Review: Dreaming in Cuban (by Cristina Garcia)

 My Rating: 4 stars

The past few months have been a bit of a crazy, chaotic whirlwind for me and while I’ve continued to do tons of reading, I’ve unfortunately been less diligent with the review side of things (mostly due to lack of time) – which is why I’m grateful to have a couple weeks off now and in December so I can finally catch up, both on the backlogged reviews that I didn’t get a chance to write as well as on the teetering stack of books that I have not gotten around to reading yet (the stack is literally inches away, right next to my keyboard, threatening to topple over as I type this).

 

One of the books I finished earlier in the month is Cuban American author Cristina Garcia’s debut novel Dreaming in Cuban, which came out back in 1992.  I picked this one up because it was assigned reading for one of my classes, which of course made me skeptical about whether this would be a tedious read and whether I would actually enjoy it. 

 

The story revolves around three generations of the del Pino family and the devastating impact that the Cuban revolution has on them.  The narrative alternates between the perspectives of Celia (the matriarch of the del Pino family who still lives in Cuba), Lourdes (one of Celia’s three children who flees with her husband to the U.S. at the height of the Cuban revolution), and Pilar (Lourdes’s daughter who is caught between two the American world she lives in and the Cuban world of her heritage).  In addition to the interesting format that the story is told in (a combination of third person, first person, and epistolary), there are also magical realism elements sprinkled throughout the narrative, though not in a heavy-handed manner (which I was glad to see because magical realism can be a hit or miss for me). 

 

This is one of those novels that has a complex plot involving multiple characters (I’m grateful for the character chart that Garcia includes at the beginning of the book) with a deeply profound underlying message that takes a little bit of patience to get to. 

 

Overall, I wouldn’t say that I “enjoyed” the book, as there was a lot of hard stuff in this one that had to be parsed through, but I definitely liked and appreciated it, especially for the unique insight it provided into the Cuban American experience.  I would say that if this is a perspective that interests you, this one is well worth picking up, though be aware that trigger warnings abound.

Review: And the Mountains Echoed (by Khaled Hosseini)

My Rating: 5 stars

Don’t expect his review to be a long one because I honestly don’t have the words to describe how I felt reading this beautifully written book. From the moment I read the interesting first line – “So, then. You want a story and I will tell you one. But just the one…” – I was preparing myself for an absorbing story, but I didn’t anticipate how truly exquisite the experience would be. Khaled Hosseini is indeed a masterful storyteller, but this novel also proves that he is a masterful writer as well.  Unlike his previous 2 novels, Hosseini employs a unique structure this time around in the form of a series of interlinked stories across nine chapters, each narrated from the perspective of a different character.  The format is nonlinear, with the narrative jumping back and forth between various settings (from Afghanistan to Paris to California to the Greek island of Tinos) and timelines (1940s through 2010).  Each chapter comes across vignette-like, where we get a glimpse into the life of each individual character, some of whom narrate their own stories in first person, while others are told in third person, with one chapter that is completely epistolary.  On the surface, it may not be readily apparent how each character’s story correlates with the other, but once I got to the end of the book, I couldn’t help but marvel at Hosseini’s genius in structuring the narrative this way.  Interconnectedness is a huge theme in the novel and Hosseini demonstrates this in multiple ways – through the plot and story, through the characters, and especially through the narrative’s structure.

 

Emotionally, this was one of those books that was simultaneously heartbreaking and uplifting -- to the point that I lost count of how many times the story and its characters broke my heart and then put it back together again. There were many moving and poignant moments that triggered a jumble of different emotions – sadness, anger, confusion, awe, wonder, surprise, relief, dread, hope, etc. (just to name a few).  Hosseini presents humanity and all its emotional complexities in such a realistic (yet not overwhelming) way that you get the sense he truly understands human nature -- the ‘good, bad, and ugly’ that resides in all of us.  The story is filled with flawed characters who find themselves in various morally and ethically ambiguous dilemmas – much life we would in real life – yet through it all, and despite the poor decisions that some of them make, I felt like I understood where they were coming from and so I couldn’t help wanting to root for all of them (with the exception of one or two characters).  This is illustrated best through the words of one of the story’s most prominent characters, Dr. Markos, a Greek plastic surgeon who dedicates many years of his life providing care to those in Afghanistan who sustained physical injuries and deformities from the violence and fighting: “If I've learned anything in Kabul, it is that human behaviour is messy and unpredictable and unconcerned with convenient symmetries.”

