Fiction


So I was actually totally lying last week when I said I hadn’t read any of the Morning News Tournament of Books 2019 books other than Washington Black and The Golden State… I think this slipped my mind because when I looked at the shortlist, none of the books I LOVED last year were on it. I’ve actually already read Call Me Zebra, The Overstory, and The Parking Lot Attendant. So, as it happens Census, by Jesse Ball, is the sixth book I’ve read from the short list, which I actually feel pretty good about. Am I going to get the other 12 read before the tournament starts? Um. Unlikely…

Okay, so. Census is a really interesting book. It’s a really different book. It’s a really weird book. Sometimes this totally works for me, see Fever Dream and Supernatural Enhancements. This didn’t really work for me. Somehow it took me forever to read, but I also feel like I wasn’t that into it so I definitely missed things. I think you really have to be willing to read this book slowly, and to be willing to read a book that will give you no answers.

Summarizing Census is rather difficult. But essentially, the plot is that a father is dying and he’s decided that the thing to do is join the census and travel with his son, who has Down Syndrome, conducting the census. But, the world that they are traveling in doesn’t exactly seem to be our world, it’s hard to say if it’s post apocalyptic or if it’s just different. But this guy isn’t like a US census worker. What he is, is never fully explained. The census is described a bit more, here’s a piece:

Not, where were your parents born – but, what is the meaning of a national boundary? When your parents crossed such a thing to come here – how did it change them? Why did they do it? Who were those people who left the place that they came from – fearful, hopeful, full of a joy long since extinguished, perhaps replaced with fresh joy, perhaps not – who were they, and how, in all the wild mystery of the earth and its citizens, could they  have come to be the people now crushed by age, waiting fitfully in the waters of death’s first sleep?

So… yeah. Not what I was thinking when I heard the dad conducts the census.

At the start of the book there’s a note from Ball that he had a younger brother with Down Syndrome who he loved, and who passed away, and he always wanted to write a book about him. Rather than write a typically book (ie, a grief memoir), he decided to write a “hollow” book (as he puts it) with his brother at the center. I like grief memoirs for the most part, I identify with grief memoirs, and so that’s probably my favorite thing about this book. But, to me the book did feel a bit hollow, and nothing really filled it up. There’s no world building here.

Some of the book is beautiful and thought provoking (okay most of it probably is, if you’re really willing to sit with this book):

As we drove that night, I told my son about the loneliness that sometimes afflicts people who are alone. Meanwhile, I explained, some other people are just as alone, but never become lonely. How can that be?

There is a lot of this type of musing. Some of it made me muse, some of it made me think WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON IN THIS BOOK??? So… basically if you like books that challenge you, books that are essentially the opposite of everything you find in typical book, you might like this one. I think I failed at reading Census. But part of me feels like it was very much me and not the book’s fault. At the same time, I won’t be recommending this to anyone.

I also read the exact opposite this week, Miss Kopp’s Midnight Confessions. Which, being a historical sort of mystery novel (nothing that mysterious ever happens, but I guess crimes get solved), has a plot which completely lets you in. It’s the third book in Amy Stewart’s Constance Kopp series, which I have written about before.

Currently reading: Conversations with Friends.

So I technically returned from vacation late Wednesday, but it’s taken me until now to kind of get back to east coast time and to sit down and let you know what all I read on vacation.

In case you don’t follow it, The Morning New Tournament of Books (The Rooster) released the short list of books that will be in the tournament for 2019, so I’ve begun trying to read at least half of them before the tournament starts. I’m still smarting over the fact that An American Marriage didn’t make it into the tournament, but I’m putting that aside since it means that I have read literally none of the 16 books in this year’s tournament.

So, first up on vacation was Washington Black by Esi Edugyan. I took this one on vacation because it sounded like it might not be too heavy, which since the main character is a slave, should tell you how heavy a lot of the books in the tournament are this year… Washington Black (Wash) is an eleven year old boy who is a slave on a Barbados plantation. The master is cruel, but it turns out that his brother is an abolitionist and a scientist. He ‘borrows’ Wash from his brother to be his assistant with getting a flying machine to work — and in the process teaches him to read, a little about science, and discovers that Wash has a gift for drawing.

The book is not exactly light hearted, but it really is an adventure story that spans the globe — after a man is killed, a price is on Wash’s head, and he and the brother travel to America, to the Arctic, and ultimately London and Morocco also play a role.

