This book wrecked me in the best possible way. In Here After, Amy Lin writes about her husband’s death at the tragic age of 32, their relationship befThis book wrecked me in the best possible way. In Here After, Amy Lin writes about her husband’s death at the tragic age of 32, their relationship before and her journey into grief afterward. She captures scenes and emotions so well, writing about the moments she and Kurtis shared together throughout their relationship, to when she learned about his death, to the pain-ridden moments that comprised her existence following his passing. By page 29 I already felt sucker punched in the stomach and a couple of passages had already made me tear up. She writes in a short vignette style and her ability to render specific memories of their relationship, like little slices of conversation, tore my heart up. Some may describe her writing as choppy though I think it worked in this memoir and represented the consciousness of someone going through an awful, raw, real tragedy. She depicted Kurtis’s loving and larger-than-life personality so well; I felt like I got a real sense of him as a person.
One of my favorite elements of this memoir was how Lin asserted her right to be sad. With grief, sometimes the aftermath is just horrible and painful and morose. You don’t need to try to make it happy or put a positive spin on it. A tragedy can be a tragedy and it’s important to make space for those feelings.
I also appreciated Lin’s honesty throughout Here After. I liked her candid self-characterization as the more prickly or “petty” romantic partner compared to Kurtis. She writes about her own insecurities in their relationship and how she feared him leaving her, which I think takes guts to put on the page. She’s real about many parts of the grieving process, such as how after Kurtis’s death she spent time with one of his closest friends, and then this friend ghosted her with no explanation.
In sum, I absolutely loved this. Reading Here After, I felt immersed in Lin’s emotional landscape while also feeling compassion for the tragedies and losses I’ve experienced in my own life. Great representation of an Asian couple though of course it's so freaking tragic. A stunner of a debut....more
Wow, what an absolute stunner of a novel that could not be more relevant to our times. Evil Eye follows Yara, a Palestinian American woman who grew upWow, what an absolute stunner of a novel that could not be more relevant to our times. Evil Eye follows Yara, a Palestinian American woman who grew up in a conservative and emotionally tumultuous family in Brooklyn, New York. Flash forward and she’s working at a local university teaching art, while at the same time raising her two school-aged daughters and doing the majority of the household chores while her husband focuses on his job. Yara is discontent with the makeup of her life, however, it’s not until she responds to a racist comment made by one of her coworkers that her emotions of disappointment and despair start to fester to a boiling point. Yara begins seeing a therapist and the difficult journey of unpacking her memories that are so dreadfully shaking her to her core.
I loved this book. Loved it. First, Etaf Rum’s writing is immaculate. Not flashy, and so compulsively readable and so clear and concise. The prose didn’t get in the way of the story and in fact conveyed Yara’s emotional state with immense clarity and heart – her post-traumatic stress disorder, her depression and anxiety, and all the intergenerational and present-day racism and sexism that contributed to her mental health. I flew through about 200 pages of this novel last night because I felt so invested in Yara, and Rum’s writing, similar to her debut A Woman is No Man, was enthralling in its simple effectiveness.
The depiction of mental health in this novel got me floored. I was shaking, and by the end I was in near tears too! The way Rum described intergenerational trauma and how Yara’s mother was both a victim of and perpetrator of abuse, whew I was emotional. And Yara’s long, arduous journey of learning how to stop blaming herself for other people’s mistreatment of her, of opening up to her friend Silas and her therapist(s), and of starting to actually sit with the physical sensations of her body and self-regulate all made me both devastated and proud of her. Even writing this review makes tears come to my eyes because as a PTSD survivor Yara’s fight for her life is relatable to me, though of course we come from different backgrounds even though we share immigrant parents displaced by war.
All in all, one of my top books of this year and that I’ve read in my life. Rum does such a fantastic job of portraying the micro and macroaggression Yara experiences, as well as her use of journaling and coming into her own voice to heal. Yara’s friendship with Silas and how friendship acts as a conduit for Yara’s healing, increased self-compassion, and learning to open up to other people had me near tears. Also, the portrayals of therapy were excellent, top-notch, so thoughtfully written without sacrificing either the momentum of the plot or what therapy actually looks like. Etaf Rum, you have my whole heart!
Also, this book came out in March of this year (2023), and unfortunately is so relevant. In the novel Yara’s grandparents were displaced from Palestine by Israel’s colonial oppression, which is literally what is happening right now. Here are some actions you can take to advocate for a ceasefire. While it’s already way too late for thousands of people, we need to take action to *prevent* intergenerational trauma, not just provide care for people after the trauma happens. You can also read The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine by Jewish historian Ilan Pappe if you want to educate yourself on the matter. I’m appreciative of Rum for speaking out about this on her café’s Instagram. FYI, if you leave an oppressive remark about my pro-Palestine, anti-genocide stance in the comments, that’s whatever, I probably just won’t reply. Anyway, this book was spectacular and I don’t want to divert from that, I just felt it’d be disingenuous not to comment on the genocide happening in Palestine now....more
Oh wow you all, this gusty searing novel has saved 2023 for me. Post-Traumatic follows Vivian, a Black Latinx lawyer who advocates for mentally ill paOh wow you all, this gusty searing novel has saved 2023 for me. Post-Traumatic follows Vivian, a Black Latinx lawyer who advocates for mentally ill patients at a psychiatric hospital in New York City. Even though she seems ambitious and put-together on the outside, in private she struggles with intrusive memories and overwhelming emotions from her dark and difficult childhood. For years Vivian coped with these difficult thoughts and feelings through obsessive infatuations with men, relentless dieting, dark humor, and smoking weed with her best friend Jane. But when Vivian takes a scary, bold step in relation to her family, all the other parts of her life start to crumble, forcing her to decide just how much she wants to try and heal from her past.
This freaking book. So sad, so dark, and yet so funny at the same time. Vivian, our protagonist, makes the wittiest observations. The book’s official blurb accurately describes Chantal Johnson’s prose as “razor-sharp” which makes Vivian’s humor land like that of a lovingly neurotic yet self-aware friend. Vivian is so problematic throughout most of the novel too; she constantly compares herself to other women and critiques other women’s bodies (even while fiercely identifying with feminist politics on an intellectual level) and does everything she can to appeal to the (often white) male gaze. I imagine readers will feel frustrated with her, like with this passage: “Vivian felt rapturous in Matthew’s bed, high on a drug that couldn’t be bought, only earned: oxytocin! His attention gave her permission to exist. She was desperate not to lose it.” And yet, she’s such a compelling character and Johnson’s writing is so precise I couldn’t stop reading. As a reference point, Vivian’s wit is similar to that of the television show character Fleabag.
