Julia

So this would have been a solid 3-star rating from me, but then Horsman shares at the end a really interesting tidbit of history on which the plot is based. Hip hip hooray for wild women swimming boldly against the current of their time in history, whether now or in medieval France. Aside from this fun historical inspiration, this is just a solid romance novel. The heroine is captured with more and better nuance than her lover, but there's more than enough other elements that keep the plot moving swiftly: accusations of witchcraft! cesspools of corruption and hidden violence in the hierarchy of the Catholic church! complex sibling rivalry! A good read.

Yeah, yeah. I know. But it's a series! I can't not finish a series! Besides, the tortured love plot that picked up in the second book continued here, and that, believe me, was a good thing. I think, although I'll probably re-read all of them at some I-need-a-break-from-grad-school point, this is the one I'd be most likely to come back to, and I've read the 4th one now as well. Review on that coming shortly.

A friend sent me this, and I felt so seen when it arrived and the blurb on the bottom of the cover is, “Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space!”! Totally my jam! I've been doing this a lot lately, but this book might become a 4-star review later. It's not yet because my feelings are currently about the end (don't worry, no spoilers here), which I understand is both PERFECT and also SAD and I am leaning into SAD WHYYYYYY right now. Muir is laugh-out-loud funny as a writer, especially with her dialogue full of zingers (I didn't know I needed a just-post-adolescence protagonist who makes the occasional well-timed “That's what she said” joke, but I did!), and this book is clever, poignant, and campy in excellent proportions. I could have used a little less plot complexity (bones, so many ways of using bones, sometimes in ways that are hard to transmit the visual idea of via writing) for more explication of Gideon's very complicated relationship with her peer/dictator/it's complicated Harrowhark, although the (SAD) ending still rang true. Will read the 2nd for sure, but will give myself time to get over the ending first.

(Still thinking about this weeks later! My feelings are less hurt by the ending. 4 stars!)

Joiner does a very capable job summarizing our empirical knowledge about risk factors for suicide, and manages to pivot toward treatment implications toward the end. I appreciated his synthesis of various kinds of research (much correlational, given the topic, so he also adequately addresses the limitations of such data), and found this to be easy to read. The main reason I didn't enjoy it more is that he wrote way more defensively about his interpersonal theory of suicidality (that learned capacity for lethal self-injury, perceived burdensomeness, and thwarted belongingness are each necessary but not sufficient in isolation for suicidal behavior) than I think he needed to. He's an expert in the field, and I'm not aware of any major pushback about the theory. The data speaks for itself, so I didn't need to be given such a hard sell.

If stars were based on reading time, this would be 5; I accidentally polished it off in one sitting last night. It hums along at a nice, quick clip, both the heroine and her lover are a little dark and stormy but not obnoxiously so, and the plot is clever - I didn't see the end coming, but also didn't get the feeling that it was because it was wildly implausible, either. Good heat in the sex scenes, although I could have stood for one or two more! The 1930s setting is interesting, as there's some “modern woman” talk sprinkled throughout that I liked. My one quibble, which grew as I kept reading, was that many of the details feel “historical fiction,” but the dialogue didn't, with a few notable exceptions (e.g., “pros” for prophylactics/condoms) that actually make the rest of the language stand out more. Obviously, I have no real idea what people sounded like in the 1930s, but there was some very modern-sounding conversation that distracted from the otherwise immersive setting of Hollywood that Quick created. Actually! Another quibble. Both of the protagonists had intuition that was described as sort of paranormal, but it's almost like Quick didn't commit to that idea. I would rather she had just left it as very deft interpersonal awareness, or amped it up to more actual magical realism.