Wash is a fabulous narrator, and completely sucks you into his world, and he’s apparently telling the story later so he has a little more insight than one expects from an eleven year old:

I could not have described him so then, but [the master’s cousin] was merely a man of his class, nothing more. His great passions were not passions but distractions; one day was but a bridge to the next. He took in the world with a mild dissatisfaction, for the world was of little consequence.

I think I mostly bookmarked that as a note of how to not live your life, but what an interesting comment on an Englishman at the time that the sun had not yet begun to set on the British Empire.

On a similar note, Wash considers the life of a slave hunter:

He was a wretched man… He too had been a boy once, desirous of understanding the world. And how he had wasted all his talents, all his obvious facility for learning, twisting every new fact and arranging it into senseless cruelty. … he had lived his whole life in avoidable savagery.

How easy it is, to waste a life.

How true. Both of the quotes I’ve picked focus on the white men in the story, which isn’t quite right, although a lot of this novel is focused on how each of these men are different, and yet how each fails to see Wash’s full humanity. Wash really comes into his own in the end however, and stops being an eleven year old who is completely controlled by the world he lives in.

I read this entire book in one sitting, so I can definitely recommend it. It reminds me a bit of The Underground Railroad, because the flying machine and some of the science give it a bit of a sense of the fantastical (most slaves did not escape slavery in this exciting manner, they lived and died as slaves) although there’s no magical realism here.

Next I read The Golden State by Lydia Kiesling which I also enjoyed. The story is set in California and takes place over ten days. The main character, Daphne is a young mother to Honey a 16 month old. She works for an Islamic Institute affiliated with a university in San Francisco. Although she herself is not Muslim, she speaks Turkish and is married to a Turkish man, who was intimidated into giving up his green card and through a ‘click of the mouse’ error has so far been unable to get another — resulting in their 8 month separation. Daphne basically has a nervous breakdown on Day 1, and spends the next ten days in a fictional high desert town where she meets secessionist activists (who want the northern part of California to leave the Southern part) and an elderly woman named Alice who is trying to visit the camp where her long dead husband worked during WWII.

I spent a good chunk of the book identifying with Daphne while also being kind of annoyed with her for not pulling up out of her tailspin, until I kind of admitted that, this is what tailspins are like. If you could just realize, oh my behavior is irrational, sure you can right yourself, and at time Daphne tries, but really, when you are just at your breaking point, you break.

The book jacket told me that “more than anything, this is a story about motherhood,” but I (who read almost everything as a story about motherhood) really felt there was more here than that. Maybe because it delves so much into the unrest of the world we currently live in — state’s rights and authoritarianism, racism and discrimination against the ‘other.’  I strongly recommend this one, and it’s another pretty quick read.

A rounded out the week with non-fiction – Eloquent Rage: A Black Feminist Discovers Her Superpower by Brittney Cooper. I would say the downside of this book is that I’m not exactly sure what the thesis was. It’s not exactly a memoir, it’s more of a collection of essays. But parts of it were very powerful. Parts of it were also kind of hilarious, in talking about her love of the Babysitter’s Club books growing up she writes, “They fought sometimes, but always made up. And in the end, no matter what, they rode for each other.” Not how I, an extremely white person, who also grew up reading the books ever thought about it.

The chapter White-Girl Tears was one of the more powerful parts for me:

White-lady tears might seem not to be a big deal, but they are actually quite dangerous. When white women signal through their tears that they feel unsafe, misunderstood, or attacked, the whole world rises in their defense. The mythic nature of white female vulnerability compels protective impulses to arise in all men, regardless of race.

I am definitely the beneficiary of being a very non-threatening looking white woman. I try hard not to forget this, and to be honest I have at times been quite grateful for it. Although this book also makes the point that this, the power of white-lady tears really stems from patriarchy, the idea that white women need to be protected. And when you lean into that power, are you really leaning into power?

This was one of many, many books written about rage in the last few years, and it’s the first one I read, so I kind of feel like I need to read This Will Be My Undoing before I can definitely recommend this one.

I also read Expecting Better, which is  a great evidence based pregnancy book. But, if you’re not pregnant, you’re probably not that interested. If you are though, skip What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Read this and Like A Mother. Then call it a day, there aren’t any other good books out there.

Currently reading: Conversations with Friends and The Interestings.