 

I’ve had Khaled Hosseini on my list of “must-read” authors for years (on the advice of multiple trusted reader friends who are huge fans of his works) and actually have all 3 of his novels sitting on my shelf, but regretfully, I hadn’t been able to get to his works until now. I started with And the Mountains Echoed first because that is the novel I’m studying in my Literature class, but I hope to also read his two previous (and even more famous) novels at some point as well.

 

Review: Mansfield Park (by Jane Austen)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

 

Now that I completed my large essay for class, I can finally buckle down and catch up on my leisure reading, just in time for summer!  But first, a few catch-up reviews on books I had read over the past couple weeks, but didn’t get a chance to write about due to being too busy.

 

Those who’ve been following my reviews probably know that I’m a huge Jane Austen fan.  Since I’m studying British Literature in school, many of my classes will of course cover Austen’s works, which is why I’ve been re-reading all of her novels over the past couple years.  This time around, I re-read Mansfield Park and I will be honest in saying that I struggled quite intensely with how to rate this one (specifically, should I give it 5 stars or 4.5 stars?).

 

On the one hand, this IS my all-time favorite author Jane Austen – call me biased, but I feel like all her novels deserve 5 stars just based on the sheer complexity and nuance of her writing.  On the other hand, MP is my least favorite of Austen’s novels, and the one that actually makes me angriest whenever I read/re-read it.

 

One of the things I’ve always loved about Austen is her ironic wit – she writes with a sardonic sense of humor that renders her novels funny, but in a subtle, inimitably nuanced way.  With MP however, Austen went in a slightly different direction in that she seemed to tone down the satiric humor quite a bit, which had the effect of dialing up the overall “wretchedness” of the characters.  What I mean by this is that in most of her novels, Austen uses humor (albeit subtly) to clever balance out her characters’ follies and vices, which still achieves the ‘cautionary tale’ effect but makes the characters more tolerable and less annoying.  In other words, the mean and nasty (and generally deplorable) characters come across as less mean and nasty (and less deplorable) because the other more sensible characters in the story keep the follies of these characters in check.  Think Mr. Woodhouse in Emma (whose hypochondriac ramblings the people around him pretend to indulge, but in reality, push back upon) or Lady Catherine in P&P (who gets ‘put in her place’ by both Darcy and Elizabeth and different points in the novel).  Basically, with these characters, because they are so heavily caricatured and made fun of, their ridiculousness becomes obvious and they end up making me laugh, which also makes their unlikability less strong.

 

In MP, unlike the other novels, the nasty characters are allowed to ‘run amok’ so to speak and rarely, if ever, get put in their places.  Aunt Norris, for example, is allowed to say all sorts of nasty things to Fanny Price and no one in the Bertram family (not even Fanny’s biggest defender Edmund) ever bothers to refute her or call her out for being abusive (I’ve seen Aunt Norris often described as a ‘bully’ but I personally feel that’s sugarcoating what she truly is: an abuser through and through).  Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram are also awful, but in different ways.  While it’s true that Austen does utilize her signature wit to describe these characters in a at various points in the novel, the sarcasm is relatively mild compared to her other works.

 

And yes, like many readers, I had an issue with Edmund and Fanny as the main couple in this story, as it honestly wasn’t convincing and I honestly did not feel that Edmund was worth Fanny ‘pining’ over for the entirety of the novel.  With that said, I’m probably one of the few readers who does not ‘hate’ Fanny Price – sure, she is very different from Austen’s other heroines: she is meek, obedient, afraid to speak her mind, and self-effacing to the point of being annoying (there were multiple times where I wanted to shake her and tell her to stop putting herself down) – but when I think about the way the Bertram family treated her (subjecting her to constant verbal abuse and tamping down her confidence at every opportunity), it made perfect sense to me why Fanny’s personality turned out the way it did.  Instead of disliking Fanny, I felt sorry for her, and couldn’t help thinking that, if she had been raised under different circumstances, perhaps she would’ve turned out differently.

 

As I mentioned earlier, MP may be my least favorite of Austen’s novels, but it is still a brilliantly written one that is well-worth reading, especially for serious Austen aficionados like myself.  While definitely less charming than P&P (which was intentional on Austen’s part, as she famously thought P&P was too “bright and sparkling,” so her later novels focused on still being comedic but more serious), it’s just as thoughtfully written, with endless angles to explore that only become apparent upon re-reading.