My aunt gave me this Granta as a joke (be sure to look at the cover for the full title) after a very enjoyable conversation on extended family dynamics. The issue was...less enjoyable just because the first two pieces are difficult to read because of how acutely they hew to the subtitle. Mikal Gilmore's essay about his brother who died by firing squad and Sappho Durrell's diaries (she later died by suicide; I'm not sure I want to revisit her dad's Alexandria Quartet now) were two very different but very adept portrayals of intense psychological pain. Oh! Plus later a story of a family of four that dies by roadside fire. Yeesh. There are some great photography series in other parts, and a story by Gregory Wolff (older brother of Tobias) is a palate cleanser at the end, but overall, this felt really uninterruptedly heavy to read. Not bad; just consider yourself forewarned should you ever come across it.

This little book isn't strictly clinical, but is written by a psychologist and largely overlaps with his other great Kaizen book, One Small Step Can Change Your Life, hence my categories. Dr. Maurer's insight is really helpful to read after having a managerial role for a year, and heading into a new one now; I hadn't had this thought before, but there is a lot about Kaizen in the workplace that dovetails beautifully with Alison Green's approach on Ask a Manager, which is such a beacon of workplace sanity in late-stage capitalism. To summarize, which risks making this approach to personal and professional excellence sound less sophisticated and wise than it is, using Kaizen principles entails always looking for the smallest steps and most sustainable approaches to change, which is both psychologically healthy for individuals and the larger ecosystem of workplaces, and how to maintain gains over time. It's the opposite of “disruption,” and I wish a lot more people had the patience and long-range vision to utilize these principles. I'm certainly going to be trying to.

UGH! This novel cured me, albeit I'm sure only temporarily, of my streak of romances. There was just so much to dislike! London leaned way too heavily into the “look at the man from Scotland trying to adjust to big city London” (I will admit that Outlander raised my awareness about just how much British bullshit gets directed toward Scotland, in addition to, ya know, their history of colonialist violence), and as a result, the Highlander just appears dumb as a rock. I didn't love the chemistry between him and Ellen, and SHE is a piece of work. I suppose her betrayal and his forgiveness is supposed to show us how love conquers all, but her moment of reckoning rings false, and it's not comprehensible why exactly he finds her behavior excusable given that she never even really gave a good apology! Color me frustrated, and it was bad enough that I'm not sure I'd try this author again.

Okay, the amount of Philippa Gregory I read is officially embarrassing. I have nothing to say in my defense except that a friend got two copies for Christmas, and gave her extra to me. This might actually be my favorite so far. Gregory always does a great job with multiple narrators, and here, two of the three narrators are the wives of Henry VIII whom the least is known about: Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard. It being the Tudor court, there's plenty of dirt, and it's a quick, easy read. I tore through it on during the flights to and from my interview at Kansas, continually telling myself that people in airports weren't giving me skeptical looks about my literary leanings.

Consider me entertained. I would argue that there was so much mystery in the beginning that how the plot was unfolding felt a little inexplicable, followed by too much exposition nearer the end to compensate for the earlier choice. I'm ambivalent about the criticism of the element of coercion in some of the sexual scenes I've read in reviews- this wouldn't be my first choice for a younger teen for that reason, for example, but I also think Maas counterbalanced that element with something that is also important: Feyre is clearly written as having her own desire and sexual agency (when circumstances don't constrain it), and those things are important, too. Another thing she succeeds at is that I really don't buy when romantic and/or sexual attraction is based in a too-flimsy manner on one character's immortality or magical status (and recently read a vampire romance novel I disliked for this very reason); the heat between the protagonist and her primary interest here felt more genuinely about chemistry not related to who was High Fae. ANYWAY, this is altogether too much thinking for a book that I would clearly define as a pleasure read! And I asked my friendly local bookstore owner to keep the next in the series behind the counter for me, so there's that.

My goodness, what a gift this book is. I heard Sara present last year, when I was living in an urban area surrounded by rural areas, and have since moved to rural area...surrounded by other rural areas. I re-read this cover-to-cover, and it is just a wealth of information, practical tips (especially about how to approach the ethical dilemmas unique to rural health care), and food for thought. Sara writes clearly, compassionately, intelligently, and with great humility about her work (her gift for therapy shines through regardless - or because of! - that humility). She mentioned when presenting that she tried to write the book she wished she had had when she started rural practice, and she absolutely succeeded. Anyone practicing mental health in or near a rural community should read this important book.