I marked over ten passages where I either laughed out loud or smiled and giggled to myself. Here’s one from page 14, when Vivian reflects on not receiving male attention:
“Ambiguity, though central to aesthetic greatness, was horrifying in real life. When a man inflicted it upon you in a romantic context, it highlighted his cowardice and your abjection. They did it casually, like flinging a toddler into a body of water and walking away, insisting calmly that it will swim. Huey Lewis was right, man – if loss of interest is inevitable, just get it over with and leave me, already.”
(The “flinging a toddler into a body of water” literally made me lol. So good, and there are so many other examples!)
At the same time, Chantal Johnson does an excellent job of showing how Vivian’s problematic, women-hating and self-hating tendencies stem from her trauma. Through vivid flashbacks and non-sentimentally heart wrenching conversations with the people in her life, we see how Vivian has suffered through her constantly critical mother and her constantly critical mother’s abusive boyfriends, her sibling who died and her currently-living sibling who faces severe mental illness exacerbated by anti-Black racism, and her attempts to set boundaries and how her family tries to trespass them anyway. All of these personal stressors intersect with Vivian’s identity as a Black Latinx woman residing in the United States. Again, Johnson really shows Vivian’s hypervigilance and the dysfunctional ways she tries to protect herself. I felt right there with her, entertained by her wit while also hoping and hoping for her healing.
And the best part: there is hope at the end of this story, and Vivian does grow as a person. She hits her rock bottom and decides to pursue therapy and make amends with her best friend. Also, can I just say as a former recipient and current provider of therapy, the therapy scenes in this book are so freaking well-written! You may think that an author writing about a character talking to another person about her feelings would be boring, but Johnson’s prose is so impressively taut that she makes those scenes feel so alive and gripping. I’m so grateful that Johnson didn’t just portray Vivian’s suffering and that this book can join the slowly growing set of books that describe therapy both accurately and enthrallingly, like the memoirs What My Bones Know and I’m Glad My Mom Died.
Anyway, wow, 2023 really made me wait for over a month for a five-star read and yet it feels so worth it. As a survivor of trauma and PTSD I resonated with Vivian a lot, not all the specifics of course but the planning, perfectionism, and emotion dysregulation – I’ve been there too! Some of those therapy scenes felt lifted right from when I sat on my first long-term therapist’s couch circa 2015-2017, lol. Johnson disclosed about coming from a violent home in an interview and I’m so grateful to her for writing this book. I wouldn’t be surprised if other PTSD survivors feel the same. Vivian has already secured her place as one of my favorite protagonists ever: her sharp wit, her big heart, and her growth. I get teary-eyed and feel warm and hopeful just thinking about her....more
One of the best works of fiction I have ever read. I cried reading it in my office, whisper-screamed “omg” about it on my couch, and raved about it toOne of the best works of fiction I have ever read. I cried reading it in my office, whisper-screamed “omg” about it on my couch, and raved about it to my friends over FaceTime and Zoom. As a brief plot summary, The Lowland starts out with two brothers living in Calcutta, Subhash, who moves to the United States to attain his doctorate, and Udayan, who joins the Naxalite movement, a rebellion to eliminate inequity and poverty. When Udayan’s involvement in the movement get riskier and more dangerous, the consequences of his actions reverberate across the lives of Subhash and their parents, Gauri, Udayan’s newly pregnant wife, as well as generations to come. I want to do this book justice so I will describe the four main reasons I loved it so much.
Reasons 1 and 2: Jhumpa Lahiri’s characters and her writing. It’s hard to separate these reasons because they feel so intertwined. When it comes to her characters, Lahiri just gets it. She captures people’s core desires and insecurities, often about connection and belonging, and lays them bare on the page. To accomplish this, she uses such restrained and unadorned prose that feels both soothing and immensely precise, like a wire pulled tight and ready for release.
To fanboy her writing with more depth, I feel like Lahiri masters showing and not telling. She writes about such nuanced family dynamics, like, oh, this character has abandonment issues because of her parents, or, this character misses when his daughter had been more dependent on him. Instead of announcing any of these dynamics though, she shows it to us, with writing that feels both effortless and skilled. I felt such deep care for Subhash, Gauri, and Bela, flaws and all. Because of Lahiri’s prose, I felt these characters’ emotions on my skin and in my heart, as if they were my own.
Reason 3: Lahiri also does an excellent job of showing how one moment in time or one movement in history can alter the course of several people’s lives in ineluctable ways. While that sentiment may sound obvious, like, duh, moments in time affect people later on, Lahiri renders this idea in through the lives of her characters with great poignancy and precision. Given Lahiri’s attention to detail in the historical events she portrays and in how she writes about her characters, each development in her characters’ lives felt even more quietly momentous because we can see the past behind each new event. She also captures how forces such as heteronormativity and women’s restricted autonomy because of patriarchy affect people’s decisions in heartbreaking ways.
Reason 4: On a personal note, as the child of Vietnamese refugees to the United States, I feel like reading this book helped me develop a deeper empathy for my parents than I ever had before while still holding them accountable for the ways they failed me. While I can’t speak to the experience of Indian people specifically, I often feel like parents who are immigrants or refugees are so often portrayed as one of two extremes, either as backward in their ideas and beliefs (e.g., “tiger parents”) or as all-sacrificing super humans. In The Lowland, Jhumpa Lahiri casts these characters as human, with both imperfections and considerable resiliency, to survive even through upheaval and displacement.
I feel so thankful to Jhumpa Lahiri for this book. One, for a phenomenal story and her beautiful writing. Two, I know this book has changed my life and perspective for the better. Such is the power of fiction, and in this case The Lowland specifically.