So, this is very delayed – last week I read Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward and Can You Ever Forgive Me: Memoires of Literary Forger by Lee Israel.  First up, Can You Ever Forgive Me (which was recently made into a movie) the true account of how Lee Israel during the 90’s forged and sold letters purporting to be from Noel Coward, Dorthy Parker, and several others. Israel is actually pretty likeable in print, although you get the sense you might not really want her as an officemate. The story itself is more of a short story than a memoir — I think it clocks in at 126 pages, and the font is not small. This might be one instance where you’re fine just seeing the movie or don’t get much out of reading the book and seeing the movie. I enjoyed the movie more than I expected to, so I requested the book from my library back in November. I’m still trying to figure out what the heck the person who had it out before me was doing for 6 weeks with the book — using it as a primer on how to become a literary forger???

I really liked Salvage the Bones — although that feels a bit strange to say since the book is about Katrina. I recently had the amazing opportunity to meet Jesmyn Ward and hear her read some of Sing Unburied Sing (and get my copy signed !). And that prompted me to decide it was high time I read the rest of her books.

Salvage the Bones is set in Bois Savage, Mississippi and begins about two weeks before Hurricane Katrina strikes. The main character is Esh, a fifteen year old girl, and her three brothers (Randall, Skeetah, and Junior) all play main roles as well. Their mother died giving birth to Junior, and their father isn’t great — although he takes storm preparedness pretty seriously so that’s good, although, against a category 5 hurricane, it doesn’t really end up being quite enough… Their lost mother is definitely a presence in the story (although not a ghostly presence as with Sing Unburied Sing):

When [Esh’s grandmother] died, Mam told me that she had gone away, and then I wondered where she went. Because everyone else was crying, I clung like a monkey to Mama, my legs and arms wrapped around her softness, and I cried, loved running through me like a hard, blinding summer rain. And then Mama died, and there was no one left for me to hold on to.

I miss her so badly I have to swallow salt, imagine it running like lemon juice into the fresh cut that is my chest, feel it sting.

I checked, and I don’t think it’s a spoiler to tell you that Esh is pregnant because that fact is included in the book flap summary. So there’s a fair amount of pre-storm drama – and I worried over this motherless soon-to-be mother especially knowing Katrina was coming. The storm doesn’t actually show up until page 215. There’s a lot of sort of dread in reading most of the book because you the reader have a sense of what’s coming and the characters very much do not. Hurricanes, they are somewhat used to. But not Katrina.

There is a lot of sadness in this book, and that sadness is beautifully conveyed. But, I will say that while the end was hardly happy, it was redeeming enough that you didn’t finish this book feeling nearly as bad as I expected to going in.

Read Salvage the Bones, skip Can You Ever Forgive Me.

Currently reading: Eloquent Rage and The Interestings.

January has been rather slow-going so far — but, last week I read Barbara Kingsolver’s latest, Unsheltered and also the second in a series, Lady Copy Makes Trouble by Amy Stewart. I stumbled upon this series at Powell’s, and bought the first book there (Girl Waits With Gun).  I think I actually liked the second book even better, nothing too intense here, a well-written but fun book with likable characters, I read it in a day.

The series is based on the real life of Constance Kopp, who really was the first female deputy sheriff in New Jersey. This second novel is all about Kopp searching for a man after accidentally allowing him to escape. These novels aren’t going to win the Pulitzer, but they are good fun. I’m going to grab books 3 and 4 as soon as I can, everyone needs something to get them through January, February, and March.

Kingsolver’s Unsheltered was a bit more depressing — it’s the story of two families, in the present we find Willa, her husband, two adult children, grandson, and ailing father-in-law all stuck living in a house that’s falling apart in Vineland, NJ, and in the past (1880’s) we find Thatcher, his young wife, and her mother and sister similarly living in a house falling apart in Vineland, NJ. The novel switches back and forth each chapter, and the two stories parallel each other, while Willa also is learning about Thatcher and his neighbor Mary Treat (who really was a 19th century biologist!). Yes, there are a lot of plays on what it means to be “unsheltered” literally and in terms of having an open mind in this novel — the most obvious being that both main characters are literally watching their shelters falling down around them.

Willa and her family are casualties of the financial crisis — she’s a freelance journalist (ie, her publication folded) and her husband is a college professor who had tenure, but his college closed due to bankruptcy, robbing them of all the security they had. Much of Willa’s story involves just her taking care of her family, but she starts to learn about Treat and Thatcher because she’s trying to get a historic grant to save her house.