Review: Only the Beautiful (by Susan Meissner)

  

My Rating: 4.5 stars

I’ve had Susan Meissner’s books on my TBR for quite some time, but it wasn’t until recently that I got the chance to read one of her books – and the most recent one at that!  Meissner’s latest Only the Beautiful is one of those books that has so much of what I look for in a truly excellent read:  a genre I love (historical fiction), a beautifully well-written and engrossing narrative, well-developed characters whom I could relate to and root for, meticulously researched elements incorporated seamlessly into the story, and a thought-provoking story arc with emotional depth that continues to stay with me long after I finish reading the book. 

With all that said, I have to admit that I was a bit hesitant to pick this one up at first, mostly because of the WWII setting, as I had read too many books with this setting in recent years and felt like I needed a break – but since I had agreed to read and review this one, I of course followed through with it and am glad I did, as this turned out to be a very different story from what I expected.  Rosie’s story in part 1 was truly heartbreaking and in all honesty, left me speechless, especially as I had no idea that eugenics was being practiced in the United States throughout much of the 20^th century (nor did I know that there were actually laws that supported the practice).  I was also shocked to find out that the state of California (where I grew up and lived my entire life) was the site of the highest number of forced sterilizations in the nation up until the 1960s.  As heartbreaking as part 1 was though, Helen’s story in part 2 was even more so, especially as the parallels between what the Nazis were doing in Europe and what people in positions of power were doing in the United States became terrifyingly clear.

Reading about this history, I could not help but think about all the terrible decisions being made in our country in recent years that attempt to take away our right to choose what is best for ourselves.  As Rosie and Helen both ask at various points in the story:  Why do those in a position of strength get to decide what the best looks like?  Why is it that only the strong get to define what weakness is?  What gives those in power the right to decide who is worthy to be a mother or a father and who is not?  Who gets to decide that living with a disability means that life is not worth living?

There was so much in this book that was difficult to read about, yet I would still highly recommend it as a necessary as well as illuminating read. Books like this one remind me yet again how important it is to understand the connection between history and what is happening in our world currently, as well as how these things can impact our lives in ways both profound and subtle. 

As I await the next book from Meissner, I definitely need to go back and read her other books on my TBR (starting with the ones which I already have physical copies, of course).  Looking forward to more wonderful reads from her backlist!

Received print edition from Berkley via Bookbrowse.

Review: Never Let Me Go (by Kazuo Ishiguro)

My Rating:  5 stars

I loved Kazuo Ishiguro's Booker Prize-winning The Remains of the Day (which I only read a couple years ago even though it was written back in 1989) and since then, I've been wanting to read the rest of his books, it's just I hadn't gotten a chance to yet given my endless TBR stack.  So of course, I was delighted when both my book club and one of my classes chose Ishiguro's Never Let Me Goas our next book to read / study, as it gave me an excuse to finally get to another one of his books.  

Going into this one, I actually already knew most of the details of the plot, including the "reveal" about the characters and their school, as this book was talked about so much back when it came out in 2005 (plus there was a much-hyped movie adaptation that was made, which I haven't watched, but heard so much about) that it's kind of hard not to have already encountered the main spoiler, especially reading this book now, nearly 2 decades after it was written.  With that said however, the "spoiler" knowledge in this case did not ruin the book for me — rather it allowed me to focus instead on Ishiguro's beautiful, breathtaking, and elegant writing style as well as admire the masterful way in which he crafted such a poignant and powerful story that was both richly complex and thought-provoking yet also haunting and absorbing.

Given that I'll be spending quite a bit of time discussing and reflecting on this book with others over the next few weeks, I don't plan on saying too much in this review.  One of the things I do want to mention though is the genre-defying aspect of this book, which, in a sense, is one of its unique defining features. Most readers would probably categorize this one under science fiction (specifically of the speculative and dystopian variety), which is certainly appropriate, but only classifying it as such would be a great disservice, as there are also elements of gothic romance, mystery and suspense, as well as contemporary, literary, and historical fiction all interwoven seamlessly (and subtly) into the story.  As I was reading, I was honestly blown away by how perfectly Ishiguro was able to balance all these elements to create an emotionally nuanced story that is both compelling and gripping, while at the same time presenting a quietly contemplative, thoughtful, and reflective commentary on society that's also incredibly timely and prescient.  I mention all this because I know there are probably readers like me out there who aren't keen on reading science fiction and therefore might be hesitant to pick this one up.  If that's you, I would say don't worry because it definitely doesn't read like science fiction: part of the brilliance of this book is in its many subtleties — as it pertains to science (and technology) specifically, Ishiguro integrates this theme into the story in a way where the reader feels its presence looming in the background, but it never breaks forth to overwhelm the story.  

