Danielle
Welp. This is one majorly depressing read. The book does an excellent job of transporting the reader to 1980s Glasgow, in the home(s) of an alcoholic single mother — and for that reason, I personally didn't find it to be an enjoyable escape. It does an excellent job of getting the reader to feel what it's like to have an alcoholic parent in the poorest parts of the city, and the struggles of drug and alcohol abuse and joblessness in the Thatcher era. You find yourself rooting for Agnes each time she gets sober, all the while with the sinking knowledge it won't last. You find yourself feeling deeply, deeply sad for the queer boy who loves his mother despite it all, maybe because he doesn't fit in anywhere else.
While the story is immersive and compelling, the lower rating is purely because I found it a bit tedious at times;I think it's long and drags on, but that did add to the endless feeling of the cycles of poverty and alcoholism. I found the Glasgowegian vernacular to be almost as difficult to read as it is to hear, but it got easier as the book went along, and certainly added to the authenticity.
This is a collection of nine winding essays that center on the sociopolitical concerns of a complex, reflective, leftist feminist in the wake of the 2016 election.
The best essays, in my opinion, are the the first (“The I in Internet,” an exploration of identity and opinion in the age of social media, the internet's cultural shift from affinity to opposition, and the monolithic platforms that monetize identity and opposition), the third (“Always Be Optimizing,” on how the modern, intelligent woman is de facto subject to insufferable and unattainable beauty ideals), and the last (“I Thee Dread,” a meditation on the author's negative stance on weddings and marriage, through their history as anti-feminist and patriarchal traditions/institutions). I liked these because they reflect my own dissonances, reflections, and the complexity and nuances of feminism and identity generally. These essays resonated, and though I didn't always agree with her conclusions (too alarmist, but that makes sense in a Trump era), they made me think.
The rest felt intellectually over-wrought, too long, and explore well-known territory (at least, for me). I started to get bored as essays devolved more into anthologies of others' works of criticism than anything refreshingly her own.
Overall, this collection proves Tolentino as a respectable intellectual and wonderful writer, and for that, I enjoyed it.
An essential feminist work. I think I would feel more passionately about it if I shared some of Lorde's identity and struggle beyond being a woman. BUT is that not essential to much fo what she argues? That our power is in bonding over our differences rather than letting them divide us?
There are some really powerful essays in here; Lorde's establishment as a black, queer, feminist tour-de-force of her time and years to come is undeniable.
This disturbing gothic novel follows the story of an excessively good-looking young man, the titular Dorian Grey, in British high society. He effortlessly captivates and charms, to the point a painter becomes obsessed with him and painting him. He gives the painting to Dorian, who then sees the portrait change and grow uglier with time the uglier the sins he commits in real life, while his actual body remains youthful and unchanged.
It took me a while to get into this book, possibly due more to life circumstance than the writing itself; that being said, I don't think the writing was immersive or particularly captivating. This novel is a vessel for metaphors, threaded with plenty of (too many?) Oscar Wilde-isms — which, personally, I think are better suited to plays.
I haven't quite dissed out what the book says about art, but personally I think the bulk of critics (she says, having read very few pieces of analysis) have gotten carried away with analysis of the book from a moral standpoint (as in, Dorian never really having to repent for his deeds, or some condoning of hedonism, or of unabashed vanity). But I think the book says a lot more about art: perhaps art as being more reflective of the soul, and of human nature, and of the artist, than life itself. Or something like that.
I listened to this as an audiobook exclusively on the stairstepper, tryna get hyped. It did an okay job of that. Ronda Rousey is definitely a hard-core, badass lady, but we all knew that. What I didn't know is that not far beneath that, she's a sentimental softie with many of the same struggles we all face.
Listening to this as an audiobook was a VERY BAD IDEA. The orator doing the different voices for Heathcliff and Linton and UGH Joseph was just insufferable. Also it was like 12 hours long. I won't lie, by the end I picked it up to 1.75x speed and had to read some SparkNotes for the parts where I got distracted.
I had just finished watching Bridgerton and thirsted for more early 19th century romance and scandal. Alas, Wuthering Heights is not quite that. It's far more gothic and disturbing. And the fact that most of the book is told second-hand through the housekeeper Nellie, while an interesting literary device that leads to an equally interesting conclusion when the narration transitions into real-time, left me feeling unsatisfied. Like, cmon, she really remembered all of those details years and years later, and had the stamina to repeat them? I guess storytelling was the form of entertainment back then, so flourish would be common; so the natural conclusion then is that little of this is to be believed. Unreliable narrator and whatnot.
Maybe I'll revisit this in print sometime later, but I think I prefer the other Brontë sister.
