sandrinepal's reviews
1234 reviews

 me: "I need to stop reading all these books that make me angry at the world."
also me: "Oh, look! a Sarah Cooper book about sexism in the workplace. Should be good!"
me again: "Great, now I'm angry at the world."

But in a fun way!

Seriously, though, I teach a career English class for undergrads and some of the graphics in here are solid gold. Especially since my charges are science majors and not overwhelmingly female. Course materials are about to get a facelift. 

 Disconcerting is one word that came to mind after I finished this book. Not just for the suspended ending, but also for the subject matter, which felt very different from the other five books by Percival Everett I've read so far. For one thing, there is no satire here, this book is (literally) painful in its earnest representation of marriage, parenthood, work relationships, and above all, loss. Not like I haven't been deeply moved by other Everett books, but this one left me feeling more defenseless than the others, probably because the shield of humor is down in this case. It's probably no coincidence that I found myself feeling that way, as this book is also not about race, unlike "The Trees", "Dr No", "Erasure", "James", or "I Am Not Sidney Poitier". In fact, the protagonist, Zach Wells, a geology professor in Southern California, actively rejects a representation role when his campus' Black student organization sollicit him to protest. It's a layer of Everett's work that is new to me, and a very affecting book. 

 I have been mainlining information about the Troubles for about two months now and it's hard to say whether this book hit the right notes because I'm beginning to be semi-literate on the topic, or because it is just that well written and organized. I listened to the audiobook and even in that format the chronology was clear, as were the parenthetical profiles of key players. Perhaps this book felt especially helpful because it does not deal in anecdotes. In some cases, that might be what brings history to life, but for my part, I appreciated a no-frills approach that gives a clear bird's-eye view of those 5+ decades. 

 Not prime Atwood, for my money. The story fails to live up to the promise of its opening line:

"We could just push them out of windows," says Leonie.

No one gets defenestrated, in fact nothing much happens beyond a bad case of the runs (offset, one hopes, by the weed thrown in). It's a little funny, a little endearing, a little refreshing in the way it shows that 'cancel culture' is a storied, man-led tradition in academia when it comes to female scholars. But a little feels like too little on all counts here. 

 Very thorough and peppered with personal histories and profiles of major stakeholders, the audiobook was enjoyable, as it felt more lively than reading the information off a page. That said, it also felt rather longer than I'd bargained for. It was sometimes more difficult to connect the pieces of the puzzle than it would have been reading a paper or ebook edition. 

 This was the most personal of the books I've read by Abdurraqib. Outwardly, this is a book about basketball. It's cleverly divided into four quarters, each punctuated by a clock running down from 12:00 and peppered with time-outs. It's about the teams and the athletes that consumed a generation "coming up" in Ohio in the '90s and early 2000s. But really, to me, it was a book about intersections. The way that your local teams intersect with your early life, the way that the people intersect with the teams they root for and with each other, and most of all, the way that we intersect with home.

It was both the most poetic (disclaimer: I have not read his books of poetry) and the most intensely political of the books by him that I've read. The freewheeling journey through family, work, homelessness, and prison was candid, but not without reserve. LeBron's return to Cleveland and the Cavs' eventual championship title in 2016 are woven into a complex tapestry of yet-unvindicated violence (Henry Green, Tamir Rice), homesickness, and the strength of community. When I first moved to Ohio in 2014, I was given David Giffels' The Hard Way on Purpose, which was blurbed by The Black Keys' Patrick Carney, calling Akron "a hard place to be from". Abdurraqib makes no such claim. Obviously, the hard knocks are everywhere between the lines, but the book shines as a paean to that derided, undesired home in the "Heart of it all". I loved reading that love of place and people, so strong that it can make even a Nike commercial beautiful. 

 This was really cute, but I don't currently have the right demographic either in my house or in my classrooms for the content. I am all about vestigial everything (in bodies and in language) and yet I had no idea about the disappearing kidney: mind. Blown. I thought the insistence on providing pronunciation guides for the scientific terms was helpful, if a little overdone. Would I read the crap out of a grownup, expanded version of this? Heck yes. 

 Why do I do this to myself? I didn't even like Ace of Spades when I read it last year. It felt like it did not deliver on its ambitious promise. Well, this sophomore effort by Àbíké-Íyímídé doesn't promise all that much, and that's about what it delivers, too. The plot is slow to unfold and the denouement offers little satisfaction, especially in the deus ex machina that overturns the school's decision about Sade in the 11th hour. *eyeroll*

Other reviewers have mentioned or alluded to the derivativeness of the premise, from the school sorting students into houses to Sade's homeschool-to-plastics development. It did feel like a bit of hoodwinking. It's not like Harry Potter and Mean Girls are niche little works that wouldn't occur to people in connection with this, for goodness's sake. And neither of those frameworks really fit neatly into a thriller.

I don't doubt that Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé has important things to say, not least based on her personal experience, but I was looking forward to growth in this second book. The fact that she got a publishing deal for two books, presumably on the strength of Ace of Spades alone, goes some way towards explaining why that growth hasn't happened yet. 

 I picked this up after finishing The Menopause Manifesto by Jen Gunter, partly because some reviews commented on the superiority of this book over hers. I beg to differ. I am sensitive to the fact that inclusiveness is a very legitimate concern, not least for African American women and non-binary and/or trans men and women. I'm not trying to minimize the importance of addressing the specific needs of populations that have been historically marginalized and victimized by western medicine. I get all of that. I'll just say that Heather Corinna's approach to that inclusiveness felt performative much of the time. Not trying to sound like a boomer, but I was bemused by the gamut of pronouns and all-lowercase names.

Aaaaanyway. As far as the menopause and perimenopause information goes, this book takes a very caring approach, with a heavy and welcome focus on self-care. I do not personally subscribe to the versions of medicine being advocated in parts of the book, including the use of traditional Chinese medicine and some sections of the mini-herbal. But I write from a place of privilege since I am white and middle-class, and I've mostly been spared by chronic conditions in my life so far. My biggest takeaway is "Ya Basics" (sleep, hydration, exercise, lower stress, and no smoking), but that could have fit into far fewer pages, as far as I'm concerned. 

 Yup, still love this series. Among other things, I love that the characters are growing to reflect the historical period through which they're living. The fact that Surendranath and Wyndham share the narration in this latest installment was balm for the soul.

Featuring Section H (the British army's intelligence branch) more prominently was also an overdue aspect of the franchise, though they do come across smelling a little too much of roses, imo.

One thing that did irk me a little was the presence of Ooravis Colah. Annie Grant can't be in two places at once, so she gets to delegate the token, Jessica-Rabbit-hot female lead to another token, Jessica-Rabbit-hot female? Honestly...

As for the ending, I will reserve judgment until the next book comes out. Here's hoping it won't take too long!