cares for like a human child to the point of obsession. While this sounds charming, the book is anything but, as it dives into the question of what it means to be a mother (and even what it means to be a bitch), as well as the deep issues that Damaris projects onto the dog that leads to terrible events.

Quintana doesn't shy away from describing the uglier aspects of human nature, such as the way jealousy, insecurity, and anger can consume us entirely. As a result, The Bitch definitely reads as more ruthless to the point of some probably finding the book completely cruel. Much to think about, but it's definitely not for the faint of heart (nor would it be a book I'd recommend for animal lovers, especially dog lovers). I didn't love or hate this, and if there's one complaint I have, it's that I wish some ideas were fleshed out a bit more.

I really wanted to like this one more than I did. I really liked the characters, the premise was fascinating, and it had other elements that made me think, "Wow, this might be one of my favorite books this year." Unfortunately, I found the execution rather messy, especially towards the end when too many perspectives started coming into play.

I understand authors who just want to tell the story and leave it up to the reader to figure things out themself, but I felt that Candon needed to give the reader a little more to work with. I found that I was confused more often than I would have liked. I stuck with it, though, because I was really drawn to the world (at least what I was able to make sense of it) and the characters. The characters were wonderfully complex in all their flaws, and I especially loved the disability representation.

But to return to my issues, I found that I was mostly frustrated while reading this book, which isn't exactly the mood you want to be in. When certain ideas were introduced, I wanted to learn more about them, but Candon often moved on and left me hanging. I felt that I was given a lot of fragments but they didn't quite fit together to create a full picture. Maybe I wasn't as engaged as I should have been (even though I'd say I was in my attempt to follow what's happening), but things didn't pan out the way I hoped.

This book might work better as a reread, so I might give this one another try in the future, especially if it turns out this book is part of a series.