Review: The Sequel (by Jean Hanff Korelitz)

My Rating: 4 stars

 

Given how much I loved Jean Hanff Korelitz’s literary thriller The Plot, it should come as no surprise that when I heard Korelitz had written a sequel to that book – aptly titled The Sequel – I was dying to read it (pun intended, lol).  The Plot was a book that blew me away – clever, creative, and so masterfully done, with an ending that was wholly unexpected (but made sense given the clues hidden throughout the story).  It was so well done, in fact, that I initially couldn’t help but wonder whether a sequel would be able to live up to the original (even Korelitz gives a shout out to this common cultural sentiment when one of her characters in The Sequel states that “they’re never as good as the first book, are they?”).  Well, it seems that the jury is still out with this one, as there seem to be varying reactions to it from what I can see – some readers feel the second book is better while others feel the original is still the best; for me personally, I would have to say that I fall into the second camp.  While I did enjoy this one and found it to be every bit as clever as the first book (I absolutely loved the way Korelitz named each chapter the title of a real-life literary sequel, as half the fun of reading this book, for me at least, was figuring out which book the sequel title belonged to), I also felt that it was not as tightly-written as the first book was and much less “suspenseful” in comparison. 

 

Before I go any further, I have to say this: despite what people may say about it being fine to read this one as a standalone, I actually feel it is absolutely necessary to read The Plot first, for multiple reasons.  First and foremost is the fact that this book starts off where the first one ended; second, much of the story expands upon many of the plot points from the first book, particularly as it pertains to Anna’s background; third, many of the characters from the first book also show up again, with a few featuring heavily in the storyline this time around; and fourth, there are a few points in the book where the big “twists” from the first book are mentioned.  So basically, if you have not read The Plot but try to read The Sequel, you will either be completely lost with the storyline or you will encounter so many “spoilers” from the first book that there’s no point going back to read it anymore.  To be honest, even reading the “blurb” on the jacket of the sequel is not a good idea if you haven’t read the first book, since there are some references to plot points in that story that, in my opinion, can be “spoiler-ish.”

 

In any case, with that out of the way – as I mentioned earlier, I feel that this book was enjoyable but the original was definitely better. I think part of the reason why I feel this way is because The Plot was unique enough on its own, from all aspects, whether storyline, characters, format (the “story within the story” concept was particularly well-done), tone, voice, flow, etc. – it all came together brilliantly.  With The Sequel, I feel that Korelitz was trying to rehash essentially all the same elements, except this time around, with Anna as the protagonist instead of Jacob (for obvious reasons).  This gave me a little bit of a “been there, done that” vibe for one, and two, it made the storyline a lot more predictable – case in point: with a few minor exceptions, the first book largely had me guessing as to the direction that Korelitz was going to take and I was genuinely shocked with ending; with this book, I already had everything figured out midway through the story and not only that, I ended up being exactly on-the-dot in terms of the ending.

 

I also have to say that I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Anna being the protagonist in this story given all the horrible things she did (and continues to do). The blurb on the jacket states that with The Sequel, Korelitz “gives readers an antihero to root for” – well, this wasn’t really a true statement for me because with Anna, I honestly did not see anything worth rooting for (though I understood Anna’s motivations, I still found her behavior and actions beyond appalling).  But I guess this is more a case of “it’s me, not the book,” since I’m not really a fan of diabolic, villain characters as protagonists.

 

Overall, this was a worthwhile read, especially if you’ve already read The Plot, as this story fills in nearly all of the gaps that were left open-ended from the first book (and it’s definitely a thrill to be able to recognize a character or plot point from the first book and wonder what the implications will be for the new protagonist who wasn’t involved in the interaction the first time around).  As for whether I would read a third book (if there were to be one – which, all indication so far is that there might be), probably yes, but definitely with less anticipatory excitement, especially if Anna is also going to be the protagonist the third go around.

 

Received ARC from Celadon Books via NetGalley.

 

Review: Here One Moment (by Liane Moriarty)

My Rating: 4 stars

It’s been awhile since I’ve read a Liane Moriarty book, but I remember enjoying the ones I read in the past, so I was definitely excited going into this one. To be honest, given the premise of this book, there really isn’t a whole lot I can say that won’t give something away, so I will keep this review short and sweet.