Even though I've only read two of Ishiguro's works (so far), I can already see why he is such a beloved and respected writer.  I'm glad he was finally awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2017 — absolutely well-deserved! I read in an interview Ishiguro did that it takes him around 5 years to write each book — since his last book Klara and the Sun (which I also need to get to) came out in 2021, that means we can perhaps expect a new book in 2026 (I hope)?  I definitely need to get going on the rest of his backlist before then! :-)

 

Review: Atonement (by Ian McEwan)

My Rating:  4 stars

I know I'm majorly late to the party with this one, reading it 20+ years after it was published, but better late than never, right? I've actually had this one on my shelf for years, but never got around to reading it until recently, when one of my classes decided to choose this "modern classic" as one of the novels we would be studying.  Since so many people have read this one and already know what it's about, I will forego mentioning anything about the plot and just focus on how I felt reading this.

My first reaction after finishing this one is that Ian McEwan is a masterful writer and magnificent storyteller.  The summary on the back cover uses the word "symphonic" to describe this book, which I feel is perfect, as the way this was written indeed reminded me of a symphony or concert, with prose that was simultaneously lyrical and rhythmic, moving the story along slowly at first, then increasing in intensity until it reached  its final crescendo. (I think the fact that I read this book essentially all in one sitting made it feel especially symphonic).  From an emotional perspective, this was also a roller coaster ride where I experienced a range of emotions from frustration to anger to sadness to relief (and yes, outrage that made me want to throw the book across the room at one point).  As it was for many others who read this book before me, the source of most of the anguish towards the story was of course Briony (as well as 2 other characters) and the "crime" that is brought about, which irrevocably changes everyone's lives. I will be honest in saying that I despised Briony from the beginning (a feeling that, unfortunately, doesn't change by the end of the story).  I know some may dismiss what she did as being the "naive innocence" of a precocious thirteen-year-old child with a wild imagination who had been too sheltered and coddled to the point of not being able to separate fantasy from reality — a sentiment that, in a sense, is not untrue, but doesn't really fly in my book because 1) to me, 13  is still adolescence, but not THAT young in the sense of not being able to tell right from wrong (plus the way Briony's character was written, she came across as mature for her age) and 2) being "still a child" shouldn't be an excuse for destroying innocent people's lives. Personally, I also found it difficult to have much sympathy for her given her motives (while it's true that she didn't act with deliberate malicious intent, there was definitely jealousy at play, not to mention that I also found her smug, self-serving attitude quite disturbing)…and of course, the ending "sealed the deal" for me in this regard.

Speaking of the ending — I definitely fall into the camp that didn't like the ending, mostly because I found it deeply unsatisfying.  For me, the accountability factor (i.e.: whether characters who do bad things get their comeuppance) is significant in a story like this one (after all, the title of the novel  IS Atonement) and while I agree that not always having things resolved and tied up nicely in a bow is a reflection of how things work in real life (yes, I know life is often messy and unfair), I feel that with certain stories (especially tragic and heartbreaking ones that aren't historical in nature), I would rather have a satisfying ending than a realistic one.  A question that came to mind as I was gathering my thoughts for this review was whether the "atonement" that took place was appropriate given the circumstances (I'm still debating this in my head).

Anyway, I definitely liked this one overall (though I didn't love it, which is why I didn't rate it 5 stars) and despite how I may feel about the characters as well as the ending, the masterful writing in and of itself made this a worthwhile read.  Also, the other important thing for me is that not all the characters were horrible in that I did have characters I was able to root for (Robbie and Cecilia specifically), which is what sustained my interest through to the end (otherwise, I probably would've DNF'ed at part 3 given how much I disliked Briony — which, thinking about it now, I have to say that the way McEwan structured the book is actually quite brilliant).  I know McEwan has an extensive backlist, which hopefully I'll get the chance to explore further at some point.

Review: Daughters of Shandong (by Eve J. Chung)

