Review: The Fine Art of Lying (by Alexandra Andrews)

My Rating: 3 stars

The Fine Art of Lying is Alexandra Andrews’s highly anticipated sophomore novel, coming 5 years after her debut Who is Maud Dixon? (which I have not yet read).  I decided to pick this one up due to it being a book club pick and having just finished it literally this morning, I’m honestly not sure how I feel about it.  While the writing flowed well and this was a relatively quick, easy read, I did struggle somewhat with certain aspects of the story as well as the characters (which I will get back to in a bit). 

First, I have to say that I wholeheartedly agree with majority of the reviewers who mention that the thriller / suspense aspect of the book fell extremely flat.  I think for me, the problem was the structure – the first half of the book focused mostly on setting up the background for the crime that eventually takes place, with the main protagonist Clare Bast trying to overcome the “imposter syndrome” she feels after marrying into an uber wealthy family and having to navigate the complicated dynamics that come with it.  Clare ends up having an extramarital affair with a charismatic art dealer and soon finds herself sucked into the unfortunate predicament of being in the wrong place at the wrong time when a murder and robbery take place,  The second half of the story then pivots to focusing on the mystery and, of course, figuring out what happened and why.  The way the story unfolded, the “final reveal” ended up being anti-climactic and the “solving” part pertaining to the murder and robbery lacked any feeling of suspense or thrill.  Sure, there were some surprising moments that I’m guessing were supposed to be “twists” but those were written in a way where the “twist” part barely registered.

Having said all that, one area where I seem to digress from many of the other reviewers is that, despite the lack of suspense / thriller elements, I actually liked the second half of the story more than the first half.  The reason for this has more to do with me as a reader rather than problems with the book itself.  With a few exceptions, I’m overall not a fan of the “rich people behaving badly” trope and unfortunately, this book not only had that in spades, the trope pretty much turned out to be the premise of the entire story.  As such, I could not stand any of the characters in the story and especially not the protagonist Clare, who honestly irritated me to no end because she fit exactly the type of pathetically ridiculous “let me see how many stupid decisions I can get away with making and then berate myself endlessly over those decisions” character that I find frustrating and hugely annoying.  As if that weren’t enough though, what made Clare even more annoying (for me at least) was how she kept trying to find excuses for her behavior and actions, but those excuses were not just ridiculous, but also contradictory and nonsensical. For example – one minute, Clare would be claiming that she was naïve, but then the next minute, she would say that she recognized she was being reckless, but oh well, whatever, she was going to forge ahead anyway knowing full well what the consequences would be; then later, she seems to contradict both of those excuses when she claims that she had merely “let her attention wander” and next thing she knew, she “became someone else” and failed to notice it in time. Clare was, of course, referring to her extramarital affair, which, because it occupied a huge swath of the book’s first half, was the reason why I preferred the second half of the book to the first half.  No, it’s not because Clare was less irritating in the second half (she never stopped being annoying in my opinion), but because the second half was more focused on solving the mystery rather than Clare’s behavior and actions.  Basically, for me, the first half of the story can be summed up as “Clare and her reckless actions makes a trainwreck of her life and even when she recognizes this, she keeps doing it anyway because she doesn’t seem to have the willpower to stop herself from being reckless” (the word “reckless” actually appears so many times throughout the book that I can’t help but wonder whether this is the author’s favorite word?).

Overall, I found this to be an okay read – not great but not horrible either (hence why I decided to rate this one 3 stars, which, for me, is the happy medium).  I think the key with this one is to go into it with the right expectations – meaning don’t expect a thrill ride, but rather a slow-burn literary mystery of sorts that takes time to unravel.  Some parts of the story also requires a bit of suspension of disbelief, but that’s to be expected given the nature of the genre.  I usually enjoy literary mysteries more than suspense/thrillers, but this one in particular didn’t really work for me, mostly because of the unlikeable characters, though of course, this is just me and my specific tastes, so I would suggest also checking out other reviews before deciding whether to pick this up or not.

Review: The Last Mandarin (by Louise Penny and Mellissa Fung)

My Rating: 4 stars 

I must confess that I have not yet read any of Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache books, not because I don’t want to, but rather because I came too late to her series.  Specifically, when it comes to book series, I’m the type of reader who is very particular about reading the entire series straight through, in order starting with the first book. The problem with this reading method, of course, is that if there are a lot of books in the series, I could potentially be spending months reading the series, which means that I would not be able to get to any of the other books on my already overflowing TBR (exacerbated by the fact that I’m not the type of reader who can read multiple books at one time, with a few very limited exceptions).  Since there are already 20 books (and counting) in the Gamache series, it would take me way too long to catch up – so regardless of how much I want to visit Three Pines, I unfortunately won’t get a chance to do so anytime soon.

Given the above, imagine my delight when I found out that Louise Penny would be collaborating with journalist Mellissa Fung on a new book – a standalone political thriller that would revolve around a Chinese mother and daughter crime-fighting duo.  My first thought was that, finally, I would get a chance to read a Louise Penny book, but at the same time, I was also excited that many elements of the book would be right up my alley: for example -- mother/daughter relationships, Chinese history and culture, Hong Kong setting, generational family story, etc.  I ended up going into this collaboration with high expectations and I’m happy to report that it did not disappoint!

