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Is it crazy that I read just over 1 book/week this month and it felt slow? This January I read 6 books; in the last third of 2019, I read 10 books/month on average! I think that a reading rush at the end of the year is natural; there’s an urgency to get certain reads in before the end of the year (for me it was a selection of 2019 releases) or read a certain amount of books to reach your annual reading goal. Perhaps, come January, it’s natural to feel a little burnt out. Perhaps you’ll dial your pace back down (for me, seemingly, a steady pace of 1 book/week).
But this year I’m not so focused on how quickly or slowly I get on with my next read. My main focus/reading resolution for 2020 is to read more presently. To slow down. To soak it in. To embrace bigger books.
So, this January I read a “mere” 6 books and DNFed 2! I’m so proud of myself for DNFing. After recapping my top reads of 2019 and reminding myself of how good books can be, it was so much easier to make peace with DNFing those books.
The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah
★★★★.5 // Goodreads // Buy it // Reading buddies: Angie, Epsita
And this wasn’t the end. She had to remember that. Each day she lived there was a chance for salvation. She couldn’t give up. She could never give up.
Everyone’s top historical fiction reads seem to be All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr and The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. I had already read the former (loved it), and the latter was on my TBR for the longest time.
This WWII fiction tells of the women’s war in German-occupied France, following the Rossignol sisters who are different as can be. It was interesting to see how differently these two sisters dealt with the war: Vianne kept her head down, making compromises for her and her daughter’s survival, whereas Isabelle, the younger, rebellious, more impulsive sister joined the Resistance.
The book started rather calmly. Then it got intense and never let up. There was crisis after crisis—lots of action for you plot-driven folks—and there was also depth of emotion—for you character-driven folks. There was one part in the book that really got to me, making me well up; if you’ve read the book already, I can tell you which part in the comments. (The most emotional parts of the book for me were the parts involving kids. No one is spared in war.)
Something I was wary about while reading this book was how easy it is to romanticise situations with fiction, whether it’s dark parts of history, questionable relationships, or whatever. Luckily, I think the book didn’t get into that problematic territory. However, there was still lots of room for discussion about morality and honour, and it was really nice to have reading buddies to sort through that with, as well as nice to have reading buddies to simply unleash my emotions with.
WWII was atrocious. But it’s also amazing to see how much people risk for others. Sometimes humanity is devastating and sometimes it’s miraculous.
Tweet Cute by Emma Lord
★★★★ // Goodreads // Buy it // Full review on blog // (eARC)
I wonder what it’s like, being that sure of yourself. Knowing what you want so definitively you don’t even care about keeping doors open.
Jack and Pepper get into a viral Twitter feud over a stolen grilled cheese recipe, and people on the internet are shipping them. Lighthearted fun made richer with a hint of soul-searching. Recommended if you’re looking for your next YA romance!
The Regrets by Amy Bonnaffons
★★★★ // Goodreads // Buy it // Full review on blog // (eARC)
I occasionally felt bad about this difference between us—about the way I reliably failed to inhabit a moment, instead hovering outside of it, catlike, waiting to isolate and pounce on a tellable detail.
Due to some clerical error, Thomas is unable to crossover to the afterlife upon his death. While he waits for the office to sort it out, he passes his days among the living but is forbidden to get involved with them, lest he incur “regrets.” But then he meets Rachel.
A strange read. And ghost sex. But also some deep stuff about human connection.
Universal Love by Alexander Weinstein
★★★★ // Goodreads // Buy it // (eARC)
Because I know there are countless timelines where I’m someone good, parallel universes where I make the right choices and no one gets hurt, infinite realities where I’m a better human being. And maybe, if I try hard enough, one of those realities can also be this one.
When it comes to speculative fiction exploring the future of this technological era, Alexander Weinstein is one of the names I turn to (another name is Ted Chiang). I loved Weinstein’s debut Children of the New World and jumped at the chance to read his newest collection.
Like Children of the New World, Universal Love also explores the future of this technological era but focuses thematically on—you guessed it—love: romance, sex, dating, loneliness, friendship, family, grief. We experience love in a world with alternate realities, immersive virtual worlds, holographs, avatars, thought-to-text, robot children, and more. (My favourite story was “Childhood,” involving robot children.)
The short stories offer a glimpse into these futures, exploring the impact and potential impact of technology on human relationships—which we have only begun to experience and imagine—without getting too bogged down in the science, making the stories very accessible, not that I would have minded a little more nerding out on the technology either.
For a list of the 11 stories and the concepts explored in each (each summarised in one succinct phrase), check out this Goodreads review.
Follow Me to Ground by Sue Rainsford
★★★ // Goodreads // Buy it // (ARC)
Unspectacular business, coming into the world.
Ada and her father live at the edge of a village. The locals fear them because they aren’t quite human, but are also fascinated by them and seek them for their healing powers. Ada and her father are able to do things like open up bodies, pull out and put back organs, and sing out sicknesses. (TW: body horror)
I was like the locals, not sure about who these healers were or how their powers worked, but nosy curious to know more and get my bearings in this magical realist world. The locals gossiped and speculated, and I soaked in whatever clues I could. In this way, I read the story like a mystery.
Another way I read the story like a mystery was in wondering about what was so bad about Samson, Ada’s love interest. Ada is head over heels in love, but Ada’s father and Samson’s sister disapprove, and there’s a sense that there’s more to Samson than meets Ada’s eye. This is the main conflict in the story.
Although this is how I read the book, it isn’t a mystery/thriller/horror as much as it’s an exploration of the female body, more specifically, an exploration of “the metaphors used to describe the female body” by making them literal, as one Goodreads reviewer put it. Another Goodreads reviewer (who didn’t enjoy the book as much as the previously mentioned reviewer) said it felt like an exercise or a graduate thesis.