Real Life is a campus coming-of-age story that follows Wallace, a black, queer biochemistry PhD student originally from the South, and a brief cross-section of his life as a grad student at a nondescript Midwestern university. His life is one of real and imposed isolation in what feels like purgatory between the trauma of his childhood and the unknowable expanses of the life that follows grad school.
The way the author portrays the micro aggressions Wallace faces over such a short period of time is as heartbreaking as it is frustrating, infuriating even. As someone who rarely, if ever, experiences that, it's a painful window into an accumulation of hurts. The perfunctory nature of Wallace's day, a head-down feeling, is stippled with big metaphysical dreads, and a beautifully-written but absolutely horrific unveiling of survived trauma.
I thought the book was wonderfully written and an exercise in empathy for what it's like to have a marginalized identity in academia.
What a delightful surprise of a book — a surprise in that I found it on my parents' bookshelf, which I scavenged when I realized I forgot my kindle on a trip home. My parents have a full set of Steinbeck's, including East of Eden and Mice of Men, which I read years back, and Winters of Our Discontent, which didn't quite fit the mood I'm going for. So this book was the last remaining option. Having just gotten a dog myself, I felt drawn to Steinbeck's memoir of driving across America in a trailer with his poodle, Charley.
The book seems to have a serious question: what is America? Which spawns more serious questions about roots, race, politics, urbanization, etc. But the tone, save for a few moments of exquisitely beautiful writing, and a bit of painful experience, was one of lightness with a good helping of dry wit. I didn't expect to chuckle so much. Reading this book, I felt itchy to write in the way great writers make me itch, and also made a list of the states I have yet to visit with renewed vigor to do so. But most importantly, the book was so fun because it was like taking the trip with Steinbeck and his dog without having to travel at all.
This book follows several generations of ex-pat Koreans living in Japan in the 20th century, during a time of sweeping political and industrial change. The narrative begins and ends with a woman named Sunja, a modest, proud, and hard-working Korean woman who moves to Japan before the birth of her first son – she is the sturdy fulcrum of the family, which is an unexpected perspective in a culture that historically did not respect women as such. While the backdrop is one of immense, ongoing suffering, there is an equal hopefulness in the love of family, resilience, and moments of joy. The prose is stoic and deliberate, and the narrative is paced so perfectly that it's hard to believe 50+ years have elapsed by the last chapter.
I learned so much from this book about the tensions between Japanese and Koreans (had no idea!), as well as the cultural traditions surrounding both cultures. Eye-opening stuff. I felt like some of the characters weren't as developed as I wanted them to be, and less-important characters were given too much real estate, while some characters' plot lines weren't neatly tied up. The ending felt a little rushed as well, especially compared to the expert pacing in the rest. But given the scope of the novel, these are minor complaints. Overall, it was a transporting, informational, beautiful read.
I'm tempted to say “everyone should read this book,” with the caveat that someone I followed said “everyone should read this book” and I thought, I'm everyone! .. but I'm also a woman in a society that objectifies women, so...while I think it's super important this macro message reaches a large audience, most of the details certainly won't resonate with those who haven't dealt with objectification or deep-rooted physical insecurities, specifically around bodies. The book is clearly written for women (understandably, as women are more often objectified, held to unreasonable beauty standards, and generally have aesthetic rolled up into our societal worth), though there are mentions towards other genders/identities and I do think the authors did a good job of trying to be inclusive.
Here's the macro message: We are SO much more than bodies. Seems rote to type it out, yet the beauty/weight loss industry is worth BILLIONS of dollars, aimed specifically at women, and you're telling me that's just because beauty is just a fun hobby? Pfft.
This message is CRUCIAL and needs to be proliferated for there to be actual societal change around bodies/appearance as markers of worth. I loved a lot about this book, but mostly that there are actual actionable things we can do in our daily lives, and that we can educate others on in our daily lives, to move the dial forward. Example: complimenting others on weight loss, when you have NO idea what caused it (disease? death of a family member? and ur gunna be like, “congrats your dad died, you look great?” Do we not see how fucked up that is?!?) or the life-diminishing efforts it took to get there. In my personal life, I endeavor to not compliment other women on their haircut/jewelry/outfit as a means of making a personal connection. Those are cheap compliments that perpetuate appearances as indicators of personal value.
I will say, definitively, this should be read by anyone who has any kind of influencing power over young children (teachers, parents, coaches, etc), because the messages that we are bodies first and foremost comes at all angles early on, and the earlier we can all intervene, the better!
REPEAT: THE BODY IS AN INSTRUMENT, NOT AN ORNAMENT. Tattoo that on your fucking soul!!!