 

Overall, I enjoyed this one well enough – it was entertaining and I liked how the chapters were short and easy to get through, which was definitely helpful given how long this book ended up being as a whole (my hardcover version was 500 pages). I especially loved the first half of the book where Moriarty essentially skewers the airline industry, poking fun at the idiosyncrasies of what we experience at airports and while flying – specifically, the way she depicted how people behave on airplanes was spot on and absolutely hilarious (I was nodding my head through practically every page, lol).  Once all the passengers got off the plane though and went back to living their lives – basically, once the “mystery” element kicked in -- where we start to see whether the predictions on the plane would actually materialize, the story became less funny and more serious, which was fine (this IS a mystery/thriller after all), but then some parts of the story felt like it started to drag a little – the jokes didn’t land as well and some details felt a bit irrelevant.  Like other readers, I also felt the book was too long and some chapters were likely unnecessary, but as the events unfolded in the second half of the book, I will say that I did learn a thing or two about some professions that I had never heard about before (if you’ve read the book, you probably will know what I mean and understand why I have to be purposefully vague here) – which, as a lifelong learner, is always a satisfying experience for me when I read.

 

In terms of the ending, I honestly don’t know how I feel about it.  I know some readers hated it but I didn’t have any strong feelings either way – mostly, I just felt that the ending was a bit anticlimactic for a mystery/thriller novel.  Part of this could also be that I don’t think I truly “got” the ending anyway, so I don’t want to comment too much on it, since it could just be lack of understanding on my part.

 

In any case, this was an entertaining, fun read that sufficiently distracted me from all the busy chaos in my life at the moment, not to mention a nice departure from all the “heavy” stuff I’ve been reading for school lately.  As we come up against the end of the year and hopefully the chaos starts to die down (as it usually does around the holidays, at least for me), I am able to fit more of the books that have been on my list to read this year but I haven’t been able to get to (especially ones by my favorite authors, several of whom have books out this year). Looking forward to more entertaining reads! 

Review: Tell Me Everything (by Elizabeth Strout)

My Rating: 4 stars 

I’ve been in a bit of a weird reading slump lately.  I use the word “weird” because even though I’ve actually been reading – quite a bit, to be honest – I’ve been finding it difficult to “get into” what I read.  I guess the best way to put it is that I’ve been finding it hard to focus – essentially, I would read a paragraph, a page even, but then a few seconds later, I would have no idea what I just read, so I would go back and re-read.  The result is that it is taking me way longer than usual to finish a book, which is definitely not good considering the number of books on my list that I still need to get to.  Given that I’ve been super busy with both work and school (and family) the past few months especially, I suspect that I might just be burned out from everything I have going on.  Hopefully, as things start to wind down in the next few months and I am finally able to squeeze in some much-needed vacation time to recharge, I will be able to get my reading life back on track.  In the meantime, I will just need to push through the best I can.

 

One of the books I read during this time is Elizabeth Strout’s newest novel Tell Me Everything.  Strout is one of my favorite authors, so I’ve been looking forward to this one for quite some time.  While I did enjoy this one overall, I will admit to having a hard time getting into it for at least the first third of the novel.  I did eventually find my rhythm however, and I’m glad I did, since two of my favorite characters from the Elizabeth Strout universe – Olive Kitteridge and Lucy Barton -- finally meet and interact in this novel. Since the previous few Strout novels have been about Lucy, I was honestly beginning to miss Olive, so I was delighted to see that she has a significant presence in this novel (she is now 91 years old and living in a center for seniors, but she is the same old Olive – as sharp and loveably acerbic as ever!).  Lucy is introduced to Olive by Bob Burgess (yes, the same Bob from The Burgess Boys) and the two end up meeting frequently to share stories with each other. Given how opposite the two ladies are from each other personality-wise, of course there would be inevitable clashes (actually, after their first interaction, which, let’s just say didn’t go exceptionally well, I thought the two of them meeting would only be a one-time deal) – luckily for me, they continued to meet throughout the rest of the novel, so I got to enjoy their interactions to the end.  Overall though, this story is actually about Bob, the semi-retired lawyer who takes on the case of Matt Beach, a local man accused of killing his own mother.  At the end of the day though, the “mystery” element takes a back seat to the main goal of the story, which is to catch up with this eclectic community of Crosby and Shirley Falls residents as they go about their normal lives. 

