jayisreading's reviews
506 reviews

This is such a timely collection of speculative fiction short stories that explicitly deal with humans contending with the effects of climate change. I really appreciated the diversity of these short stories, ranging from the settings to the characters’ identities and perspectives. It’s clear that those at Grist were very deliberate about making sure an array of voices was captured to demonstrate that climate change affects us all. Yet, rather than focusing on the grim realities of climate change, the contributors of this collection look hopefully toward making progress for a better future. They more than acknowledge that there will be challenges, but they encourage us to think of the possibilities that lie in store for us once we start working with nature. Perhaps not surprisingly, the devastating effects of colonization come up often in this collection, and, relatedly, Indigenous peoples’ roles in taking care of the land and returning to them stewardship of these lands that have been occupied.

Overall, I found all the stories to be engaging in their own ways (some more so than others), but I thought the story that shone the brightest was Sanjana Sekhar’s “Cabbage Koora: A Prognostic Autobiography,” which beautifully explored the relationship between humans and nature through a nuanced multigenerational story.

I’m thankful to everyone involved in bringing this collection to life. It’s a light—even if small—that I think many need these days.

I was thrilled when I first saw the news that Yoon was releasing a new collection. I was profoundly moved by her previous collection, A Cruelty Special to Our Species, and started Find Me as the Creature I Am with high expectations. I’m glad to say that the delicate, tender, and intimate nature of her previous poems continued into this new collection. Split primarily into three sections, I was struck by the first and third sections’ attention to ephemerality and permanence, especially in relation to nature. There was an urgency to many of the poems that asked the reader to deeply consider the consequences of climate change, the fleeting moments of nature that may forever disappear. Yet, simultaneously, Yoon also embraces what remains eternal, particularly the boundless love one has, whether it be for nature, for loved ones, for language and poetry— So much of the universe can be (and is) ephemeral, but Yoon suggests that permanency is possible in our actions. There were two passages that I felt addressed this beautifully, one being from “Love and Death Speaking at Once” (“Memory sustains // and fades. Take a picture. Keep a journal. Underline, / dog-ear, leave margin notes in your book, mark it // with your touch.) and the other from “Body Of” (“In order to continue living, / we try to leave evidence of our lives. We accumulate / bodies in whatever way we can.”).

Sandwiched between these two sections is a single long poem titled, “I leave Asia and become Asian.” I have to admit, this poem felt very out-of-place to me, especially because it somewhat veered away from what the other two sections’ focus, so the poem’s inclusion in this collection struck me as curious. Despite this, I still enjoyed this poem enormously, and I appreciated Yoon’s introspections as she considered what it means to be Asian/Asian American. While she does touch on the violence that East Asians face(d) (especially at the start of the pandemic), I was most taken to the subtle but sharp critique Yoon made of the complexities of the Asian/Asian American identity/ies, which she writes that they “feel at once too big and too limiting.” She also asks the reader to consider who is privileged when Asian/Asian American is mentioned and directly inquires, “An East Asian face? Like mine?” I would have loved more poems about this particular topic, and I feel that Yoon would have explored it with astute care.

Once again, Yoon makes ample space for the reader to sit with her poems and reflect with this quiet and beautiful collection.

Some favorites: “All my friends who loved trees are dead,” “Love and Death Speaking at Once,” “Affection,” “I leave Asia and become Asian,” “Gray Areas,” “Evolution,” and “Vow”

Note: Many thanks to the publisher for sending me a review copy.

I’ve read a few snippets here and there, but The Message is actually my first proper engagement with Coates’ work; I see why so many readers are taken to his writing, which I found relatively to-the-point while also leaving room for the reader to reflect. In three essays, The Message is Coates’ introspective journey in three essays from Senegal, to the United States (specifically South Carolina) then, finally, to Palestine. I really appreciated the sincerity of Coates’ critical reflections in each location as a Black American, which he reveals to be a complicated identity that is inextricably tied to the history of slavery, colonialism, and imperialism. It was clear to me that The Message was not only a message to readers about global affairs but also an incredibly personal one to think about his role in the world as a Black American. What I found striking about this personal exploration was his open admittance in being wrong about things, which is by no means an easy thing to do, especially while fully knowing that his words would be read by thousands. Yet, that message of understanding that you can be wrong and learn from that mistake is a sorely needed one, and I thought it was delivered with such grace, especially in his final (and longest) essay on Palestine.