Thatcher is a newly married science teacher who is quite taken with Darwin and wants to teach his students about science via real life exposure. No one in Vineland really likes this idea, because many of them cannot bear the idea that Darwin is right. It’s pretty depressing how little this debate has actually progressed in about 140 years:

You and I are not like other people … We perceive infinite nature as a fascination, not as a threat to our sovereignty. But if that sense of unity in all life is not already lodged in a person’s psyche, I’m not certain it can ever be taught.

People may be persuaded of small things … But most people refuse to be moved on the larger ones. An earth millions of years old appalls them, when they always have seen it otherwise. A humanity derived from the plain stuff of earth frightens them even more. Rather than look at evidence they would shut themselves up in a pumpkin shell like Peter Piper’s wife.

I read this book slowly because I found so much of it to be so sad (if compelling), I could see someone else reading it as hopeful (to be unsheltered is “to stand in the clear light of day”) but for me, it was very sad and identified with so much of it — Willa’s mother dies before the book opens (“When someone mattered like that, you didn’t lose her at death. You lost her as you kept living”), another death occurs in the opening chapter, and another character dies after needing significant heavy caretaking (which also strikes a painful chord for me), and global climate change is also a rather heavy character in the book (there’s a sort of analogy being made between people refusing to credit Darwin and people refusing to credit climate change).

So, well I would say, I enjoyed reading this book and I’m glad I read it (I do love Barbara Kingsolver, her book The Poisonwood Bible meant so much to me when I read it the first time, I was young and it was so interesting to read this book that challenged some of what I’d been taught, it made me think differently), I probably won’t be giving it to anyone for Christmas this year.

Currently reading: No One Tells You This and still Cutting for Stone (+200 pages in…400 pages to go).

The last book of 2018 was How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? by N.K. Jemisin, bringing the 2018 total to 106 books read. This is belated because I kept thinking I would finish another book and write about them both, but well, this week I mostly spent catching up on all the issues of The New Yorker that I’ve been carrying around forever (I’m currently only reading 2 issues of The New Yorker!).  Also, I’m always suggesting books to my mother-in-law so for Christmas she returned the favor and gave me 4 of her favorite books. We’ll see how it turns out, but the first one is a 650 page novel… So that’s taking some time.

Briefly, I will say that I recommend How Long ‘Til Black Future Month if you enjoy sci-fi, fantasy, or magical realism at all. It’s a great short story collection that really runs the gambit between other world sci-fi, fantasy (think dragons), and alternative history. My favorite was a bit of steam-punk alternate history (“The Effluent Engine”) — what if Haiti had been able to stay a free country after a slave revolt, and they’d been able to build a stable country? Also, everyone travels by dirigible and women can do stuff. It’s also a wonderful book because there really is sadly a huge dearth of black characters in sci-fi and fantasy generally. That’s changing, but I think it’s pretty much all thanks to Jemisin…

And now I want to also briefly recommend my favorites from my 2018 reading:

1. The Power – Naomi Alderman
2. Manhattan Beach – Jennifer Egan
3. Little Fires Everywhere – Celeste Ng
4. How to Stop Time – Matt Haig
5. Sing Unburied Sing – Jesmyn Ward
6. Fever Dreams – Samanta Schweblin (this book is terrifying, but I can’t leave it off the list)
7. The Animators – Kayla Rae Whitaker
8. When They Call You a Terrorist: A Black Lives Matter Memoir – Asha Bandele and Patrisse Khan-Cullors (again, not on here because I enjoyed it per se, but one of the more powerful books I read this year)
9. The Idiot – Elif Batuman
10. The Female Persuasion – Meg Wolitzer
11. You Think It I’ll Say It – Curtis Sittenfeld
12. Everything Here Is Beautiful – Mira T. Lee
13. Happiness – Aminatta Forna
14. An American Marriage – Tayari Jones
15. The Friend – Sigrid Nunez
16. The Fifth Season – N.K. Jemisin
17. The Supernatural Enhancements – Edgar Cantero (looking back, I just really enjoyed the format of this book, not everyone will)
18. Dear Mrs. Bird – AJ Pearce
19. She Has Her Mother’s Laugh: The Power, Perversions, and Potential of Heredity – Carl Zimmer (Fascinating)
20. Let Me Tell You -Shirley Jackson

I held myself to only 20 (I was going for 10, but couldn’t whittle this down further…), so really I recommend almost every book I read this year. A lot of these are on the list because I just enjoyed reading them so much, some because the power of the book demands it (Fever Dreams, I’m looking at you), some because they really taught me something.