 

I don’t want to give too much away (though, honestly, there really is not much to give away in the first place, since Strout’s novels famously focus on character rather than plot so not a whole lot happens anyway), but one thing I will say is that if you’re a Strout fan who has read all of her novels, then this is definitely a must-read, as she brings back pretty much all of the characters from her previous 9 novels (Oprah’s website has a nifty chart that illustrates which characters show up in which novels – the final count is that 23 of the 25 characters from Strout’s universe are in this new novel, which is wild!). 

 

Personally, since I’ve only read the Olive Kitteridge and Lucy Barton novels, the scenes with the other characters didn’t have as much meaning for me (which is why I rated this 4 stars instead of the 5 stars that I usually give Strout’s books), but that’s okay, as Strout’s writing is as masterful as ever, so this was still a treat to read.  In one of her author interviews, Strout was asked whether she will revisit these characters again – she responded that it’s hard to say, as it depends on whether the opportunity presents itself again (she said she wasn’t intending on writing another novel with these same characters at first, but she realized after her last novel that all the primary characters – Olive, Lucy and William, Bob and Margaret, etc. -- happened to be living in close proximity to each other now, so it just made sense to have them all interact).  Strout mentioned that the next novel she is working on so far has brand new characters, but it’s still in early stages, so we’ll see.  Whatever the case, I know I will definitely be keeping an eye out for whatever Strout decides to come out with next, regardless of which characters are in it!

 

Received ARC from Random House via NetGalley.

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: Viewfinder (by Jon M. Chu)

My Rating: 4 stars

I’m not usually much of a fan of celebrity memoirs, but Jon M. Chu’s memoir Viewfinder is one that I’ve been looking forward to since it was announced.  Seeing that “Crazy Rich Asians” was (and still is) one of my favorite movies, plus we share a similar background in that we both came from Chinese immigrant families and grew up/lived/went to school/worked in Southern California, I was really interested in learning more about Chu’s journey (outside of what I was able to glean through interviews during the CRA promos) and his experiences breaking into an industry that has traditionally been less than welcoming to Asians.  Much of what Chu talks about in the book resonated with me deeply, especially his struggle reconciling the two sides of his identity – Asian and American – and the various successes as well as failures that contributed to the person he chose to become:  one who learns to embrace both sides of his identity, in both life and work.

Of course, being a fan of CRA, my favorite part of the memoir was the chapter where Chu goes into detail about his experiences making the movie.  Even though I already knew a lot of the behind-the-scenes stuff related to the movie (of course I don’t call myself a “fan” for nothing, lol), what I didn’t know was how much the movie reflected Chu’s personal journey as a Chinese American trying to come to terms with his cultural identity.  As such, there were many details that he added from his own life as well as from the lives of his family members that weren’t in the book – as a purist, I’m usually wary about adaptations that stray too far from the book, but in this case, the many personal touches that Chu added to the movie version worked wonderfully  (to the point that – and you won’t hear me say this often – this was one of those extremely rare cases where the movie was actually better than the book).  What I found most interesting in reading this memoir is that many of my favorite scenes from the movie (“favorite” because those scenes resonated with me the most) were actually the ones that Chu added from his personal background:  for example, the scene where the family gathers together to make dumplings (which he based on his own family’s gatherings and dumpling-making lessons led by his late maternal grandmother); the climactic mahjong showdown scene between Rachel and Eleanor (which was especially fun to read about knowing how the game is played and seeing how my understanding of the symbolism behind that scene aligned with Chu’s intention for it); and the kitchen scene where Nick first introduces Rachel to his mother (the significance of that scene is that Chu indirectly pays homage to his family’s restaurant, Chef Chu’s, which has been a Silicon Valley mainstay for more than 50 years – though the bit about the MSG appearance in that scene and both Michelle Yeoh’s as well as Chu’s father’s reaction to it was hilarious).  There were also some CRA “fun facts” that Chu revealed in his memoir that I had no idea about (for example, Chu’s daughter Willow – who was a newborn at the time -- has a “blink-and-you’ll miss it” cameo in the movie, as does CRA author Kevin Kwan’s family).  Reading all this behind-the-scenes stuff made me want to go re-watch the movie again, this time as someone with more “inside knowledge” that will undoubtedly enhance the experience even further for me.

I wanted to close this review with two quotes from Chu’s memoir that resonated most with me, precisely because they reflect my own struggles as an Asian American constantly trying to reconcile the two sides of my cultural identity. 