Also, for those who have already read the book, I want to describe a few scenes that I fanboyed the freak out about. There are dozens that evoked great emotion from me though to name a few:
(view spoiler)[When Subhash and Bela come back to visiting Rhode Island and realize that Gauri left, and Lahiri describes that Gauri’s mind had saved her and gave her the ability to escape in contrast to Subhash’s mother, I DIED. Then when Gauri comes back to visit Subhash and encounters Bela instead, that whole exchange left me on the FLOOR, like every single piece of dialogue and description I screamed, that whole exchange felt amazing and devastating. My favorite moment of the book though, without a doubt, is when Subhash tells Bela about Udayan and then their conversation on the phone when Bela stills call him “Baba” and Lahiri writes “He had heard her. He’d heard her still calling him this” and THEN she writes “After she became a mother, she told Subhash it made her love him more, knowing what he’d done” I CRIED. I literally cried in my office, the way Lahiri built up the tension of Subhash’s secret the whole novel and then released it with such spare and powerful prose, oh my freaking goodness Lahiri wrecked me in the best possible way. The love between Subhash and Bela. Wow literally just leave me lying on the floor because I’ll be crying there forever whenever I think of this book. So, so satisfying. (hide spoiler)]...more
This is the best young-adult book I have read since Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, and I loved Picture Us in the LightThis is the best young-adult book I have read since Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, and I loved Picture Us in the Light even more than Ari and Dante. I cried for several minutes after reading the last page; I felt like my heart had been overrun by emotion in the best way. This is the book I wish I could give to my younger gay, Asian American self and the book I will promote with all of my heart until the day I die. Picture Us in the Light has everything I could ever want in a novel: queer representation, Asian American representation, complex characters full of love and suffering, nuanced portrayals of friendship, family, mental health, and so much more.
The story follows Danny Cheng, a high school senior who just got accepted with a full scholarship to RISD, the art college of his dreams. Life looks good for Danny after his acceptance, yet he finds it hard to impossible to imagine a life without his best friend Harry Wong by his side. Harry and Danny are closer than close, and their lives are brought even closer by a tragedy that rocked their high school a year ago. Now, Danny can't help but wonder if Harry really loves his girlfriend, Regina Chan. On top of all of this, Danny begins to learn the truth behind his parents' past. He experiences a series of realizations that will make him question everything he has ever known about his parents, his family's safety, and his own sense of belonging - to anyone, to himself.
Reading Picture Us in the Light felt like having my dream book delivered straight into my hands, followed by its characters taking residence in my heart and never leaving. The novel has an almost entirely Asian American cast, with three-dimensional portrayals that avoid stereotypes and felt painfully accurate to myself, my family, and my friends. The book has extremely nuanced representations of issues related to race and to mental health, such that it felt like Kelly Loy Gilbert always prioritized her characters' hearts and emotions over any type of plot twist just for the shock factor. Picture Us in the Light has a sensitive male protagonist who makes mistakes and yet is so lovable and human and uses art to understand the world and his trauma. If you want a simple gay love story, like a "do Danny and Harry get together in the end" kinda deal, you are not going to get that with Picture Us in the Light, because the novel is so much more than that. This passage in which Danny reflects on his parents serves as one of the many I took note of, due to its emotional honesty:
"My worst fear about my family was that maybe I would never be enough to make up for what they'd lost, that I wasn't supposed to be the one who'd lived, and that they'd wind up broken in a way I couldn't put back together. Maybe they'd break apart from each other entirely. I felt that possibility heavy on my chest every morning when I woke up. By then I could see a future where my family never stopped being a grayer, paler, more trembling version of ourselves, and by then I couldn't shake the possibility that maybe my fate, all our fates, had been sealed before I was even born when my sister died. It wasn't hard to see how our future could get swallowed by the past."
About 100 pages into the book, I already felt like it read like a combination of the poetic prose in Aristotle and Dante intertwined with the breathtaking characterization in Celeste Ng's novels Everything I Never Told You and Little Fires Everywhere. Danny, Harry, Regina, Sandra, Danny's parents, etc. all felt so three-dimensional and vivid and real. Gilbert has an astonishing gift for using specific scenes and even the smallest phrases to complicate her characters and add detail to their lived experiences, such as how she wrote about Harry's privilege within the Asian community or the abuse and lostness Sandra felt underneath her anger and lashing out. Gilbert fully appreciates the sophistication of her audience; instead of giving us a simple gay love story, she gifts us with a novel about how we hurt and heal one another, the guilt that comes from unvoiced yet implicit expectations, the search for belonging and the fulfillment of longing, and much more. She packs so much emotional, heavy content into this story yet it never over-extends itself. Somehow, despite their suffering, these characters feel filled with lightness, as if Gilbert's deep care for them just shines through into the novel's pages. A passage toward the end of the book that I loved:
"The people who matter to you the most - you aren't always going to occupy the same space in their lives, I guess. Maybe that's what I always loved most about art, that it was a way of multiplying myself so I could feel like I was always a part of more than I really was... Maybe that still means something, however small. And maybe life is when you gather all the things you can hold on to and carry with you, and cross your fingers it'll be enough."
I started this review thinking to myself, "ok, how the f*ck can I convince as many of my wonderful Goodreads friends and followers to read this book as possible?" I wish I could concisely include everything Gilbert does right in Picture Us in the Light, because again, she just does so much right, especially with Asian American generational, community, and interpersonal dynamics. I hope she gives us a sequel from Regina's perspective, because there remains so much to unpack from this splendid side character. I will also admit my little gay heart did swoon a bit thanks to Danny and Harry's relationship. I'm not sure how to convince you all to read this book, so I'll just say thank you to Kelly Loy Gilbert, for creating a work of art that made me, as an Asian American man and a gay man, feel completely seen....more
One of the most intelligent feminist essay collections I have ever read, The Mother of All Questions brought tears to my eyes because of its beautifulOne of the most intelligent feminist essay collections I have ever read, The Mother of All Questions brought tears to my eyes because of its beautiful language and brilliant ideas. If you want a book to rile up your inner feminist and give you profound insights to smash the patriarchy, look no further. Rebecca Solnit addresses a wide range of important topics with her trademark incisive, fiery prose, including misogynistic violence, how we silence women's pain and men's expression of emotions other than anger, the ways we glorify white men in the literary canon at the expense of underrepresented voices, the recent history of rape jokes, and much more. Every single essay felt like a treat, and every paragraph raced forward with trains of thought that propelled the feminist movement onward, as opposed to only articulating what other writers have already said. For example, a longer passage about love and empathy and how masculinity can detract from these qualities and turn into sexual violence:
"Love is a constant negotiation, a constant conversation; to love someone is to lay yourself open to rejection and abandonment; love is something you can earn but not extort. It is an arena in which you are not in control, because someone else also has rights and decisions; it is a collaborative process; making love is at its best a process in which these negotiations become joy and play. So much sexual violence is a refusal of that vulnerability; so many of the instructions about masculinity inculcate a lack of skills and willingness to negotiate in good faith. Inability and entitlement deteriorate into a rage to control, to turn a conversation into a monologue of commands, to turn the collaboration of making love into the imposition of assault and the assertion of control. Rape is hate and fury taking love's place between bodies. It's a vision of the male body as a weapon and the female body (in heterosexual rape) as the enemy. What is it like to weaponize your body?"