My Rating:  5 stars

This incredible debut by Taiwanese-American lawyer Eve J. Chung doesn't come out until May 2024, but I was able to get an advance copy and boy am I glad I did.  Inspired by her family's history, Chung weaves the fictional story of Li-Hai, the eldest of four daughters from the Ang family, wealthy landowners in the small rural town of Zhucheng in Shandong, China. The year is 1948 and even though World War II has officially ended, China is caught up in its own civil war between the current ruling party, the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek and the Communists led by Mao Zedong.  In a country still steeped in the Confucian ideal of "zhong nan qing nu" ("value men, belittle women"), Hai's mother Chiang-Yue is treated worse than a servant in the Ang household due to her inability to produce a male heir (to say that Yue is "mistreated" is an understatement —  in addition to suffering constant physical and verbal abuse at the hands of her mother-in-law, her husband also neglects her and never speaks up for her).  In the eyes of the Ang elders, Hai and her sisters, being daughters, are considered "disappointments" and "useless mouths to feed" (their grandmother Nai Nai has no qualms about telling them to their faces that they are better off dead  so the family doesn't have to waste money on them anymore) — which is why, when the Communist army invades the town and the family is forced to flee, they decide to leave mother and daughters behind.  Abandoned and left to fend for themselves, Yue and her daughters become destitute and penniless after the Communists seize their home and kick them out.  Worse yet, in the absence of any Ang family males, Hai, as the eldest daughter at 13 years old, is chosen to answer for her father's and grandfather's "crimes" and is subsequently tortured to near death.  With the help of former workers whom Yue had always treated kindly, mother and daughters escape to the city of Qingdao, where they hoped to reunited with the rest of the family. They survive the arduous journey to Qingdao, only to find out that the family actually relocated to Taiwan (where Chiang Kai-shek re-established the Nationalist base after fleeing China).  Abandoned once again, the Ang women figure out a way to overcome the many obstacles they face, including  enduring a thousand mile journey to Hong Kong and eventually finding their family in Taiwan.  

The story is narrated in the first person from Hai's perspective, which was the perfect narrative structure in this case because it made the experience more immersive and personal.  In her Author's Note (which is not to be missed), Chung explains the inspiration for the story, which was originally going to be a biography of sorts about her maternal grandmother, whom she had stayed with in Taiwan as a child.  But after her grandmother died, she realized there were too many gaps in her grandmother's life that she knew nothing about and regrettably had never asked, so she pivoted to turning the family history she was planning to write into a fictional story using the notes and interviews that she and her mother had already gathered.  Basing the character of Hai on her maternal grandmother, Chung was able to fill in the gaps of her own family history, but more than that, for us readers, she delivered a beautifully-written story about a family of women who survive devastating heartbreak and hardship to resiliently rise above the entrenched cultural norms that bind them to inferiority within their society. 

As a Chinese daughter myself, I resonated deeply with Hai and many of the struggles she went through in trying to reconcile her identity with her culture.  While I didn't share all of the experiences she went through, I did grow up under the same Chinese culture, so I was familiar with many of the antiquated traditions as well as the historical context in the story. Even with this familiarity, I have to admit that many of the scenes involving Hai's POS (pardon my French) father and grandmother and their horrible treatment of the mothers and daughters in the family were hard to read. With that said though, this is actually where Chung's story stands out from many of the other historical novels that revolve around Chinese culture and tradition — I appreciated the way that she succinctly and clearly lays out the facts of how women were treated during that time without mincing words.  More than any other novel I've read in recent years (specifically ones written in contemporary times), this one does a great job exploring the internal battle that many of the women who grow up in these restrictive cultures face — despite understanding the injustices they suffer, they've internalized what they've been taught to the extent that it not only becomes a "normal" part of who they are, they also oftentimes end up perpetuating these same injustices (whether intentionally or unintentionally) onto future generations. To this point, there were many thought-provoking quotes throughout the book (which I of course marked up), but the following excerpt stood out to me the most.  In this scene, Hai (as an adult now) gets into an argument with her mother, who finally, after many years, gives birth to a son, Ming, to carry on the Ang family name (though ironically, this doesn't alleviate the poor treatment that the mother continues to endure because the mother-in-law is already used to abusing her); Hai sees her mother giving her baby brother Ming a bottle of milk while she only gives her other daughter Hua (who was born right before Ming) a bottle of rice water — Hai is livid that her mother would continue to perpetuate the "preferential treatment of boys over girls" tradition after everything they suffered the past couple years precisely because they weren't sons:  "…Mom began to weep. "Hai, Ming is the only one who will support us when we are old. The only one who can care for us in the afterlife. I love Hua and all my other daughters, but I have a duty, as a wife, to make sure Ming grows up well. When you have your own son, you will understand." She cried because she thought I was judging her unfairly, without realizing that her words had cut me deep. Mom hadn't said it explicitly, but I heard it loud and clear: All of us girls were worth less than Ming. She loved us less than Ming. Yet Mom was confused by my anger, and oblivious to my pain. To her, the ancient traditions centering the son were our pillar, entwined in our religion, inseparable from our existence on this earth. Telling her I was hurt would be like saying I was offended by the typhoon that tore through Mount Davis. In her mind, these injustices were part of being a woman, and bearing them was simply our fate. Men made the rules in our society, but women often enforced them. Was there something about having a son that transformed us? Was that why Nai Nai was so wretched? Was that going to be me as a mother? I didn't want it to be. After what I had been through, how could I fall into that same pattern?" Arriving at this understanding becomes tremendously important for the characters in the story, which I won't get into here (you will need to read this one to find out more).