The first quote is from the chapter about CRA, where Chu talks about the significance of Rachel’s journey in the movie – he refers specifically to the scene on the staircase where Eleanor (played to wonderful effect by one of my longtime idols Michelle Yeoh) tells Rachel (a role which Constance Wu also embodied perfectly): “You will never be enough.”  Chu explains how this one line of dialogue (and the brilliant way Michelle Yeoh delivered it) had the powerful effect of causing all the Asian Americans on set (including himself) to go silent because of how deeply it cuts to the core of the Asian American experience, in a way that those who’ve never had to navigate those two worlds will never understand.  He writes: “Eleanor’s line and Rachel’s reaction expressed what I hadn’t been willing to express before and had rarely seen expressed by anybody else.  When you grow up the way I did – torn between Asia and America, trying to shed what you are, trying to be what you’re not – the world can make you feel worthless.  You’re not Asian enough.  You’re not American enough.  You’re not smart enough.  You’re not talented enough.  If you’re an Asian man, you’re not attractive enough.  And then, louder than all the rest: You don’t belong here.  You hear that one all the time.  Everywhere.”  I cried when I read this part because of how succinctly it expresses my own lifelong identity struggle. 

The second quote comes later in that same chapter, when Chu talks candidly about some of the criticisms that CRA received – specifically the one where people complained that CRA simplified the complexities of the Asian culture and in presenting the insular world of wealthy Asians, it reflected an “outsider’s version of Asian life” and therefore was inauthentic (notably, the movie was slammed in many of the overseas Asian territories that screened it).  Chu explains that the CRA story is about an Asian American going to Asia for the first time and we are seeing the world through her “newcomer” eyes – the movie was not meant to provide a comprehensive view of Asian culture, but rather an “Asia 101” type of glimpse into one aspect of the culture, with the hope that the opportunity to explore the “deeper layers – the true change that comes from broader awareness” can become more accessible in the future.  Hearing this particular complaint gave Chu insight into what his parents went through with their restaurant, which endured similar criticisms throughout its existence.  This prompted Chu to have a heartfelt conversation with his father, of which he writes: “’This is how you grew up,’ my dad told me.  ‘Respecting two worlds because we are of two worlds.  People who aren’t of those two worlds can’t see that’s what we’re trying to resolve.’ To make a life in this country, they had needed to find a way to integrate Asia and America….After so many years of trying to be like Spielberg and Lucas, I came into my own as a filmmaker only once I started trying to be like my parents – when I started thinking of myself as an ambassador, treating my position between two cultures as something to cherish, not something to hide or resent.  They showed me how to tell stories that would open the door for other stories.”

This was an insightful memoir, one that I enjoyed not just because of the resonance from a cultural perspective, but also because of Chu’s unflinching honesty when recounting his successes and failures (whether in life or work).  Chu’s passion, enthusiasm, and love for filmmaking truly shines through in this memoir -- the way he recounted his movie-making experiences as well as his encounters with various famous people (Steven Spielberg, Steve Jobs, etc.) gave me serious “kid in a candy shop” vibes; this, combined with Chu’s self-deprecating humor (which was on full display throughout the book), made his memoir a lot of fun to read.

Received ARC from Random House via NetGalley

 

**Note:  The quotes above are from the final published copy of the book, which I ended up reading instead of the ARC version.  Also, Chu and his co-writer Jeremy McCarthy did an interview with Ariana Grande (hosted by bookstore Book Passage) where they provide additional insights about the memoir and their experience writing it – I would recommend watching that interview if you have access to it, as it definitely enhances the reading experience!

Review: The Lost Story (by Meg Shaffer)

My Rating: 5 stars

 

I had read Meg Shaffer’s debut The Wishing Game last year and absolutely adored it.  That story was an imaginative, bookish take on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that was both charming and endearing.  This time around, with The Lost Story, Shaffer takes her inspiration from another children’s classic, The Chronicles of Narnia, while also paying tribute to fairy tales and the world of make-believe in the process. 