What were your best reads of 2018? What are you looking forward to in 2019?

Currently Reading: Unsheltered and Cutting For Stone

Happy Holidays! Merry almost Christmas, Happy it used to be Hanukkah, Happy almost almost almost New Year. Hard to believe 2019 is nearly upon us! I know it’s not 2018’s fault, but I just really can’t wait for it to be behind me. I hope I don’t have many worse years ahead of me… It was a tough one for sure. But books were such a bright spot. I have loved so many of my reads this year, and I’m so glad that I really prioritized and made time for reading.

What goals are you setting for next year? I’m not sure I’ll intentionally read 100 books again, which is to say that I’m going to keep tracking my reads and keep making time for it, but if I read 85 instead of 100, I’ll be okay with it. My goal last year (2017) was 52 and I did 68, my goal this year was 100 and it looks like I’ll finish around 106 or 107 (I’m currently at 105).

My reads this week were Roxane Gay’s Not That Bad: Dispatches From Rape Culture and Limetown which was written by Cote Smith but is based on a podcast created by Zack Akers and Skip Bronkie. I’ve mentioned that I’ve been working on Not That Bad for awhile, not because it’s bad or even slow, but because it is so intense to read. This is collection of many essays, many of them first person accounts of rape and sexual assault, and I found I could read about 3 before I had to take a break. Partially because I didn’t just want to breeze through these deeply personal stories, partly because it just made me so sad about the world we live in.

Despite the intensity of the book, I still recommend it (although if rape and sexual assault are too difficult for you, HUGE trigger warning on this one) as a powerful and well-written collection. The diversity in styles and in stories really makes this a strong book. No one in here is telling exactly the same story, although they are all telling you pieces of a larger story about our culture. I bookmarked A LOT in this book, and I will share a few of the more powerful pieces, but really I had to stop bookmarking because so much of this book feels important.

My first bookmark is a list I intend to come back to should I raise any men in this world – it is the author’s list of what you generally want to convey to your sons (Aubrey Hirsch, “Fragments”):

It’s not okay to hit the girl you like. And it’s not okay to hit the girl you love.

The world around you tells women that they should always nod politely no matter what they’re feeling inside. Don’t ever take a polite nod for an answer. Wait for her to yell it: “Yes!”

Not everyone gets sex when they want it. Not everyone gets love when they want it. This is true for men and for women. A relationship is not your reward for being a nice guy, no matter what the movies tell you.

Birth control is your job too.

Here are some phrases you will need to know. Practice them in the mirror until they come as easy as songs you know by heart: “Do you want to?” “That’s not funny, man.” “Does that feel good?” “I like you, but I think we’re both a little drunk. Here’s my number. Let’s get together another time.”

My feelings about this list should mostly be conveyed in exclamation marks. Another author ends with hopeful notes about the strength of her daughters (Elisabeth Fairfield Stokes, Reaping What Rape Culture Sows), which is a nice bit of optimism.

There’s another piece that is very much an autobiographical account of all the worst things that happened to the author (xTx, “The Ways We Are Taught to Be a Girl”) that plays with how we assign a value to the ‘badness’ of the things that have happened:

My score is low compared to some and high compared to others. The harder the lesson, the higher the points. Some girls would kill for my score. That’s why I don’t talk about my score. I got off easy.

I legitimately think, “I got off easy.” I didn’t get raped … I got fondled at best. Not that bad, right? Lucky, right? Right. Exactly. This is what I’m saying. I got off easy. Why even write this essay?

This is, to me, the central thesis of the book. What has happened so many isn’t okay just because there’s some other person out there who has had it worse, it is that bad. I think V.L. Seek’s essay “Utmost Resistance” (written semi-in the style of a law review article, and about how the law views and has viewed rape) summed things up nicely (if depressingly):

[A] conclusion seems out of reach when we are still stuck debating the facts, deciding whom to trust and what is true. We are trapped in a legal system that has never favored women and has never believed survivors. And we are mired in a circuitous and damning dialogue, so powerful that it invalidates our experiences, our traumas, our truths — a dialogue so powerful that we begin to doubt whether our experience was ever there at all.