I read this book on a flight back from Las Vegas, where America's most recent most lethal mass shooting occurred. My trip had made me feel sad and frustrated for many reasons, including seeing the aftermath of the shooting just a few days after it took place. And yet, The Mother of All Questions filled me with so much hope and determination. Solnit does not sugarcoat any of the issues she discusses. Rather, she delves deep into the historical, interpersonal, and cultural factors that cause so much sexism in contemporary America. She imbues each essay with a journalistic eye for detail and an endless amount of heart. And she elevates her writing by incorporating the horizon - ideas that force us to take our feminism to new heights, to envision a world where men nurture instead of harm and women have freedom from violence, even if that world feels like a fool's fantasy right now. Her prose blew me away with its forwardness, its eloquent twist and turns, and its humor. Another paragraph I loved, about how our culture normalizes movies where men get the majority of screen time:
"But such films are not described as boys' or men's films, but as films for all of us, while films with a similarly unequal amount of time allocated to female characters would inevitably be regarded as girls' or women's films. Men are not expected to engage in the empathic extension of identifying with a different gender, just as white people are not asked, the way people of color are, to identify with other races. Being dominant means seeing yourself and not seeing others; privilege often limits or obstructs imagination."
Overall, a phenomenal essay collection I would recommend to literally everyone. It may feel hard to hope in Trump's America, yet Solnit's masterful essay collection reminds us of why we must continue the feminist fight - we have done so much and we have so much work to do. Again, The Mother of All Questions serves as a genius and compassionate call to action that reminds us of our shared humanity and what we must do to defend it against the forces of sexism, racism, and more. I will end this review with one final quote, about reconceptualizing what it means to love, outside of having kids:
"One of the reasons people lock onto motherhood as a key to feminine identity is the belief that children are the way to fulfill your capacity to love. But there are so many things to love beside one's own offspring, so many things that need love, so much other work love has to do in the world. While many people question the motives of the childless, who are taken to be selfish for refusing the sacrifices that come with parenthood, they often neglect to note that those who love their children intensely may have less love left for the rest of the world."...more
Hands down one of the best Psychology books I have ever read. I love this book so, so much. As anyone who has read my blog knows, I grew up with prettHands down one of the best Psychology books I have ever read. I love this book so, so much. As anyone who has read my blog knows, I grew up with pretty awful (i.e., abusive) parents, so this book validated my experiences in such a profound way. I appreciate how Lindsey Gibson honors the emotional experience of growing up with an emotionally immature parent through her immense empathy and compassion. She makes space for the suffering and the painful yet necessary transformation of a helpless child to a self-aware adult. She writes like a warm therapist or friend who stands by your side, as opposed to a cold or detached professional. Throughout the book, she provides a ton of important research-based information too, like the four types of emotionally immature parents and various findings about attachment patterns.
I most loved how Gibson provides specific, tangible strategies for improving your ability to handle difficult emotions as well as techniques to develop healthy, reciprocal relationships. I believe that everyone could benefit from reading these sections - and this book as a whole - as Gibson's insights apply to handling all emotionally immature people, not just parents. For example, she provides a thorough list of traits and behaviors of emotionally mature people at the end of the book that amazed me with its accuracy and understanding of humans.
Ten out of five stars to this gem. I know I will come back to it both for my personal life and for my work as a mental health professional....more
One of the most brilliant and heartbreaking books I have ever read, I would like to thank Min Jin Lee for writing Pachinko and starting my 2018 with tOne of the most brilliant and heartbreaking books I have ever read, I would like to thank Min Jin Lee for writing Pachinko and starting my 2018 with this splendid saga. Pachinko follows four generations of a Korean family who move to Japan amidst Japanese colonization and political warfare. The novel starts with Sunja, the beloved daughter of a poor yet well-respected family, whose unplanned pregnancy has the potential to bring great shame upon her life. After she learns that the baby's father already has a wife, she refuses to stay with him and instead marries a sickly and kind minister who moves with her to Japan. Throughout the novel we see the consequences of this choice, both through the joys of this family as they support and survive with one another, as well as the challenges and losses they experience as Korean immigrants in an unforgiving new country.
I feel so humbled and impressed by how Lee intertwines the personal and the political in Pachinko. She develops characters with deep emotions and complex yet clear motivations. She then shows how these characters' lives are impacted by issues such as racism and xenophobia, classism and gender discrimination, body image and intergenerational trauma, and more. Lee pulls this style of writing off so well because she captures, with elegant and straightforward prose, how these oftentimes abstract concepts directly affect her characters. We see how Sunja fights in every way possible to ensure a good life for her children even in the face of consistent barriers related to her gender. We see how Noa struggles to reclaim his identity after a blinding betrayal in a country that devalues Korean individuals. We see how all of these characters' love for one another is tested by history and the forces of prejudice, discrimination, and disenfranchisement. Lee writes the most captivating scenes, introspections, and dialogue that reveal her characters' hearts even when the world around them contains so much chaos.
I also want to commend Lee for the resilience she imbues her characters with. Despite the persistent sexism and racism they experience, Lee shows how the perseverance of women, the strength within female friendships, and the power of individual action all can create and maintain love within a messed up society. She does not minimize or glorify the suffering her characters face. Rather, with compassion and empathy, she reveals how her characters adapt and strive to thrive and love one another amidst all of their hardships. In the acknowledgements section of the book, Lee shares that this story has been with her for almost 30 years. I can see all that time within these pages, as the love and effort she has poured into this book and its multiple drafts comes across clear as day.