Needless to say, this is a book I highly recommend, but with the understanding that it definitely won't be an easy read.  As with most stories about the travesties of war, this one has brutal scenes as it follows the harrowing journey of the Ang women through several generations, but the payoff at the end is well worth the read.  This story (and its characters) is not one that I will forget anytime soon!

Received ARC from Berkley / Penguin Random House via BookBrowse First Impressions program.

Review: The Art of Gathering (by Priya Parker)

My Rating: 4 stars

I had heard about this book when it first came out in 2018 and over the past couple years, I kept hearing the book recommended over and over again, both by strangers as well as by bookish friends.  I have social anxiety so I've never been one for hosting and I rarely ever go to parties, which is why, when I first heard that this book was about "gatherings," I put off reading it.  But then as I heard people talking about the book, I realized it could be applicable to gatherings of all kinds, including work gatherings both formal and informal (such as meetings and conferences), plus I was curious, so I decided to finally pick this book up.  I'm glad I did because I ended up really enjoying this one, to the point that I couldn't put it down (like a page-turner, which is rare for a non-fiction "self-help" book) and ultimately finished it in one sitting.  I also ended up taking a lot of notes, which surprised me given the topic.

The book's author, Priya Parker, is a facilitator and strategic advisor trained in the field of conflict resolution.  Because of this background, the advice she gives focuses more on the human aspects of gatherings (the hosts and guests) rather than the logistics (which she does cover, but to a lesser extent). In one of the chapters, where she talks about how most event planning guides lean more toward the logistics aspects such as what type of food to prepare and when to start, she writes: "This encapsulates the prevailing approach to gathering that I hope to change: fussing over the crudités and hoping for the best when it comes to the human beings.  We deserve better."  Indeed, we do!! 

I also really liked the way Parker broke down the information, going in order from deciding the purpose of the gathering and figuring out the guest list to the responsibilities of the host through to the closing.  The examples that Parker gave ran the gamut from simple (a family dinner, a weekly morning meeting at work) to extreme (large city-wide dinners, professional conferences involving hundreds of world leaders), which I found to be an interesting way to show how her techniques could be applied to any type of gathering — though at the same time, Parker does make clear that not all techniques will be applicable to every gathering, which I appreciated.

One of the things I was surprised to learn was how there could be so many different aspects to a gathering, which I had never thought about before — for example, with the opening and closing of a gathering, there could be multiple steps involved beyond just saying "welcome" and "thank you."  Parker explains the importance of focusing on a good opening and closing by pointing to studies about attention span and memory which "show that audiences disproportionately remember the first 5 percent, the last 5 percent, and a climactic moment of a talk.  Gatherings…work in much the same way.  And yet, we often pay the least attention to how we open and close them, treating these elements as afterthoughts."  I've actually heard this information before in other iterations but never correlated it to openings and closings of gatherings, so it was an eye-opener for me.

One of the sections that resonated most with me is when Parker talks about vulnerability, authenticity, and honesty during gatherings and how "the stranger spirit" is an important contributing factor to achieving this because "it is often easier to confess parts of our lives with strangers, who have no stake in our lives, than with intimates who do."  This is absolutely true for me, which is one reason why, social anxiety not withstanding, I tend do better at gatherings with casual acquaintances whom I probably will never see again versus gatherings of family, friends, and co-workers whom I have to face every day.  I wasn't expecting to encounter such resonant insight in a book about gathering!

Overall, I found this book quite fascinating. The title is actually perfect, as Parker truly does talk about gathering as an "art" form.  I also appreciated how Parker arranged the information in such a practical way that was both easy to understand and follow.  I highly recommend this book, as I feel there is valuable insight to be gleaned here, whether you usually play the role of host or guest (or, like me, neither).  This is not a typical event planning guide though, so if that's what you're interested in, definitely look elsewhere; but if you're interested in a thoughtful, well-written book about how to make gatherings more meaningful from a "people" perspective, then I absolutely suggest picking this one up.