Funnily enough, I don't particularly care for several of the poems that Boland is most famous for. However, this is one of those rare cases where the quotes on the outside of the book from reviewers are spot on...in particular, the one that mentioned “its serpentine strategy of memoir lifted into epiphany.” How true! Take the care poets give to each word in a poem, and multiply that into a novel. Some of the prose is just fantastically beautiful. Of course, Boland's struggles with reconciling her gender's history as the object of Irish poetry with her own attempts to create new poetic objects is also incredibly interesting from a feminist standpoint. It always makes me hopeful to read about intelligent women who truly own their feminisms.

Less stars because, sometimes, it is a little slow. I wished the parts where I felt absolutely engrossed in the beauty of her musings were closer together via some careful editing. Still, if you have any interest in feminism, poetry, or Ireland, a thought-provoking read.

I suspect (and hope!) that the lifelong impact Dr. Nieto's work will have on me will be staggering - working through what she conveys has honestly felt a bit seismic. Dr. Nieto brings art of all forms (poetry, song, folklore, even vivid descriptions of movies) to the work of liberation, with a developmental, holarchical framework that is quite different from many more intellectualized (not more intellectual, just more intellectualized) approaches to anti-oppression (which she argues is a part of, but more narrow than, liberation), yet also deepened my understanding of and ability to work on myself within and through those other frameworks. It feels like a disservice to try to give examples of the model in action in an abbreviated medium, but I'll try: one thing that has stuck with me is Dr. Nieto's deft analysis of the intersection of systemic and interpersonal power, and how looking for both at once can enable us to better articulate why some anti-liberation arguments (like people who ask “What about reverse racism?”) happen and how to respond to them. Another is building tolerance for long-term anti-oppression work. She gently and incisively points out how unwillingness to acknowledge that most of us will revert to less skilled behavior when stressed or threatened perpetuates this behavior and inhibits growth, and how to be patient with this recursive process of growth. I don't know! Even reading what I just wrote, I'm like, “Just get the book!” or read Dr. Nieto in her own words! The only thing I should note is that I've taken a continuing education seminar with Dr. Nieto, and experienced her consultation work in a professional organization I belong through, and her approach, which includes tremendous expertise in psychodrama and experiential work, really springs to life live as opposed to in writing. I think I benefitted from “hearing” her as I read. The book is plenty powerful on its own, but if you ever have the chance to hear her speak, don't miss it.

Meh. I think Petra is a great name for a heroine, but not much else (aside from her relationship with her two besties) was particularly compelling. There are some odd plot gaps (like Petra & her love interest have lived two blocks apart in London for years, but don't start regularly running into each other until doing so moves the plot forward), and what could have been a really interesting element to the book, which is that Petra is a suffragette and said love interest is initially “staunchly” opposed to women using their lady brains to vote, but they don't ever even have a real conversation about it!

(Spoiler alert)

Instead his mind is changed by his embittered French former mistress??? I don't get that choice. The sex scenes themselves are fine, I suppose, but because of plot-related issues, there's almost no erotic tension. I don't think I would avoid the other 2 in this series, exactly, but I wouldn't seek them out, either.

Well, I have to say, I liked this book a lot more than I thought I would, plus Martin writes for feministing, my fave feminist blog of all time. (And, since this is going to be wordy, I would recommend it to any female friend, just because the subject matter is SO important and Martin writes well.). I first read an excerpt of it in an issue of Bitch from last summer, and got extremely annoyed when Martin lumped in “hot yoga” as one of the things this new generation of crazily perfectionist girls do as manifestations of their not-quite-full-blown-but-certainly-borderline-disordered-eating. Being a hot yoga teacher, I know from my own experience and those from other women I practice with that, if the owners of the studio and the teachers in it are committed to the authentic practice of yoga (accepting all things, your body included, as they are), then yoga works against the culture of thinness achieved at any cost.