Overall, a fantastic novel I would recommend to everyone. I could write multiple essays about different parts of this book (e.g., the role and economic implications of pachinko parlors, the tenacity of women and female friendships, the intergenerational transmission of trauma and social status, etc.) but I will just say that a book club could discuss this one for hours and hours. As a second generation Vietnamese American living in the United States, I have felt so inspired by Lee's book to think about my family's many sacrifices coming to the United States, as well as the ways I have coped with and adapted to various forms of racism and colonization. I am excited to see what other reads 2018 brings, and I already know Pachinko will stand as one of my favorites....more
How do you review a book that mirrors your soul? An Abbreviated Life stunned me over and over again, as Ariel Leve writes about growing up with a mothHow do you review a book that mirrors your soul? An Abbreviated Life stunned me over and over again, as Ariel Leve writes about growing up with a mother who abused her, a mother whose constant venom and lack of boundaries reminded me of my own. Leve's mother berated her nonstop and made her feel unsafe in her own home; my mother yelled at me all the time and sent me sprawling into an eating disorder. Senior year of high school, I ran away from home and then left for college to preserve my sanity, my health; in her mid-40s, Leve escaped across the world to Bali, so she could break free from her mother's imprisonment and learn to trust and to love again. Leve recovered from her awful childhood through writing, through receiving the kindness of her caretakers and father and therapist; I healed much in the same way, through reading, through accepting the care of my mentors and friends and therapist. A quote that captures just a slice of Leve's experience growing up with an unstable, toxic mother:
"If I wanted independence in any way, I was hurting her. Her feeling that she was being abandoned would trigger her aggression. Her behavior threatened my safety. I deserved it. I was out to get her. I'd been poisoned against her. I wasn't smart enough to get it. I wasn't appreciative of who she was and what she did. I was special, brilliant, and talented. All she cared about was my happiness. I love you meant nothing. I hate you meant nothing. She meant all of it. I felt none of it."
I have so much to praise about An Abbreviated Life. I could write forever about Leve's concise, piercing prose, her unflinching, ruthless, yet compassionate examination of her past, and the beautiful, tragic way she juxtaposes her mother's abuse with how she herself got to parent her partner's children with affection and stability. But I am most blown away by her courage. In this book, she writes abut gaslighting, about how the worst part of being a trauma victim is not the trauma itself, but how people will try to erase your experience, by calling you a liar and saying your suffering never happened. As someone who has faced this onslaught myself, I know the pain, that black hole of self-doubt that opens when individual people and society both refuse to acknowledge child abuse, especially emotional abuse. Leve's book, then, is the ultimate light in a world that wants to keep people in the dark. Through sharing her story, she allows others to feel less ashamed, less alone, and more able to seek the support they need. Another passage that struck me to my core, about not having the privilege of a loving parent:
"Privilege would have been falling asleep at night without fear about what would happen as the night went on. Privilege would have been not being woken up with terror. Privilege would have been not having to disown negative feelings or suppress them because those feelings were not permitted. Not being punished for responding appropriately to inappropriate behavior. Privilege would have been not being held responsible for the stability of my mother's psyche. Privilege would have been stability. An indemnity from being idealized one minute, devalued the next. Privilege would have been a parent capable of empathy. A protector."
Overall, I am just so thankful that Ariel Leve wrote this magnificent, painful, hopeful memoir, that she cultivated courage and resilience and healing, and that she found people who loved her unconditionally even when her mother did not. I am so thankful to live in a time when creative nonfiction and memoir are taking off, where writers like Ariel Leve, Caroline Knapp, Garrard Conley, and so many others can inspire us with their strength and vulnerability. And, as self-centered as this is, I am thankful for my own healing process, for the people in my life - including those on Goodreads - who have helped me help myself, to achieve the kind of self-soothing that Leve writes about so eloquently in An Abbreviated Life. I will end this review with one final quote, one of my favorites, because it shows that for those of us who have faced abuse like Leve's - we will be okay.
"But I did break free. I am here now, in Bali, and I must learn to control the impulses that will destroy the loving climate I thrive in, one that I have fought hard to achieve. I have the scary feeling of not knowing what will happen. The tiniest rupture feels like a chasm. It is not about the moment; it is forty-five years of history, and I want to know the future is secure. I just want I just need I just I just. I let it go. And I, in spite of my need to be reassured, focus instead on the good feelings. I trust, which is so hard to come by, that it will be okay. That I will be okay. No matter what."...more
I slept with this book after I read it. I kid you not: I held its bulking, hardcover bound 700 pages in my arms as I fell asleep amid a raging storm. I slept with this book after I read it. I kid you not: I held its bulking, hardcover bound 700 pages in my arms as I fell asleep amid a raging storm. I refused to let A Little Life leave me. Its brilliant writing, its broken characters, and its bleak, unforgiving story dug into my heart, into the very pores of my skin. As a twenty-year-old, I felt both so young and so old upon finishing this novel, as if its sheer humanity aged my soul while making me appreciate all the years I still have left.
A Little Life follows four friends after they graduate from a small, prestigious Massachusetts college: Willem, a kind and talented actor; JB, a sharp and sometimes-caustic artist, Malcolm, an aspiring architect at a well-known firm; and Jude, a mysterious and intelligent litigator. What looks like an average bildungsroman turns into an intense and tragic tale when we learn about enigmatic Jude's backstory. Abandoned at a monastery at birth, he endured a childhood of severe physical and emotional abuse, followed by several years of sexual abuse, forced prostitution, and psychological trauma. The book soon hones in on Jude's struggle to free himself from the demons of his past, the hyenas that howl and drown out the voices of his closest, most beloved friends.
This book is relentlessly sad and exquisitely written. Hanya Yanagihara spares us no mercy when revealing Jude's trauma. She details both his past abuse and his present self-harm with explicit specificity, her diction so precise and piercing it made me shake, and at times, sob. Yanagihara writes both Jude's suffering and his friendships with a keen eye. She captures the nuances of human emotion, physical space, and change over time with eloquence and heart. She writes about some of the most wretched, abominable acts of cruelty I have ever read without sentimentalizing any of the abuse or making any of the characters' feelings mawkish.
Yanagihara offers us temporary respite from the pain within Jude's past by showing us the power of friendship. A Little Life's most affective moments come not from its graphic depictions of violence, but from its quiet, uplifting portrayals of compassion. While the many abusive men in Jude's earlier life show us the depth of human atrocity, Jude's tender, bittersweet relationships with Willem, Harold, Andy, and others offer to us mankind's capacity for kindness. All of these complex characters make mistakes, and through their imperfections shines their humanness.