Something else that struck me about this short essay collection was how Coates investigated the flaws of nationalism and the myths that come out of this ideology. In his first essay, Coates explores what it means to be a Black American “returning” to Africa, to grapple with a lost national identity as a result of chattel slavery. In his second essay, he then considers what it means to be Black in the United States with a focus on book banning in a small town in South Carolina, the myths constructed to establish a specific kind of national identity that obfuscates the ugly truths of the country’s history. In his final and perhaps most challenging essay (as well as the one that received significant attention), Coates grapples with what it means to be an American while Black in Palestine, especially having to contend with being from a nation complicit in the oppression of Palestine, along with having bought into myths carefully constructed over decades that tie to nationalism. Simultaneously, Coates also observes the parallels between the struggles of Black Americans and Palestinians, asserting that the push for liberation is a shared goal globally, not just domestically.

Coate weaves in other topics as well, which, while thoughtful, I did feel that it somewhat detracted from the main ideas he wanted to get across. I also felt he could have taken his essays even further, though this is perhaps me simply wanting more. There’s definitely a lot to think about in this book though, and it certainly incentivized me to read his previous works. 

It has been a while since I last laughed as much as I did while reading Tulathimutte’s new short story collection. I do want to preface and say that this book is not going to be for everyone, especially if you’re particular about humor. Rejection: Fiction is dark and deeply satirical, scrutinizing five unempathetic characters (one for each “main” short story) who spiral in completely different ways. Furthermore, it seems to me that quite a fair bit of his humor is derived from niche content from specific parts of the online world that will either make complete sense to you (and perhaps make you deeply question how chronically online you are) or make you cringe in the worst ways. It’s most likely going to be both, because there’s a little bit for everyone who spends enough time online. That being said, let’s just say if you know what “ahegao” is without looking it up, you’ll know exactly where you stand.

More seriously, though, Tulathimutte peels away all the layers we hide under to reveal the very ugly side that comes with being rejected. However, the ugliness of rejection is taken to an extreme in this book, and he spared no one. Millennials in particular were at the forefront to be utterly read for filth. Any reader who has spent enough time online will have seen the attitudes of Tulathimutte’s characters in the wild (and perhaps are even guilty of it): woke performativity, flaming on social media, farming engagement and attention, the carefully constructed online persona— While Rejection: Fiction does center rejection as a theme (particularly in relation to dating), the author very much wants the reader to feel utterly unnerved, to draw attention to the uncomfortable truth of not only how you act but also judge others’ actions in this day and age.

I also loved how the stories are cleverly interconnected, with the five main characters subtly appearing in each other’s stories in ways that reveal how distorted their thoughts are of themselves and of each other. I highlight this, too, because it’s a fantastic demonstration of Tulathimutte’s unflinchingly sharp and wild writing style. On this note, I was utterly impressed with how he let so many little things go completely awry while somehow still having complete control of each story, then wrapping it up with some next-level metafiction.

I truly mean this in the best way possible (if you can even do this), but I sincerely think that Tulathimutte could have been (and perhaps was/is) a phenomenal Internet troll. He certainly wins for being one of the best literary trolls I’ve come across in recent memory.

Gonzalez gives the reader a glimpse into what it means to be alive at various stages of her life, particularly in the ways she has had to simultaneously contend with love and pain while living in the world we’re in. I found the first half of this collection far more compelling than the latter half; I will say the fourth and final section was strong enough, but that third section just didn’t quite work for me. I think what stood out to me about the first two sections was that there was a sense of urgency and intent in those poems that then only appeared sporadically as the collection continued. Relatedly, something else that struck me about this collection was that I couldn’t quite tell what direction Gonzalez wanted to take her poems. Some poems took a more theoretical route in the more erudite sense, while others took a somewhat more reflective and personal route. There’s nothing wrong with having both types, but I think what confused me was how the poems were organized and, ultimately, what the takeaway(s) should be.

There was something left to be desired in this collection, but I sincerely believe there is promise in Gonzalez’s poetry and look forward to reading her future works.

Some favorites: “Notes Toward an Elegy,” “After My Brother’s Death, I Reflect on the Iliad,” “To My Thirty-Year-Old Self,” “Tornado in August,” and “Epistemology of the Shower” 

This was a pretty cozy novel that will appeal to anyone who loves cats and finds comfort in their presence. The chapters were somewhat self-contained, the first four each focusing on a character struggling with some aspect of their life (whether it be about jobs or relationships), leading them to a clinic where they are prescribed a cat by a rather curious doctor. More curiously, the clinic only seemed to appear for those who looked hard enough for help, whether they realize that they need that help or not (and here is where that touch of magic realism comes into play). On another note, I was pleasantly surprised by how well Ishida described different cats’ personalities and appearances with great detail. I thought it added a nice dimension to the human–cat relationships that appeared throughout this novel.