Review: Wuthering Heights (by Emily Brontë)

My Rating:  3.5 stars

First off, I have to admit that I actually finished this book a couple days ago, but had to put off writing the review not because of lack of time, but rather, I needed to work through the seriously mixed feelings I had toward this book as a whole.  This was actually my first time reading Emily Brontë's famous "story of unrequited love" and while part of me (the literary scholar side?) can see why this classic has been lauded and held in such high regard for over a century, another part of me (the rational reader side?) honestly finds it hard to understand the appeal of such a dark, depressing story where every single character is horrid and deplorable (more on this later). 

Yes, the writing is absolutely brilliant — the symbolism, the masterful use of language, the wholly developed characters, the vivid imagery, the complex and nuanced themes, the creative and clever way Brontë structures the narrative, the interesting usage of narrative voice, etc. — from a literary standpoint, this novel is a "dream" to study and analyze as a great example of brilliant and mesmerizing storytelling.  With that said though, when I take off my "scholar" hat and put on my "regular reader" one, the experience is very very different.  I'm the type of reader who puts a lot of weight on the characters in a story and as such, in order for me to be fully invested in the story, I need to have at least one character that I feel like I can root for.  Yes, I understand that every story will have its fair share of flawed and unlikable characters and that's perfectly fine — but the problem with this story in particular is that EVERY SINGLE character is not just unlikable, but exceedingly so, to the point that not even one character is worth rooting for. Seriously, every character in here is in some way mean, spoiled, cruel, selfish, hypocritical, vindictive, violent, self-absorbed, abusive, etc. (I could go on, but you get the point) — though of course  Heathcliff tops them all by being downright evil as well (it's not a coincidence that he is compared to the Devil at various points in the story).  Based on their actions and behavior. I honestly could not bring myself to care about any of the characters (not even Nelly or Lockwood, who were somewhat more tolerable in the grand scheme of things, but still…), which unfortunately made this a brutal and deeply unpleasant read for me.  

Given the above, I'm actually glad that my first experience reading this was in a group setting (again for one of my literature classes), as being able to talk through the problematic elements as well as getting more background context did help to blunt some of the unpleasantness to some extent (though not completely of course).  In this light, I definitely don't recommend picking this one up individually as a "leisure" read, as it's best read in an environment where the events that happen can be parsed and discussed within context (in my opinion at least).

Regarding the rating — to be honest, I agonized over this for quite some time.  From a writing / literary scholarship perspective, this one definitely deserves 5 stars…but at the same time, from a reading experience (unpleasant) and "how did this book make me feel" (frustrated and miserable) perspective, my irritability with all the characters and not being able to stand any of them definitely give me pause.  In the end, I decided to go with the "happy medium" of 3.5 stars.   I'm pretty sure I won't re-read this on my own accord like I do with Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre (speaking of which, for some reason, people like to compare both novels as in a similar vein — a sentiment I vehemently disagree with, but that's a whole other topic altogether). If circumstances require me to reference Wuthering Heights in the future, I'll probably just skim it so I can avoid the torture of having to endure these frustrating characters again.

Review: Jane Eyre (by Charlotte Brontë)

My Rating:  5 stars

Catch-up review #4

Charlotte Bronte's most famous novel Jane Eyre is one of those brilliantly written classics that never fails to leave me in a state of awe, no matter how familiar I am with the story and its characters.  Indeed, I've re-read this novel too many times to count over the past couple decades, yet upon each re-read, I either come away with some detail that I didn't notice in prior read-throughs, or I'm drawn to a different nuance in the narrative that shifts my interpretation of the text in certain aspects.  This time around, re-reading the novel in a group setting (for one of my literature classes) enhanced my reading experience in a profound way – so much so that, weeks later, I'm still thinking about some of the in-depth discussions we had on various topics, from the themes, symbolism, motifs, to the story structure and masterful writing.  

This is a novel that's powerful and poignant and upon each re-read, it has the ability to make me feel as though I'm on an emotional roller coaster ride, experiencing the ups and downs of Jane's life as though I were right there beside her (and the ending moves me to tears EVERY.SINGLE.TIME).  Most significantly, it's not often that I encounter a novel where I feel every element (from the writing to the characterization to the execution of the story, etc.) is done pretty much flawlessly – well, this novel definitely occupies one of the top spots on my "epitome of perfection" list.