Please keep in mind: A Little Life is ruthlessly depressing. In the end, Jude really receives no reprieve from his anguish. As someone who has suffered his own abuse - a version less intense than Jude's, yet still real - and as someone who reads a lot about abuse, I appreciated Yanagihara's dedication to showing the darker side of reality. Trauma is trauma is trauma. And while we can all fight for recovery, sometimes that absolvement may never come. Sometimes, we just have to act with whatever kindness we have left and hope that it brings even a moment of light into the dark.
Highly recommended to anyone who wants their heart both filled and destroyed. Set aside some quality time for A Little Life. It will consume you....more
I have written and rewritten this sentence five times. As an eating disorder survivor and as an aspiring psychologist, I should have all the words to I have written and rewritten this sentence five times. As an eating disorder survivor and as an aspiring psychologist, I should have all the words to talk about Paperweight, a novel about a seventeen-year-old girl living in an inpatient eating disorder facility. But even after six hours away from the story, I still find myself tearing up just thinking about it. Paperweight acts as a searing account of mental illness and the strength it takes to embark on recovery.
In twenty-seven days, Stevie will kill herself. She tells herself that because twenty-seven days will mark the anniversary of her brother's death, the death she caused with her own bare hands. At the moment Stevie finds herself stuck in an eating disorder treatment center near the desert of New Mexico. In order to make her ultimate plan of escape come true, she will do her best to ignore the food at mealtimes, the therapists that surround her, and the other sick, wilting girls. Stevie's determination to die drives her, and she fights for it to push her past the point of ever going back.
Paperweight grabbed me from page one. If you want a young-adult novel that tackles mental illness head-on, you have found it: from her own experiences, her research, and her career, Meg Haston describes the brutal reality of inpatient ED treatment with honesty and specificity. Every detail of this book and Stevie's development resounded within me. From the way she clutched her ribs on page eleven to the way she closed her eyes to escape her emotions on page two hundred and ten, every emotion and action Stevie felt or took came across as authentic.
Haston also delves into the complexity of eating disorders with aplomb. One important lesson to learn right now: eating disorders are about so much more than food. Haston reveals Stevie's saddening family history, her past toxic relationship, and the trauma she experienced to show the amalgamation of factors that comprise her disease. She highlights the harshness of eating disorders, spanning the way they distort reality, to how they create such devastating physical and mental harm, to the way they manifest as a way to control emotions that feel like explosions, like earthquakes. I find it silly that people would criticize Stevie's "unlikability" - fighting a mental illness is really freaking hard, not an easy walk in the park you can always do with a smile. And Stevie's voice is so, so real, imperfections and all.
My favorite part of Paperweight centers on its relationships, without a doubt. Stevie has a multifaceted family dynamic that influences a good amount of her mentality. She also forms a slow-burning, vulnerable, and wonderful friendship with Ashley, her roommate who she refused to acknowledge of at first. But more than that, I loved her therapeutic relationship with Anna with all of my heart. Haston describes their bond so well. She avoids trivializing or idolizing Anna's character; rather, she portrays her as a professional with emotions, someone trained to guide Stevie and walk alongside her on her path to recovery.
This novel slayed me in the best possible way. I cried all throughout the second half. Perhaps not everyone will enjoy this book; they may not connect all the way with Stevie, or they may find certain areas of her past too convenient. But Paperweight spoke to me in a way that very few books have. While I would hesitate to give it to someone will struggling with an eating disorder, I would 100% recommend it to anyone interested in contemporary young-adult novels, learning about and empathizing with those who face mental illness, and complex intrapersonal dynamics. Paperweight reminded me that recovery is a choice you make every single day, and that feeling life's weight means that you are, indeed, alive. For that message, I am thankful....more
Every man, and everyone who loves a man, should read this book. The Will to Change carries a revolution in its pages. bell hooks argues with fierce elEvery man, and everyone who loves a man, should read this book. The Will to Change carries a revolution in its pages. bell hooks argues with fierce eloquence about how we socialize men to numb their emotions, to only express anger and rage. She conveys honest compassion by contending that we must socialize everyone to honor male pain so that men will treat others with loving kindness, lest they forever repress their feelings to live up to the awful standards of toxic masculinity. One of the several quotes I loved from this book:
"The reality is that men are hurting and that the whole culture responds to them by saying, 'Please do not tell us what you feel.' ... If we cannot heal what we cannot feel, by supporting patriarchal culture that socializes men to deny feelings, we doom them to live in states of emotional numbness. We construct a culture where male pain can have no voice, where male hurt cannot be named or healed."
Though I feel confident in my maleness, I have never identified as masculine. Because of traumatic events in my childhood, I always swore off aggression - an emotion society forces most men to identify with. bell hooks hones in on so many uncomfortable truths about how patriarchy slaughters men's emotional vitality: how both men and women tell boys not to cry, how men use violent pornography as a way to cope with and visualize their rage, and how we accept male stoicism even when men are capable of so much more. She never positions men as the enemy, rather, she calls on readers to tear down the patriarchy that hurts us all. Another wonderful quote from the book that resonated with so many of my experiences with men:
"Being 'vulnerable' is an emotional state many men seek to avoid. Some men spend a lifetime in a state of avoidance and therefore never experience intimacy. Sadly, we have all colluded with the patriarchy by faking it with men, pretending levels of intimacy and closeness we do not feel. We tell men we love them when we feel we have absolutely no clue as to who they really are. We tell fathers we love them when we are terrified to share our perceptions of them, our fear that if we disagree, we will be cast out, excommunicated. In this way we all collude with patriarchal culture to make men feel they can have it all, that they can embrace patriarchal manhood and still hold their loved ones dear. In reality, the more patriarchal a man is, the more disconnected he must be from feeling. If he cannot feel, he cannot connect. If he cannot connect, he cannot be intimate."