I will preface this review by saying I rarely enjoy or learn something new and perspective-changing from business books, and often won't recommend them even to colleagues, so my 5-star rating system as I've defined it is not kind to the genre. Generally speaking, this was a fine book. I think the concept is interesting, and it's been recommended at every product management workshop I've attended. It's broken up into a logical, day-by-day structure that explains exactly how to attack a 5-day sprint to test a prototype and “fail fast” with little consequence. It's illustrated and peppered with helpful real-life examples. But to actually get the time and resource to do this for a prototype is something I can't champion (at least, not at my huge company, and not at my level/experience), and given the book is more or less a step-by-step how-to... it's not especially helpful for me. Who knows, though. Maybe down the line — and then I'll be appreciative I have a copy of this book.
Alice Munro does not disappoint. Each of these stories has such ripe nuance, and perfectly-paced builds, often to unexpected places. Each story features strong women at relationship crossroads, all with backdrops of mortality. Sounds grave when written that way, and I guess these stories are, in a sense, heavy. But more heavy in these nuanced, but relatable internal feelings. I think that's what's so fascinating about these stories to me — those complicated, nuanced feelings. How many more times can I say nuance in this review? What I'm saying is that Alice Munro is a great writer and I enjoyed this collection very much.
When I was younger, I was quite the fan of Alexi. I loved how quirky she was, how different from other female pro runners: unabashedly racing in lace or Spiderman tops (back when she was unsponsored), sporting her signature messy top bun (which I would try to replicate, to my chagrin, as top-knots are not suited to baby-fine, short hair), and pursuing lofty creative and athletic goals concurrently. However, when I actually dove into her creative projects... I don't want to be scathing, because I still really respect her, but eek. I saw Tracktown in a small Boston theater with 3 of my post-collegiate teammates, and we were the only ones there – and yet, we were still writhing with second-hand embarrassment for how upsettingly awkward the whole thing was. And while I appreciate that she shares poetry on social media, her Instagram poetry is... well, Instagram poetry. I personally find it more cutesy than critically good.
So, I had few expectations for this book. I figured I would walk away as I have from any of her other creative pursuits, thinking: “Well, that was not that great. But for a professional runner... meh, not bad.”
But I had a different experience with this book. It's part memoir, part self-help in a way that actually works. I don't feel like I'm the target audience for this book - but not too many years ago, I would have been - and the younger me would have really loved it. Current me liked it, especially as an audiobook that could distract me from some pretty clunky runs. I felt interested and engaged the whole time, and feel like her distinctive voice (both creative voice, and her actual vocal chord voice) lent itself well to this medium. I love how candid she is about mental health, and about her relationship with her mother, her body, and her dreams. It's not often we get books this honest. It's a good read for fellow distance runners, and probably a great read for younger female athletes.
I would categorize this as a fantasy children's book, complete with charming magical creatures of all kinds thought it focuses on an exceptionally normal cube-worker, Linus. He is sent to a remote island as a magical orphanage case worker, and in the process of investigating, finds himself growing attached to children the world has deemed hideous and unworthy of love. This is a truly heart-warming read about the purity of children, about being yourself even in the face of discrimination, about everyone deserving a place they belong, and of course, about love. It's an easy read, and a nice little escape for the winter pandemic blues!
Written from the perspective of a dog, this story follows a race car driver (though, more of his personal life than his career) through a family drama. Had I read this in 5th grade, I would have loved it; it has a dog as the main character and narrator, it has a love story, and tragedy, and triumph, and truisms. But alas, I read this as an adult and couldn't get past that it's incredibly cheesy (sometimes unbearably so – with full-on Harry Potter 7 level of cheesy epilogue), predictable, and frankly just not written all that well. Some sections were so non-nutritive (basically, anything to do with the actual racing of cars... or, when the dog imagines himself testifying at the stand as a witness in his owner's trial.... I mean, cmon) that I skimmed them.
This book is filled with lovely writing that captures the author's awe and respect of the ocean, and his lifelong obsession with surfing. The prose is at once winding and meditative as it is forceful and reckoning, much like waves themselves. Being a (hitherto) lifelong competitive runner, I can also relate to the obsessive dedication to a physical pursuit; however, his nearly scientific knowledge of the ocean, and the terminology of surf culture, and the adventures of various elite beaches across the world was previously wholly unknown to me; so in that way, the book is an invitation into a completely different lifestyle. Each beach, with unique waves that the author describes in great detail, become more than setting, evolving into powerful characters that yet resist anthropomorphism. Yet, I did find myself getting a bit tired of the writing style, which grew more indulgent with each chapter. While each wave is described differently, the prose starts to feel recursive halfway through, I suppose like the waves themselves. Still worth a read, I think, if for nothing else than to read majesty and nuance and depth into what (I, at least) have always considered a bro culture.