Limetown is, thankfully for my mental health, a very different sort of book. It’s pretty much a  prequel novel to the Limetown podcast which just released its second (and I think final) season. This is a sort of mystery-horror story, and the fact that the pieces take a while to fit together and some things aren’t explained is sort of key, so I will try not to ruin it for anyone.

The premise of the podcast is that Lia Haddock is a public radio reporter looking into the mystery of Limetown. Limetown, we’re told, was a planned community doing some kind of secret research, one day things went crazy, and then three days later, all 300 people who lived there had disappeared. The podcast moves forward from Limetown, with Lia trying to unpack what was going on there, what happened, and whether there are survivors.  Lia tells us that she has a personal connection, her uncle Emile was at Limetown and disappeared along with everyone else.

The book is a prequel, and it shifts back and forth between Lia and her uncle Emile’s perspectives as they each grow up (in different decades). It’s an enjoyable enough book, not amazing, not something you definitely must pick up. I think I’d actually recommend listening to the first season of the podcast first, if you like that, pick up the book. I, like many others, didn’t like the second season as much. I love this idea, but I’m not sure it couldn’t have been executed better.

Currently reading: Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver, When Will It Be Black Future Month by N.K. Jemisin and thinking about whether I can make one more trip to the library before the end of the year…

 

 

I’m late to the party on reading this book, and loving Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I’ve been meaning to read this since I read The New Yorker profile of Adichie. It took me a while to read this one (although I’ve been working on a few other things too), but once I got about half way through I just couldn’t put it down. And now I’m debating when I’ll be able to read some of her other books (my to read list is like 30 books long, at least…).

Adichie’s novel tells the story of a Nigerian woman, Ifemelu, who is living in America as the story opens but is preparing to move back to Nigeria after 15 years away. The story flashes back to teen Ifemelu in Nigeria, and for the first six parts of the novel we spend more of our time seeing her grow up, go to college, get a visa to go to college in America, make a life in America, become a successful blogger, and then make the decision to go back to Nigeria. The final few sections of the book finally take us to Nigeria.

Although I have almost nothing in common with Ifemelu, I had the same problem as I did with The Female Persuasion — wanting to mark every other page of the book to come back to and to write about here. Perhaps because part of the book is set in Philadelphia, a city close to my heart:

[Philadelphia] did not raise the specter of intimidation as Manhattan did; it was intimate but not provincial, a city that might yet be kind to you.

[Disclaimer, Philadelphia might not be that kind to you.] Or, maybe I just really liked Ifemelu, she’s such an intelligent but realistic woman, and I enjoyed see her come into herself (“She had, finally, spun herself fully into being.”).

This is a book that has interesting insights into race and immigration, which are still interesting although I feel like the world, or America at least, has changed tremendously in the last few years. On the race side, Ifemelu’s blog is about being a Non-American Black in America, as she puts it, she wasn’t black until she came to America, race doesn’t mean quite the same thing in Nigeria. Throughout the book we get some excerpts of her blog which I also really enjoyed:

The simplest solution to the problem of race in America? Romantic love. Not friendship. Not the kind of safe, shallow love where the objective is that both people remain comfortable. But real deep romantic love, the kind that twists you and wrings you out and makes you breathe through the nostrils of your beloved. And because that real deep romantic love is so rare, and because American society is set up to make it even rarer between American Black and American White, the problem of race in America will never be solved.

This excerpt from the blog is a bit depressing, although I think rather true; many of the blog excerpts are more sassy.

And well, someone dies off screen in this novel, someone’s mother, and of course that always strikes home for me:

I never thought she would die until she died. Does this make sense? He had discovered that grief did not dim with time; it was instead a volatile state of being. Sometimes the pain was as abrupt as it was on the day [he found out she died] …; other times, he forgot that she had died and would make cursory plans about flying to the east to see her.

I also read N.K. Jemisin’s novel, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, this week, and sadly I must report that while I enjoyed it, it is not nearly as strong as her more recent AMAZING books in The Broken Earth trilogy. These feel purely escapist, and I’m not sure I’ll make time for the rest of this series. But, I do have her newest short story collection in my current stack so I’m looking forward to that.

Currently reading: SO CLOSE to finishing Not that Bad, not sure what novel I’ll start next.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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