 

In all honesty, I don’t have words to describe how I felt reading this beautifully written story – one that drew me in from the very first page and I never wanted to end.  This was such a fun, delightful, charming story – truly a fairytale in every way, from its structure (with its storyteller who begins the story with “once upon a time” and ends it with “happily ever after”) to its magical, make-believe world consisting of castles and unicorns, heroes and heroines, knights in shining armor, villains that disappear and reappear in puffs of smoke, animals with the intelligence of humans, huge thousand feet trees with leaves in every color of the rainbow, etc. – yet on the other hand, this was also a very “adult” story that dealt with some very real and difficult issues (such as abuse, discrimination, bullying, for example).  Just like in a fairy tale, there was a deeply profound and meaningful moral lesson buried underneath the fantastical elements, but everything blended together so seamlessly that, at times, it was easy to get lost in the tale itself. There was so much to love with this one:  the characters were wonderfully-rendered and I actually loved all of them (Rafe, Jeremy, Emilie, Skya, as well as all the supporting characters) from the moment I met them within the first few pages, but I especially loved the way the characters interacted with each other; the descriptions of both the real and fantasy worlds were breathtaking and so well done that I definitely felt like I was completely immersed in a different time and place; the humor was also wonderfully done and there were so many scenes that had me laughing so hard, I started getting stomach cramps; most important of all however, was the underlying “lost and found” storyline (especially the one involving Rafe and Jeremy) that was both powerful and moving. 

 

This was no doubt an emotional read for me – a roller coaster ride that had me laughing one minute and crying the next.  At the same time, I also couldn’t help feeling a bit nostalgic and wistful due to all the memories that this brought back from my childhood – as an avid reader, I of course read everything I could get my hands on, but I especially loved fairy tales.  One of my favorite books growing up was a special hardbound edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales that I had read so much that it eventually fell apart to the point that I was forced to get rid of it (which still pains me when I think about it even now).  The fact that I essentially stopped reading fairy tales after that incident (plus my reading tastes after I became an adult were markedly different from what I used to read as a child), made the nostalgia feel even more poignant.  Getting the chance to revisit this aspect of my childhood through Shaffer’s story was definitely a welcome escape from all the craziness that has been a part of my life in recent months.

I don’t want to say much more about this book because revealing too many details would spoil the magic.  If you loved Shaffer’s debut The Wishing Game as much as I did, definitely pick up this sophomore novel of hers – it’s written in the same vein, yet also vastly different in many aspects.  Even though I ended up loving this one just a tad bit more, both are amazing reads that I highly, highly recommend!

Received ARC from Ballantine Books via NetGalley.

Review: The Briar Club (by Kate Quinn)

 My Rating: 4.5 stars

 

As I continue to work my way through my toppling summer reading TBR, I’ve been trying to prioritize works by my favorite authors first and foremost.  Last week, I finished the latest new release by Liz Moore (which I loved) and this week, it’s Kate Quinn’s turn.  I’ve read and loved most of Quinn’s 20^th century historical novels and her newest work, The Briar Club, is of course no exception.  This time around, Quinn takes on 1950s America at the height of McCarthy’s Red Scare, with both the Korean War as well as the aftermath of WWII playing minor roles in the backgrounds of a few of the characters.  At the center of the story is the Briarwood House, an all-female boardinghouse in Washington D.C., where, on Thanksgiving Day 1954, a murder has just taken place and the police are on-site investigating.  As the police get ready to interview witnesses (of whom there are many – the tenants of the boardinghouse as well as various friends and relatives), we are taken back through the past 4 years leading up to this point, starting from the day that mysterious widow Grace March moves into the closet-like room on the top floor and starts a Thursday night supper club that ends up drawing her eclectic mix of neighbors together.

 

The structure of the story is a unique one – in between a narrative that alternates between the perspectives of each of the characters where we learn their varying backstories, there are short interstitial sections that return us again and again to the present storyline in 1954, each time revealing more clues about the murder currently being investigated.  All these threads converge into an unexpected plot twist in the end that actually had me going back through some of the chapters trying to understand how I missed some of the clues that were staring me in the face. Also, one of the things I found different about this novel compared to Quinn’s previous ones is that the historical elements were more subtle, blended seamlessly into the various characters’ backstories to the point that you kind of have to pay close attention in order to notice them.  In this regard, Quinn’s Author Note – which she deliberately puts at the end of the book because it reveals spoilers from the story – is a must-read, as it provides much of the historical context for both the story as well as the characters.