So no, this is not a plot-driven mystery/thriller/horror or an emotional character-driven story either, but a simple (potentially feminist?) exploration of the female body in 200 pages with an ambiguous ending. I personally read it as a mystery to keep myself excited about the story and make up a little drama for myself. I would be interested to hear from someone who does love reading magical realism though; it’s very likely that I missed something, as it’s a genre I don’t really “get.”
Would recommend for those interested in magical realism and body horror, and fans of Wilder Girls by Rory Power and The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender by Leslye Walton. Gorgeous cover.
American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins
Goodreads // (Giveaway win)
She doesn’t ask if he’s okay because from now on that question will carry a weight of painful absurdity.
When a drug cartel shoots up her family, Lydia flees Mexico with her son toward America.
The book started with the shooting, getting right into it. It had me flipping through the pages, wide eyed. I was so interested to know more about Lydia’s relationship with the drug lord, why the drug lord targeted her family in such a personal way, and how Lydia would physically escape the cartel’s grasp.
However, once that initial adrenaline wore off, I realised that there wasn’t much else happening in the book. For half of the book they’re pretty much just hopping trains and getting in and out of crises here and there. The book kind of just trailed on and the end didn’t feel resolved.
Additionally, the characters didn’t feel real; they didn’t have much dimension or develop throughout the story. They were stereotypes, frankly. The drug lord was perhaps the most interesting character, having the capacity to be both a dreamer and a killer.
There’s a lot of controversy surrounding this book. It is being critiqued for capitalising on the cultural conversation on immigration, perpetuating racial stereotypes, and falsely branding itself as an #OwnVoices book. In the Author’s Note, Cummins mentions her personal stake in the cause: her grandmother is Puerto Rican so she identifies as Latinx, and her husband is an immigrant. She doesn’t mention that she previously identified as white, and her husband is an Irish immigrant.
I believe that the publisher was misleading with the marketing of this book. This is not a book on the immigrant experience. It’s a crime drama (with an unresolved ending).
Check out this #OwnVoices review by Myriam Gurba that most people are referring to to understand why American Dirt is so problematic. Check out this list of #OwnVoices book recommendations on the immigrant experience. I’ve been hearing great things about Children of the Land by Marcelo Hernandez Castillo.
Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E Frankl
DNF-25% // Goodreads // Buy it
I discovered this title years ago, thinking it a memoir of Holocaust survivor Viktor E Frankl. While his experience in a concentration camp is discussed, it only makes up the first part of the book; the second part is an introduction to logotherapy, a school of psychology developed by Frankl, basically saying how life is not a quest for pleasure or power but for meaning. As noted in the Preface, Frankl’s experience in a concentration camp discussed in part one “serves as existential validation of [his] theories” in part two.
Life holds a potential meaning under any conditions, even the most miserable ones. And I thought that if the point were demonstrated in a situation as extreme as that in a concentration camp, my book might gain a hearing.
However, the muddled structure and detached, almost clinical tone didn’t work for me. The book, divided into two parts, seems like clear enough a structure: 1) experiences in a concentration camp, 2) logotherapy in a nutshell. I expected the first part to flow in one smooth narrative like a memoir, but it attempted to mix in theories (i.e. psychological stages of prisoners) and other material outside of the book (most often in the sense of, “other people have spoken in detail about this experience elsewhere so I won’t,” which I find unnecessary to note), which can be done effectively, but in this case wasn’t, at least not for me. While I did learn insightful nuggets about day-to-day life at a concentration camp that I had never known before, the anecdotes felt disjoint and buried in the muddled structure.
On the detached tone– You wouldn’t think that any personal account having anything to do with the Holocaust would be described as that, but it was. I can see how detachment could be a coping mechanism though. Or perhaps the tone was an effort to maintain academic professionalism.
Although I didn’t get to part two, it felt like the book was going in the direction of Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom (which I found average), in the sense that both talk about what makes life worthwhile (in Tuesdays with Morrie it’s relationships, in Man’s Search for Meaning it’s meaning, which can come from work, love/relationships, or courage during difficult times) and in the sense that I’m skeptical that the ways of thought in both books are barely more than platitudes. But clearly, Frankl’s philosophy got him through the Holocaust, which can’t be argued.
This book is highly acclaimed, so despite my feelings about it, I wouldn’t discourage you from reading it. It’s less than 200 pages anyway.
Educated by Tara Westover
DNF-15% // Goodreads // Buy it
Raised by her survivalist family in rural Idaho, Tara Westover lacked any formal education growing up. She began to educate herself, and her quest for knowledge transformed her.
I DNF-ed this book four chapters in. I was going to force myself to make it through the first of three parts before making a decision to continue or not. Then I settled for making it through the fifth chapter. I started the fifth chapter and kept eyeing how many pages I had left. I didn’t make it through the fifth chapter.
Of what I read so far, the memoir felt like a memory dump: 1) the memories were spotty and 2) many of the memories weren’t even hers. 1) She admitted to spots in her memories, which I can sympathise with, because I can’t remember most details from my childhood either, but I couldn’t help but feel that she was bringing unwarranted attention to these fuzzy details that were inconsequential anyway. Additionally, point 2), many of those memories weren’t hers. They were stories of her father, her mother, her brother, previous generations. I felt a disconnect with this storytelling.
I didn’t get to the part in her memoir where she starts educating herself, but even if the memoir got more focused later on, the writing style wasn’t for me. Too descriptive (a la inconsequential details), repetitive, not synthesised enough, and I’m not invested enough to sift through it.
However, my opinion is in the minority, so if you’re interested in this book, give it a try! If you have read this book, I’d love to know your thoughts! If you enjoyed it, what was your favourite thing about it/what inspiration did you take away?