jayisreading's reviews
507 reviews

A powerful novel from Priya Hein, Riambel is a contemplation on the legacies of slavery and colonization on Mauritius from the perspective of Noemi, a teenage girl who is also a native to the island. The story is told in a rather simplistic and straightforward fashion with very occasional touches of lyricism. I didn’t see this as a bad thing by any means, and, in fact, I thought it worked rather well, considering that the story is narrated primarily by a teenager. Furthermore, the chapters read like interconnected vignettes that I found effective in getting Hein’s ideas across.

I was impressed by how well Hein captured the complexities of Mauritius in such a short book. She reveled in the beauty of the land and its natives, with simple yet expressive imagery. At the same time, though, she reflected on the dark history of the island nation primarily through Noemi’s experiences, with written snippets of an enslaved woman from the past interspersed between chapters. This approach was really effective in how Hein wanted to demonstrate how the past haunts the present, while leaving the future open-ended.

Riambel was a quick read, but definitely an impactful one. Like many other short fictional works, there’s a desire for more. Overall, though, I think the sparseness of this book worked in Hein’s favor to get her points across.

I think this may have been one of the most disappointing reads of this year, which is really unfortunate. I liked the idea of a sci-fi murder mystery, but, really, the only thing that was sci-fi about this novel was that it mainly took place on a spaceship. It lacked the depth that sci-fi novels generally have in exploring the ins and outs of science and technology, which made  the setting rather superficial. As for the murder mystery, it wasn’t especially engaging, and I personally thought the intrigue completely fizzled out halfway through the book.

That being said, my main gripe with this novel was how the characters were depicted. At best, the characters felt half-finished with how barely developed they were. There was never much sense of what the characters’ motives and aspirations were, there were minimal descriptions on what they even looked like, and their personalities felt one-dimensional to me. As for the protagonist, Asuka, I really wanted more from her. Unfortunately, she ended up a character whose entire persona was having major insecurities about being biracial and dealing with something not unlike an inferiority complex about her identity and position in the crew. I initially felt sympathy toward Asuka, but I got increasingly frustrated with how self-absorbed she was, which was exacerbated by the fact that she never grew as an individual over the course of the novel.

Relatedly, I was really bothered by Kitasei’s attempt to create an inclusive cast of characters. A few characters were trans/nonbinary (which was only ever depicted through pronouns use), but it seemed like they were given these identities for the sole purpose of having some kind of queer representation. I found the approach she took particularly harmful, especially considering that the novel centered a crew that was sent to space with the goal for them to have babies (which also had its own problems, but I digress). This isn’t to say that trans/nonbinary people can’t get pregnant, but Kitasei’s failure to develop her characters with care completely erased the complexities of what pregnancy/childbirth might mean for trans/nonbinary people (especially in relation to their gender identity), and, as a result, they ended up reading as “Women Lite.” I can’t help but wonder if any sensitivity readers were involved, and, if so, how this was never brought to attention.

I don’t think Kitasei is a terrible writer when it comes to stylistic choices, but there was so much left to be desired. I really wish she had taken more time to develop the plot and characters, especially the characters.

I’ll admit that it never crossed my mind to pick up this novel, partially because of my slight aversion to semiotics (which Eco is well-known for). However, knowing that it was a huge influence on a video game I absolutely loved (i.e., Pentiment), I thought I’d give his novel a try.

Not entirely to my surprise, The Name of the Rose was quite dense in its themes, writing style, and theoretical frameworks. I would even go so far as to say that Eco’s philosophical interests overshadowed the story itself. As a result of this, I felt a bit frustrated by the novel, because I wasn’t particularly interested in the erudite discussions that somewhat strayed from the main story, which I wanted more of. Ultimately, I think I would have liked the novel far more if there was a better balance of creative storytelling and scholarly writing. To me, at least, I felt that Eco had a very particular group of people in mind while writing this novel; I was definitely not a member of this audience, which might be why a fair bit of what he wrote flew over my head (for example, I know very little about Catholicism, which is central to the story).

That being said, I will say that this is a novel that demands the reader’s full attention, as well as their willingness to take the time to digest Eco’s ideas. Unfortunately, I didn’t have either of these due to my schedule and having borrowed the book from the library (i.e., I had limited time), so these definitely played into why I struggled to fully appreciate this novel. I guess this is to say take this review with a grain of salt, because it’s clear that a fair number of readers found the book quite rich and engaging (e.g., the developers of Pentiment, haha), and that’s likely because they had the time to sit with Eco’s words. 