With that said, I do think it’s best to enter this book with little to no expectations for there to be a compelling plot. While I was fine with the ambiguous nature of how the clinic functions, I found myself wanting more depth to better appreciate the ode to cats that Ishida wrote, because something about this novel felt unfinished. I was pretty taken to the first story, mainly because I didn’t know what to expect. By the end of the second story, though, it became apparent to me that each character’s journey toward healing would look similar, even though they were facing different issues. I also couldn’t quite understand the purpose of including what I thought was an unexpected development (of sorts) about Chitose and Dr. Nikké. It was tangentially related but didn’t quite fit with the rest of the book’s focus, so I found the fifth and final chapter rather odd in terms of suitability. Relatedly, I wanted far more elements of magic realism than what Ishida delivered. I can’t help but wonder if these are better addressed in the sequel, which I imagine will get an English translation eventually.

Overall, if you’re a cat lover in need of something heartwarming to read that doesn’t lean into anything complicated, We’ll Prescribe You a Cat will very much be up your alley. I do like cats and the occasional cozy story, but I personally found that there wasn’t nearly enough substance for me to find it entirely fun to read.

Note: I received an ARC through a giveaway. Many thanks to the publisher for sending me a copy.

There are poignant themes in Karla Cordero’s poetry, especially with how they all tie to a deep reflection on her Chicana identity and culture. I admit that the form and stylistic choices of Cordero’s poems didn’t entirely work for me, but I was still able to appreciate the emotion carefully poured into each poem. What I found particularly successful in this collection was her attention to language, particularly her exploration of what it means to lose and inherit language as a part of the Mexican diaspora. I also liked seeing how she explored what it means to be on the border, whether that be in relation to geopolitics or one’s identity. The poem she dedicates to her hometown, “Calexico,” is one that’s worth reading. 

If there are two words I can use to describe these poems, they would be primal and visceral. If you’re a little squeamish around guts, bones, and the likes, this collection might not be for you, since they’re particular foci in Johnson’s work. There are some fascinating contrasts throughout this collection ranging from beauty and violence, light and dark, among others. The words found in these poems were haunting and engraved themselves onto bodies—human and otherwise—to create distinct images in the reader’s mind. Johnson really has a way with words that I found, at times, chilling.

Some favorites: “Deer Rub,” “Rapture,” “Frühlingstraum,” “Elegy Surrounded by Water,” “Let Us Consider Where We Might Have a Home,” and “How the World Was Made”

This wasn't for me, though I could see why it'd appeal to other readers. I'm starting to think that I'm just not interested in reading novels about flawed women unraveling. (Or maybe I am, but The Coin wasn't doing it for me.)

This was an unusual short story collection, in that it wasn’t really quite a short story collection. Instead, it read more like two entirely different novellas (of sorts)—with one being oddly separated—that somehow ended up in a book together. I want to say what connects all four stories/two “novellas” to one another (and, as a result, was why they ended up in one book) was this particular focus on the resilience of humans. Despite everything, the human characters in these stories pushed forward, driven by some force that fueled their determination.

“I’m Waiting for You” and “On My Way” (i.e., the first and fourth stories) focused on star-crossed lovers who coordinated their respective journeys across time and space to try and arrive back to Earth simultaneously in order to marry. There was something so tender about these two stories, and as cheesy as the overarching message was (love is timeless and can overcome all challenges; you know, that sort of thing), I enjoyed how the stories panned out through letters from each lover’s perspective. As I discovered from the notes in the back of the book, these two separate yet connected stories were actually written for a couple getting married that the author knew, and I think the realization that there was something deeply personal about these stories left a more lasting impression on me than expected.

“The Prophet of Corruption” and “That One Life” (i.e., the second and third stories) were harder to understand for me, and I can’t deny that this was where I really struggled. I wish I had read all the additional information in the back of the book (author’s notes and appendix), because I think that would have helped me somewhat better understand these two stories. There were more philosophical and mythological elements in these middle stories, and it became apparent to me that I was reading something that heavily turned to worldbuilding to slowly reveal the plot, characters, and themes. Unfortunately, this didn’t quite work for me, but I also don’t think I was in the right headspace for a story structured in this fashion. With that said, I did find the translators’ notes for these two stories particularly interesting, especially with regard to how they approached gender, especially given that English and Korean have very different approaches to gender, grammatically speaking: Korean doesn’t need gendered pronouns to form grammatical sentences (and the resulting ambiguity is something that these two stories rely on), while English requires them.

Even though I struggled through one of two sets of stories, I did find this book compelling enough that I want to check out Kim’s other works. I still wonder if it was the right decision to put these two story pairings together, since the tone and style were so different to the point that I found it jarring. I think your mileage may vary, depending on what you’re in the mood for. I still think this is a book worth checking out, especially if you want more exposure to Korean science fiction.