 

Those who’ve read Quinn’s previous historical novels will notice that she went in a slightly different direction with this one (both story and structure-wise), but one aspect that’s a constant with her works is the focus on strong yet flawed female protagonists and the friendships (as well as rivalries) that are formed as the story progresses.  It is also worth mentioning that the tone of this novel overall is much lighter than that of Quinn’s past works, with some subtle humor interspersed throughout the story that is not usually present in her other novels.  The biggest indication of this, in my opinion, exists in the interstitial sections from the “present” 1954 timeline, which are all told from the perspective of the Briarwood boarding house (yes, you read that right – the house actually narrates those portions of the story) in contrast to the rest of the chapters which are told from the actual characters’ perspectives.  I found this narrative structure quite interesting and in this case, it worked well for the story that Quinn was trying to tell.

 

I definitely enjoyed this one, though admittedly, it’s not my favorite of Quinn’s novels (which has more to do with me than her, as this particular historical setting – 1950s America, specifically Washington D.C. amidst McCarthyism – is one that I’ve never been too keen on).  With that said, the writing is brilliant (as expected), but what blew me away the most is how Quinn wrote her characters – every single character has a distinctive personality as well as a unique backstory to match, yet the way the characters interact with each other when they come together as a group felt so natural.  These are characters that, when I got to the end of the story, I honestly did not want to part with and would’ve absolutely been happy reading more about them -- if Quinn ever decides to continue any of these characters’ stories in future works, I am totally there for it!

 

Received ARC from William Morrow via NetGalley.

Review: The God of the Woods (by Liz Moore)

 My Rating: 5 stars

With summer in full swing, I’ve been trying to catch up on all the reading I had planned to do, which, admittedly, has not been easy given the many other obligations that I’ve been trying to juggle as well.  Having said that, I’m working through my stack slowly but surely, prioritizing the “must-reads” by favorite authors that I’ve been looking forward to for months.  One of those favorite authors is Liz Moore, whose 2 previous works Long Bright River (2020) and The Unseen World (2016) I had read and loved.  Moore’s newest novel, The God of the Woods, is her most ambitious novel to date and absolutely a brilliantly written masterpiece!

 

This intricately crafted, multi-layered story weaves together several complex threads, told from the perspectives of multiple complicated (and often morally ambiguous) characters, to create a wonderfully nuanced narrative that I honestly could not put down (despite clocking in at nearly 500 pages, I flew through this one in two sittings).  The story begins with a mystery – the disappearance of teenager Barbara Van Laar from a family run summer camp in the Adirondack Mountains (in New York) – but when it is revealed that another Van Laar child had also disappeared from the same family compound 14 years ago (Barbara’s older brother Bear), the possible connection between the two cases leads to a riveting exploration of family dynamics and much, much more.  This is truly a wide-reaching novel that covers many themes and social issues, including family and marriage struggles, parent/child relationships, class disparities and the implications of these differences on the rich vs the poor, gender discrimination, land conservation vs exploitation of nature, coming of age, identity and belonging, abuse and neglect vs caretaking and found family, inequalities within the criminal justice system, etc.  At the same time, there are also historical elements that Moore incorporated into the narrative that aren’t readily apparent without reading the Author’s Note (which I highly recommend). 

 

There is so much to unpack with this story, yet at the same time, it’s not the overly complex type of story where you have to read it several times to understand what it’s trying to say. In addition to the mystery / suspense element being superbly done (at multiple points when I thought I had figured out the ending, turns out I was completely wrong), the atmospheric nature of the writing (to the point that I felt transported back to a different time and place) gave this a historical fiction feel, while the extensive coverage of various contemporary social issues also made the story and characters highly relatable. 

 

One of the things I love about Moore (in addition to her knack for creating memorable characters that I can’t help stop thinking about) is her ability to take a subject that I’m usually not too keen on reading about (i.e. drug addiction/opioid crisis, computer science and technology, environmentalism) and craft such an emotionally compelling story around it that it piques my interest and I find myself wanting to read/learn more about the subject.

 

This brilliant, genre-defying novel is the perfect summer read and one that I highly, highly recommend.  If this is your first-time reading Moore’s novels, this is a great place to start, but definitely go back and read her previous novels as well, if you can (I myself still have to read her first 2 novels, which are on my list to get to at some point).  I can’t wait for what Moore decides to write next – hopefully we’ll hear something soon!

 

Received ARC from Riverhead Books via NetGalley.

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.