I think the best way to explain how I feel about this novel is that I wish it was written by someone else. I really liked the premise and overall atmosphere of the novel, considering that it had an autumnal setting with the right amount of eerie and unsettling. Unfortunately, I think Bradbury’s delivery of the story fell short, and I would say his writing style is somewhat to blame. There were some instances when his distinct lyricism worked in his favor, but in most other cases, I found it strange and cumbersome, which made it difficult for me to fully immerse myself into the story. Regarding plot and characters, it was hard for me to get a lot out of either because of Bradbury’s writing style, or I felt that they lacked substance, particularly the characters. Another issue I had with the novel was the language, which I found really dated. To be fair to Bradbury, this isn’t his fault— It’s just how things go as language about certain things and ideas change over time.

I really wanted to like this novel, but it didn’t work for me. I also think it’s quite possible that I’m just not a fan of Bradbury’s writings, despite being interested in the themes and ideas he has. (This is also likely why I started this review with the wish that someone else had written this novel.)

I don’t think I was in the right headspace to read and appreciate Violets to its fullest, because I really struggled to get through this novel. I found the pacing a bit too slow, and the ending threw me off a little. I also couldn’t wrap my mind around a particularly sad story at the time of reading. There’s a lot of quiet grief in these pages, and I will say that while I did have some trouble reading this novel, I did appreciate the reflective nature of the novel in thinking about suppressing queer desire, feeling isolated in South Korean society, and existing on the margins, all of which is further complicated by being a woman.

On an unrelated note, hats off to Anton Hur, as always, for a phenomenal translation.

I may or may not revisit this one. I just have no memory of the plot from the previous two novels that I'm struggling to get into this one.

This was a bit of an unusual book to read, the main reason for its unusualness being that it’s two novellas that are loosely connected primarily by modern South Korean history and politics (especially with how it takes place around the time the Sewol ferry disaster happened in 2014), but also by grief, both personal and national. In addition to the unusual setup, I found that this was a rather dense book to get through due to its politically charged nature, which I admittedly didn’t anticipate. Much of it is commentary on modern-day South Korea, so much so that it would be helpful for the reader to have some prior knowledge of what happened in the 2010s to really understand the gravity of the situation. It was also interesting to center queerness in this book, as it added a distinct perspective to how these characters were making sense of what was happening around them.

Between the two novellas, I found the second one far more compelling, perhaps because I thought it was clearer and more grounded. The first novella (‘d’) was interesting enough, and I especially appreciated how Hwang explored themes of loss and grief (particularly the personal), but there was something about the way it was written that I struggled a bit. As for the second novella (‘There Is Nothing That Needs to Be Said’), I was intrigued by how Hwang approached themes around resistance and grief (particularly the collective). I liked how she wove in news articles and quotes from various works of literature to craft Soyoung’s distinct way of seeing the world and how they tie to the political unrest happening right outside their door. More than anything, though, I thought the ending was haunting, especially considering what followed after the impeachment of President Park Geun-Hye (i.e., the 2022 presidential elections).

I think this is a book I’d like to revisit in the future, because I feel that I didn’t fully appreciate it to the extent that I could have on my first readthrough. There was a lot of information to chew on, especially given the political content. 

This collection is brimming with emotion as it crosses borders (figuratively and literally) to consider the experiences of (im)migration, though other themes are touched on as well, ranging from politics to sexuality. I really enjoyed how Corral fluidly moved between Spanish and English throughout this collection, never once breaking the flow from one line to the next. Something else that struck me about this collection was how Corral played a fair bit with form, which I enjoyed, but it also made his poems a bit more abstract. Lastly, while I realize his long poem, “Testaments Scratched into a Water Station Barrel,” is meant to be the centerpiece of the collection, I actually found myself enjoying his other poems more.

Overall, a meditative collection that has me interested in reading his debut collection, as well as future works. I wouldn’t say that I was floored by these poems, but I did appreciate the language and insights that Corral brought to this world.

A powerful poetry collection, Diana Khoi Nguyen dives into her roots and the fractures that exist in one’s memory and sense of self. Nguyen focuses on the reverberations of trauma, her brother’s suicide, war, and colonization, a lot of it a reflection on how they impacted her and her family, but she also explores the ways in which these themes also affected the Vietnamese diaspora. I think what was particularly powerful about this collection was the interspersed visual media, some of which are entirely in verse. It was especially impactful to see the words fill the cutout spaces in photos, often that empty space being where her brother should be.

As I’m not Vietnamese, there were some aspects of the poems that I did not fully understand, notably whenever Nguyen wrote explicitly in her language (e.g., the first poem of the collection is entirely in Vietnamese). I did ask a Vietnamese friend for some help with getting through this collection, and their insights were incredibly helpful in contextualizing where Nguyen was coming from.

Not sure why, but I'm really struggling with the author's writing style right now. I may revisit this one later.