That specific example aside, overall the book was an interesting analysis of body-loathing as our generation (meaning slightly younger than Generation X and Y, I suppose) experiences it. There are some tangents I think she should have skipped; for example, race is not adequately explored in her musings on hip-hop culture, although it is in her discussions of socioeconomic status. On the other hand, I think her exploration of what it meant to have a generation of supermoms raising us who STILL had to do a majority of the housework is incisive and fresh. The father chapter is particularly interesting.

God, this is a long-ass review. My final point, I guess, is not really a criticism per se, because although I wish the book had gone into this in more depth, that it didn't gave me more of a chance to think about my own ideas...maybe it's the yoga, but Martin introduces the idea very early that this drive for perfectionism leaves many talented, smart, motivated young women with emptiness at their core. I immediately thought, “That's because we're lacking in spiritual experiences!”, but Martin didn't address that until near the end of the book. I think a lot of what yoga has to offer, as does much of Eastern thinking, practice, and philosophy, is what we lack. At one point Martin talks about a therapist telling her weight-obsessed friend that “you are not your body,” but that misses the entire point. Women are a multiplicity of things, certainly, many of which are not visible in the mirror. To say, “I feel fat,” however, with the obvious implication that fat = bad, is in fact tantamount to saying, “I feel bad about myself,” an ugly sentiment indeed. The parsing and disassociation (“It's not me, it's just my body”) makes it even easier for women to mentally segregate, loathe, surgically alter, abuse, and occasionally starve the bodies upon which our earthly existence depends. Instead of denying our critical need to unify mind and body (tellingly, yoga means union in Sanskrit–specifically between the body and mind), the solution lies in compassion, starting first with ourselves. We ARE our bodies, as much as we our brilliant minds, and we need to love our bodies and minds as that–our own precious, impermanent resources in this lonely world.

I'll get off my soapbox now. Read the book.

This was so great!!!! Szalavitz weaves together elements of memoir, a truly astounding synthesis of decades of research on addiction, and American cultural history of our long and racist series of wars on drugs. She then uses this tapestry to make the very compelling argument that addiction is best understood as a learning disorder, and translates that understanding into what our drug policy should look like. It's just a really excellent piece of work. There are wild details of personal history (the first time she did heroin was with the Grateful Dead), deservedly pointed social critiques, and huge amounts of compassion for people struggling. I really appreciate Szalavitz' insights as they relate to my current work setting, but this feels like an important book for most people interested in people to read. My one quibble is that I would have loved more citations for the huge volume of research she cites - she does a great job translating for the general public, but it would also be nice to be able to see more quickly what work she's referring to when.

Ehhhh. This was a lending library find through which I discovered that I do not care for vampire romance novels! I read the Twilight series one million years ago not too long after they came out, and found them amusing while also exasperating, and reading this made me realize there are probably some standard elements to this genre that just don't do it for me. Mainly this: I am happy that there are fictional characters out there having mind-blowing sex with vampires. But it honestly feels like a little bit of a “deus ex machina” for the erotic tension: the chemistry! It's amazing! Because they're immortal! I am sure this is exactly why some people find this a really appealing fantasy genre, but I find it more fun when people end up building the sexual energy without the help of...sparkles. The “rogue vampire” plot of this one also was so clearly part of a multi-novel arc that it felt more anticlimactic than suspenseful. I will say I like the character of Mrs. Wiggles the cat.