The manager that hired me at my current company gave this book to me as a holiday gift. He said that he had read many business books, and few resonate, but this one did. And I'll admit, it is interesting in that the author had an entire team dive into data to figure out how companies went from good – as in, profitable but nothing special – to way out-performing their competitors based on share value. The author then took the findings and reduced them to some graspable concepts, linked together with vignettes from each of the “Good to Great” companies to drive the concepts home.
But in the end, it's still a business book, and therefore, not necessarily fun for me to read, personally.
This is you run-of-the-mill YA, following a teenage girl navigating her crushes, and her twin sister being in a relationship for the first time. I guess it pushes boundaries a bit from when I was in the prime of my middle-school, YA-reading days, in that there are several non-hetero relationships, but other than that, I didn't think that the writing was particularly good, or the plot particularly compelling.
This one starts slow, and doesn't follow the traditional essay structure of Sedaris's other work, but once you get past the first few years (in which he's clearly in the early stages of finding his voice), this book is such a delight. I heard him do a reading from bits of it, or perhaps the next installment, at a theater in Boston, and I was cracking up the whole time. Sedaris has such a knack for pulling the absurd and hilarious out of the everyday; he sees the world as this cast of crazy, but still loveable, characters, and that's a fun frame in which to live one's life. It inspired to me to want to write a similar kind of diary, cataloguing less the thoughts and feelings that plague me, and more the weird joys and oddities in the world and ourselves.
“One of the most salient features of our culture is that there is so much bullshit. Everyone knows this. Each of us contributes his share. But we tend to take the situation for granted. Most people are rather confident of their ability to recognize bullshit and to avoid being taken in by it. So the phenomenon has not aroused much deliberate concern, nor attracted much sustained inquiry. In consequence, we have no clear understanding of what bullshit is, why there is so much of it, or what functions it serves.”
This book serves to pull apart what bullshit is, from its etymology, to its relationship to truth and its difference from lying, to the purpose it serves us. It's philosophical, but not dense, and interesting in that I hadn't though much about what bullshit is prior to this reading (which, I guess, bullshitters rarely do), despite the fact that I readily dole it out (...) and often feel like I'm on the receiving end of it. Generally speaking, we throw around words a lot without considering the nuance of their function and meaning, so this was a fun exercise in diving into a word. Plus, isn't it a bit meta to write a whole damn essay on the meaning of bullshit?
Who would think that such beauty could come from a YouTube clip of an NBA game from the 1980s? That one freeze-frame of a dunk shot could generate a meditation on breath, family, trees, history, oceans, gratitude, hope? Ross, a “docent in the museum of black pain,” seamlessly brings together a whole slew of emotion and breathlessness, that feeling of falling when “witnessing/the unwitnessable, the way/ we do so often these days” — but the poem never gives up, and the falling is reimagined as flight, and we are encouraged to breathe even if we are breathless. Dang. Great read.
These poems were just okay; I didn't find anything new, interesting, subversive, playful, or especially beautiful about any of them. None really knocked me out, but “The Almost Death” came close. I do love the sentence, powerful in truncation: “are you/not/alive?” It's a reminder worth repeating. Also the cover art is absolutely stunning!
I wasn't sure what this would be when I bought it for my dad as a Christmas gift (yes, yes, sometimes I read books I give as gifts before I give them, but only because my dad takes years to read so give me a break, okay??). I thought it might be a memoir, or something, and that could be fun, as in my experience, comedians write pretty funny memoirs. Turns out, it's just every (or most of the?) jokes that's he's written/performed over his career. The way they're structured are almost like poems – the way they are broken up mimics the pacing of verbal delivery – which, indeed, does add to the comedic effect once you get used to it. Some of these I'd heard, some of them I hadn't, but the time reading: time laughing ratio made this a good time.
Pre-reading this brief review, please accept my disclaimer that there is a lot to unpack in this book that, due to trying to hit some lofty year-end reading goals, I have not taken the time to unpack. The novel follows the story of a mid-twenties black woman in NYC, struggling to establish herself professionally, personally, treading water and fighting a current of racism, sexism, and orphanhood. She ends up dating an older man in an open marriage, and finds herself, in a strange (and hardly believable) twist of events, living in their home with their adopted black teenage daughter. While I found many aspects of the plot so unbelievable as to border magical realism, the language was absolutely seductive in a hazy, trancelike way, replete with references any millennial would appreciate. Both in theme and in the actual writing itself, I can see why this tops the lists of some of the best fiction of the year.