Overall, a fantastic read. Yes, we should empower women, and we should empower men - by socializing them to love and to care. If I could have every high school student in the United States read one book right now, it would be The Will to Change. I hope that we can all carry forth hooks's vision, by conducting more research on masculinity and by aiding men in getting in touch with their emotions. I will end this review with one final, inspirational quote:
"The work of male relational recovery, of reconnection, of forming intimacy and making community can never be done alone. In a world where boys and men are daily losing their way we must create guides, signposts, new paths. A culture of healing that empowers males to change is in the making. Healing does not take place in isolation. Men who love and men who long to love know this. We need to stand by them, with open hearts and open arms. We need to stand ready to hold them, offering a love that can shelter their wounded spirits as they seek to find their way home, as they exercise the will to change."...more
If you care about feminism, social justice, or making the world a better place in any way at all, you must read this book. Sister Outsider shook me toIf you care about feminism, social justice, or making the world a better place in any way at all, you must read this book. Sister Outsider shook me to my core. Audre Lorde's brilliant, powerful, love-filled writing literally brought me to tears in a local Panera Bread. In this stunning collection of essays and speeches, she addresses the sheer necessity of intersectional feminism and supporting women of color, the importance of using our voices to speak up against injustice, the horrors inflicted by US imperialism and capitalism, and more. I knew about halfway through reading this book that it would serve as one of my absolute favorite reads and feminist works of all time. I marked several passages from each essay, so I wish I could share so many of them in this review, but for the sake of brevity, first, an iconic passage about how we must stand in solidarity with everyone who faces oppression, not just those who look like us:
"I am a lesbian woman of Color whose children eat regularly because I work in a university. If their full bellies make me fail to recognize my commonality with a woman of Color whose children do not eat because she cannot find work, or who has no children because her insides are rotted from home abortions and sterilization; if I fail to recognize the lesbian who chooses not to have children, the woman who remains closeted because her homophobic community is her only life support, the woman who chooses silence instead of another death, the woman who is terrified lest my anger trigger the explosion of hers; if I fail to recognize them as other faces of myself, then I am contributing not only to each of their oppressions but also to my own, and the anger which stands between us then must be used for clarity and mutual empowerment, not for evasion by guilt or for further separation. I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own. And I am not free as long as one person of Color remains chained. Nor is any one of you."
Let me just tell you some of the glorious feats Lorde accomplishes in this collection. She rightfully calls out white women for their racism and upholding of patriarchy, black men for their misogyny and homophobia, and all of us for the oppression we internalize and project onto others. She reclaims female sexuality as a weapon against patriarchy and for self-love. She centers the experiences of black women, including lesbian black women, with no apologies. Lorde does all of this and more with a voice that is wise, soulful, commanding, and kind, somehow all at once. Her writing acts as both a sword and a salve, tearing through layers and layers of racism, sexism, and discrimination while offering a healing path for us to follow. Another passage I love, this one about the importance of feeling, a trait that is undervalued in a male-dominated society:
"For within living structures defined by profit, by linear power, by institutional dehumanization, our feelings were not meant to survive. Kept around as unavoidable adjuncts or pleasant pastimes, feelings were expected to kneel to thought as women were expected to kneel to men. But women have survived. As poets. And there are no new pains. We have felt them all already. We have hidden that fact in the same place where we have hidden our power. They surface in our dreams, and it is our dreams that point the way to freedom. Those dreams are made realizable through our poems that give us the strength and courage to see, to speak and to dare... For there are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt - of examining what those ideas feel like being lived on Sunday morning at 7 A.M., after brunch, during wild love, making war, giving birth, mourning our dead - while we suffer the old longings, battle the old warnings and fears of being silent and impotent and alone, while we taste new possibilities and strengths."
It is a true tragedy that Lorde is not required reading for everyone, everywhere. At the same time, I feel so grateful for Lorde's revelatory ideas and her beautiful delivery. As a beginning therapist, I believe it is of utmost importance to both honor our emotions and change our actions to better our mental health, all while working toward social justice. Lorde accomplishes all of these things. She sits with the dark, destructive emotions brought on by experiencing racism and prejudice, while celebrating the joyful feelings of black lesbian womanhood and of liberation overall. In addition, she provides tangible strategies to fight for a better, more just and loving world. I cannot praise this collection enough. I will just say that it is one of my favorite books ever and please please read it. I will end this review with one more quote that exemplifies her penchant for calling us to action:
"How are you practicing what you preach - whatever you preach, and who exactly is listening? As Malcolm stressed, we are not responsible for our oppression, but we must be responsible for our own liberation. It is not going to be easy but we have what we learned and what we have been given that is useful. We have the power those who came before us have given us, to move beyond the place they were standing. We have the trees, and water, and sun, and our children. Malcolm X does not live in the dry texts of his words as we read them; he lives in the energy we generate and use to move along the visions we share with him. We are making the future as well as bonding to survive the enormous pressures of the present, and that is what it means to be a part of history."...more
By the middle of Appetites, I wanted to quote every single word Caroline Knapp wrote. In this memoir, she addresses three of my favorite topics: feminBy the middle of Appetites, I wanted to quote every single word Caroline Knapp wrote. In this memoir, she addresses three of my favorite topics: feminism, eating disorders, and sexuality. Knapp integrates these issues by sharing her own battle with anorexia and analyzing hunger through a psychological and sociocultural lens.
Knapp can write. Her writing style is so vivid, so passionate, and so powerful that you can't help but admire her strength, even as she exposes herself and makes herself vulnerable. She hones in on the idea of appetite and how women struggle to fulfill their varying hungers. By defining "appetite" early in the book, she strides forward and discusses how women's desires lead them to focus on pleasing men, how it causes people in contemporary society to value materials instead of themselves, and how the pressure to appease the patriarchy and its expectations can contribute to eating disorders. Here's a passage that pertains to internal and external satisfaction and how society shapes our perception of happiness:
If only we lived in a culture in which internal measures of satisfaction and success - a capacity for joy and caring, an ability to laugh, a sense of connection to others, a belief in social justice - were as highly valued as external measures. If only we lived in a culture that made ambition compatible with motherhood and family life, that presented models of women who were integrated and whole: strong, sexual, ambitious, cued into their own varied sources to explore all of them. If only women felt less isolated in their frustration and fatigue, less torn between competing hungers, less compelled to keep nine balls in the air at once, and less prone to blame themselves when those ball come crashing to the floor. If only we exercised our own power, which is considerable but woefully underused; if only we defined desire on our own terms.
Appetites isn't a memoir in the typical sense. Instead of centering the book on herself, Knapp supplements her analysis of feminism and eating disorders with anecdotes from her life. She uses her experiences as a springboard to discuss how anxious parenting styles can affect self-esteem, how emptiness or a need for control can lead to an eating disorder, and most importantly, how to heal from a war with one's own burning hungers.