Borrowed this from the library where I work. I think there are two really helpful things about this book: 1) it's easy to find information on income inequality online, but wealth inequality is a bigger concept, so I appreciated the longitudinal view of how things like income inequality play out over time and across generations; and 2) this was a great survey of the actual legislative oppression that accompanies other forms of discrimination (e.g., I will never not be angry about the blatant highway robbery of the Dawes Act). I would both be interested in and afraid of what a current update to their statistics would look like, as I'm not sure if anything has changed since this was written, let alone for the better. Which I guess means this is still an important piece of scholarship!

I read this with two colleagues in a consultation group we have for serving our transgender and gender fluid patients, and we all have an interest in and varying levels of experience with psychoanalytic theory. I wish I had liked this better, and surely part of that relates to the fact that I'm more psychodynamically/attachment-oriented than psychoanalytically inclined (my idiosyncratic definition of that is I typically get more out of Winnicott than Lacan, for example). Sometimes Gherovici's writing seemed intentionally obtuse, but not in a fun, Judith Butler-esque way, and I really wish she had linked her theorizing more explicitly with her clinical work throughout. She has a great write-up of a fascinating course of psychoanalysis at the end, but for me, it came too little, too late.

Hmm. This book was okay. Which I really feel like is damning with faint praise when it comes from a reader like me, who has a high tolerance for the type of “higher brow” chick lit that gets sold on the front table of airport bookstores. There's the potential for an interesting plot, but that really gets bungled by the fact that Edwards' characters all turn out to be martyrs, and not even martyrs who are all that different from one another. And I guess I don't really believe in martyrs who don't have martyr complexes, so I ended up not feeling a ton (or a tiny bit) of sympathy for the pathos they all endure. There were parts that were compelling, but whenever I finish a book mostly out of obligation (and the desperate, irrational hope that things will turn awesome in the last 100 pages), I feel like that's a bad sign. I guess that means I have a book-finishing-martyr-complex.

I read this a million years ago, when it was new, but my ambivalent experience with “Freedom” left me wanting to refresh my memory–am I not a Franzen fan, or just not a “Freedom” fan?

Upon re-reading, it became clear that my problem was “Freedom,” not Franzen (my, isn't this is an alliterative review). “The Corrections” was everything I wanted it to be–zany, painfully precise in its portraits of the characters (I swear I will stop with the alliteration), but compassionate towards all their inelegant fumblings.

Anyway, who doesn't love a good family drama (said the psychologist)?

I am...very much still processing this! The bookstore employee told me he thought I'd like it when I picked it up, and I asked what his impression was. He said, “Well, for the first half, you're just going to be like, ‘What the fuck is happening??',” and he was almost correct, except it was more like the first two-thirds. I would describe this as a punishing read! But I'm aware it's intentionally so: Harrow the Ninth is like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind crossed with Memento, crossed with A Memory Called Empire. I cannot imagine a better representation of the chaos of someone frantically running from grief. And then Gideon reappears and I have never been more relieved to reencounter a fictional character. I need a break before reading Nona the Ninth, but damn does Muir swing for the fences.

I know, I know, it won the Pulitzer. And there were parts of the book I absolutely adored. HOWEVER, I think it could have been a hundred pages shorter with some incisive editing, and that would have kept me turning pages like mad, instead of what actually happened, which was that I'd get really into it for a couple chapters, and then get lost in a comic book tangent. But that's just me. Overall, entertaining.

I finished this a few days ago, and was going to give it a 4-star review, but how much I keep thinking about it and how many times I've recommended it tells me it's really 5 stars for me! This is...just an epic space opera! I think part of the reason it also resonated so much with me right now started with the dedication: “This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever fallen in love with a culture that was devouring their own.” I've been reading/thinking a lot about modernity and its perils recently, and Martine has a lot to say about culture, how it defines us and others, self-perpetuates, but also self-destructs. There's just so much stuff here about selfhood as well - what is memory, what parts of it are shared and what cannot be, and what do our stories mean to us. I haven't ordered her second book yet, but certainly will.

Liked it. Didn't love it. But quick and deft and a little bit (occasionally a lot bit) sappy, which sometimes is exactly what I want to read.