Unlike my other reviews, I intend to keep this one relatively short — partly because this novel has been so widely read and studied (and everyone knows the story already) that I feel there's nothing really I can say in a review that will add much to the conversation (or do justice to the brilliance of the novel).  With that said though, there's actually a personal reason why Jane Eyre has particular meaning for me.  The first time I read the novel was back in junior high, when it was assigned reading in my English class, alongside another famous novel:  Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.   I was already an avid reader at the time, but mostly of books that I chose myself for "leisure" reading; in essence, these two novels would be my first true exposure to "classics" — but unfortunately I had heard so many "horror stories" about what the experience of reading classics would be like (ie: boring, irrelevant, too daunting, etc..) that I was honestly a bit put off.  But I persisted of course, and ended up falling in love with both novels — so much so that they (both novels) instilled in me a subsequent love for studying classics, but more importantly, they ignited the spark in me that made me realize I wanted to pursue writing creatively.  To this latter point, after reading both novels, I was inspired to try writing a short story that combined elements from both (which, to my surprise, ended up winning a writing contest that year).  Since then, both JE and P&P have become mainstays in my life — two novels that I re-read consistently and will forever remain "favorites of all time" for me.

Review: The Joy Luck Club (by Amy Tan)

My Rating:  5 stars

Catch up review #3

I read The Joy Luck Club for the first time many many years ago, when I was a teenager in high school.  At the time, despite my shared background with the characters in the interconnected stories (the "Americanized" daughter of Chinese immigrant parents), I was too young to fully understand the significance of the book from a cultural perspective.  Re-reading this book now, as an adult, is a completely different experience for me, in large part due to the insights that I've gained from the 4 decades I've spent (and continue to spend) navigating my cultural identity. 

Consisting of 16 interconnected stories narrated alternately by 4 pairs of Chinese mothers and their Chinese-American daughters, Amy Tan's debut novel is a powerful exploration of the struggle between the mothers and daughters to relate to and understand each other amongst the cultural and generational disparities that define their relationships.  As I mentioned earlier, reading The Joy Luck Club this time around felt very different from when I did so in my youth — in addition to picking up on nuances with language that I didn't notice previously, most significant was the resonance I felt in the experiences of the various characters. Not only did I recognize aspects of myself in each of the daughters, I also recognized the struggles  in each of their relationships with their mothers — relationships fraught with misunderstandings, communication issues, unspoken hurt and pain, defiant silences, etc., yet ultimately rooted in love and the unbreakable bonds of family.  Each story had a familiar experience or feeling that I recognized and related to.  In the story "Without Wood," for example, I understood exactly where Rose was coming from when she kept hesitating time and time again to tell her mother An-Mei about her impending divorce because she was trying to avoid the criticism, judgment, and unwanted advice that was sure to follow her revelation (avoiding criticism from our mothers is pretty much a way of life for many Chinese daughters). The story "Two Kinds" brought tears to my eyes because I understood acutely the sense of failure that comes with not living up to my mother's hope and expectations (not to mention the argument about obedience and the expectations of a Chinese daughter that Jing-Mei has with her mother Suyuan echoes ones I've had in the past with my mom).  In the story "Rules of the Game," I commiserated with Waverly when her attempt to rebuke and defy her mother leads to her getting the silent treatment (which is something I've experienced countless times growing up). These were just a few examples among many.

But it wasn't just the daughters' experiences that I related to — the stories told from the mothers' perspectives were also profound in the way they provided clarity to some of the cultural circumstances that informed the mothers' lives, which in turn, affected their behaviors toward their daughters.  In these stories, I was able to recognize some of my own mother's experiences as well as things she's told me in the past that, at the time, I may not have understood the significance — these stories then, had the effect of helping me reflect and make better sense of things. 

Aside from being able to resonate with the characters' experiences and feelings on a personal level, I also appreciated coming across so many cultural references in the book that I grew up hearing about — a few examples: the Moon Lady story, the tale of Old Mr. Chou (I was also told the tale when I was a kid), the superstition about rice husbands (this was a huge one in my family), the historical details about China from some of the mothers' stories, etc.

With all that said though, the biggest thing that sets this book apart from so many others about the Chinese-American experience is the writing.  Tan writes in a way that, on the surface, appears simple and straightforward, but when you look deeper, there is a masterful complexity to it that, quite frankly, blows my mind.  In my previous review of Tan's novel The Kitchen God's Wife, I touched on how brilliantly she uses the mechanics of language to create nuance and meaning — this is certainly the case here as well.  At the same time, Tan's writing is also thoughtful, meticulous, and sincere — all qualities that, to me, are absolutely necessary when it comes to books (and stories) about cultural experiences.

I'm usually not a huge re-reader, especially nowadays when I have so many books I haven't yet read that I actually want to read.  But some books are worth taking the time to re-read —The Joy Luck Club is definitely one of them.