Even though Knapp dives deeply into the intricacies of desire and how the world contorts our cravings against us, she ends Appetites on a hopeful note. She reveals how she used rowing to recuperate and how thinking about bigger issues lessened her self-absorption. While I would describe this book with words like painful, poignant, and piercing, I would also use words such as compelling, influential, and mind-changing. Here's a paragraph toward the end of the book that describes what really motivates our desires:
Being known. This, of course, is the goal, the agenda so carefully hidden it may be unknown even to the self. The cutter cuts to make the pain at her center visible. The anorexic starves to make manifest her hunger and vulnerability. The extremes announce, This is who I am, this is what I feel, this is what happens when I don't get what I need. In quadraphonic sound, they give voice to the most central human hunger, which is the desire to be recognized, to be known and loved because of, and in spite of, who you are; they give voice to the sorrow that takes root when that hunger is unsatisfied.
Highly, highly recommended for anyone even remotely interested in feminism, eating disorders, psychology, or sexuality. If I could I would buy anyone interested a copy of Appetites and send it straight to their home, because this is a book worth reading. Writing this review on my birthday is probably one of the greatest gifts I've experienced yet, and even though Caroline Knapp has passed away, I hope she knows just how much of an impact her ideas will have on society as time passes....more
1. Obtain a copy of Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.
2. Read the book.
3. Fall in love. Fall in lo3 STEPS TO BECOME ME, THOMAS:
1. Obtain a copy of Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.
2. Read the book.
3. Fall in love. Fall in love with the writing, the characters, everything. Read past midnight, read in school, read everywhere and all the time. Slam the book shut and whisper-scream oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. At the end of the book, allow a single tear to run down your right cheek and say a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that you are able to read at all.
Perhaps I’m making this book seem more dramatic than it actually is. It’s not dramatic at all, in the typical sense. There are no overtly sentimental Nicholas Sparks plot twists, no super sexy erotica Fifty Shades of Grey style, not even an ardent declaration of love via Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. This book is about two Mexican-American teens trying to find their way in the world, but before they do that, they find each other – Aristotle and Dante, the former a self-doubting silent guy, the latter an expressive, fair skinned swimmer. We experience the story from Ari’s perspective, from the first time he met Dante at his local swimming pool.
I’d never really been very close to other people. I was pretty much a loner. I’d played basketball and baseball and done the Cub Scout thing, tried the Boy Scout thing – but I always kept my distance from the other boys. I never felt like I was a part of their world.
Throughout the book, Aristotle and Dante are exposed and layered, continually growing more complex but also becoming more bare. Their coming of age story is shown beautifully. What seems like a simple story about friendship is a simple story about friendship, but there are profound themes woven in and the quality of the characterization is simply breathtaking. Dante, a lover of poetry and a passionate crier, reminded me of myself so much it hurt, while every ounce of Aristotle’s emotions – his confusion, his longing, his hate – resonated with me.
I sometimes think that I don’t let myself know what I’m really thinking about. That doesn’t make much sense but it makes sense to me. I have this idea that the reason we have dreams is that we’re thinking about things we don’t know we’re thinking about – and those things, well, they sneak out of us in our dreams. Maybe we’re like tires with too much air in them. The air has to leak out. That’s what dreams are.
Benjamin Alire Saenz has poetic prose. There aren’t many compound sentences or large SAT words in this book, but every word impacted me. Sometimes the shortest sentence flooded me with feeling. Every description of Dante’s laugh, every time the boys would call each other weird, every moment they spent together – it felt like I was there, experiencing their friendship and their bond.
Have you ever heard that saying, if there’s a book you want to read but it’s not published, write it yourself? I won’t stop writing, but Saenz has accomplished that for me here. Saenz dedicates this book “to all the boys who’ve had to learn to play by different rules.” As a homosexual Asian-American living in Virginia, I’ve had to learn to play by the rules of my parents, my society, and most importantly, myself. Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe will speak to Mexican-Americans, homosexuals, tom-girls, book nerds, loners, etc. Essentially, it will appeal to everyone who’s ever felt different, who’s ever felt like they weren’t sure of who they were. Highly recommended for all....more
This book wasted my time. Instead of going to play tennis or work out at the gym with my friends, I read this book. Instead of packing for the trip I This book wasted my time. Instead of going to play tennis or work out at the gym with my friends, I read this book. Instead of packing for the trip I have to go on tomorrow, I read this book. Instead of going to the mall with my friends and watching a movie, I read this book. And I loved it.
"City Of Glass" is the third and final (sob) installment of the Mortal Instruments series, and is about Shadowhunter Clarissa Fray, who continues to be a hotheaded redhead that is in love with her own brother Jace, needs to wake up her mom from a coma, and is consistently stirring up trouble in the Clave, or the Shadowhunter realm. The adventure that takes place in this book is amazing, the plot breathtaking and the characters beautiful.
Now for my really personal opinion. I LOVED THIS BOOK! I'm slightly depressed that the series is over, but oh my god was it worth it. I am so happy for Alec by the way... heh heh can't say any spoilers but woot woot. Glad that Jace and Clary aren't brother and sister. The Mortal Instruments is definitely at the top of my lists for favorite books now, and it will be difficult to beat. Own it....more
What They Always Tell Us is about two brothers, James and Alex, who are unlike each other in many ways - James is outgoing and popular, while Alex is What They Always Tell Us is about two brothers, James and Alex, who are unlike each other in many ways - James is outgoing and popular, while Alex is compassionate and reserved. After Alex attempts to take his life at a party, James is left wondering what went wrong. Then, Alex meets James's friend Nathan, and the two form a friendship that could grown into something more.
This book is simple and stunning. As of May 2011, even after two years, it remains one of the best books I've ever read and my favorite young-adult novel that includes gay characters. The writing moved me to tears at one point - every time I pick up another book for teens with glbt themes I can't help but think I hope this is as good as What They Always Tell Us...
Not only did this novel provide a great read, it also helped me with personal struggles in my life. I am forever grateful to Barnes and Nobles, where this book happened to be on display as I walked by the young-adult section, and Martin Wilson, for writing such a quiet, uplifting story.
*Reaction to when I read this as a freshman in high school* After my second read-through of the novel (some parts independently and some parts at schoo*Reaction to when I read this as a freshman in high school* After my second read-through of the novel (some parts independently and some parts at school) I've really realized just how amazing this book is. I actually got teary-eyed quite a few times. Lee infuses tremendous writing technique with a story so real, raw, and damaging that it just left me irreversibly changed. There is no question why schools teach lessons with this novel; it's just... amazing. My heart is still aching and rooting for the characters in this novel as well, they will stay with me for a long time.
*A year later, as a sophomore*
Absolutely riveting. One of my favorite classics....more
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