The opening scene is quite gripping, as we are introduced to our two unlikely heroines -- Alice Li, a Chinese American food blogger, and her larger-than-life mother Vivien Li, a world-famous dissident who participated in the Tiananmen Square protests and is now a fierce human rights activist with supporters including the President of the United States.  Alice agrees to meet her mother at a fancy Washington D.C. hotel for brunch, but does so reluctantly, as she has a strained relationship with Vivien due to having to live in her shadow, but also because Vivien’s cold and distant attitude toward Alice created a rift that the mother and daughter cannot seem to overcome.  In the middle of brunch, Alice escapes to the restroom to get a temporary respite from her demanding mother, when suddenly, a series of alarms go off, not just locally, but it turns out, also all around the world, setting off a panic that quickly descends into chaos.  When the signal that triggered the alarms is traced back to China, Vivien (unsurprisingly) and Alice (surprisingly) are summoned to the White House to meet with the President in the hopes of figuring out what is going on.  As the situation continues to escalate with more “attacks” that result in mass casualties around the world, Alice and Vivien find themselves caught up in a battle of wills between two superpowers – the U.S. and China – whose mutual mistrust and misunderstanding of each other run deep (not unlike the mother and daughter’s own relationship).  Amidst the chaos, one thing becomes clear: there will be more attacks, with each one being more catastrophic than the last, and an outcome that no one wants to see happen – a possible declaration of war.  Given the stakes, both Alice and Vivien – along with their respective governments – must figure out a way to work together in order to prevent the next attack (as well as the disastrous outcome that is sure to follow).

Those who follow my reviews will probably know that I’m not a fan of books about politics (especially American politics) and for the most part, if I know that a book will have a heavy political bent, I try to stay away from it as much as possible.  Unsurprisingly then, I’m not keen on political thrillers either, though this particular book is an obvious exception (for reasons I mentioned above).  Indeed, there were moments as I was reading this book that I didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on from a politics standpoint (and I didn’t even try to keep the various characters’ political titles straight).  In addition to the politics though, there was also an underlying storyline related to AI and technology that I wasn’t too keen on either, as this is an area that I understand even less than politics.  While I have to admit that this did impact my reading experience a bit, fortunately the other aspects of the novel related to the mother/daughter relationship as well as the Chinese historical and cultural elements were conveyed in a compelling enough way as to keep my interest continually piqued (and kept me turning the pages to see what happens next).

As I was reading through the reviews, I noticed the reaction to this novel has been a mixed bag so far.  Some love it, some hate it, some feel it is too much of a departure for Louise Penny, some feel the plotting doesn’t work, some feel it’s not action-packed enough, etc. Of course, as with all books, everyone will have a different opinion, though I have to admit that I was a bit surprised by the huge disparity between the “like” and “dislike” – usually the gap between the two is smaller. I cannot speak for others, as we each bring our own respective experiences into our reading, but on a personal level, I felt that there were so many aspects of this novel that were well done.  Now, I must say that I read this one less for the “action-packed political thriller” piece (as I said before, I don’t read too many political thrillers, so can’t really comment on whether Penny and Fung succeed in this area), but rather, I was more interested in the character development (especially the mother/daughter relationship) as well as how the culture (my culture) was portrayed.  In both of these areas, I feel that Penny and Fung definitely delivered the goods.

First, the characters – one of the things that stood out to me with this book is the character development.  Both Alice and Vivien are nuanced characters who may not necessarily be likeable right off the bat, but they evolve as the story progresses and by the end, even though they might not have fully resolved their differences (which, realistically, they probably wouldn’t), they do come to a better understanding of each other so that their relationship becomes less strained.  Indeed, some of my favorite scenes from the story were the ones involving various interactions between mother and daughter.  The reason why I was so drawn to Alice and Vivien – not just their characters, but also the complexity of their relationship – is because, as a Chinese daughter myself, I understood intimately the complicated dynamics between mother and daughter that play out throughout the story.  One example (of many) that best illustrates this is in the opening scene, where Alice notes that when she entered the restaurant, she was 26 years old, but when she got to her mother’s table, she regressed to being 14 years old; as they interacted further, she became 9 years old and then 5, and finally, at the end of her rope, Alice regresses to a 2 year old on the verge of throwing a tantrum.  As I read this opening scene, I was struck by the familiarity of the emotions – specifically, the ever-present undercurrent of tension between mother and daughter – that is a defining feature of their relationship.  A couple chapters later, there is this quote, which is one of my favorites because of how perfectly and succinctly it encapsulates what makes the Asian mother/daughter dynamic so challenging: “[Alice] heard the clicking of her mother’s tongue.  Exasperation.  Disapproval.  Disappointment. The trinity that slowly crushed the spirit of Chinese children.”  For Asian daughters, striving to meet our mothers’ expectations but never getting there is part and parcel of our relationship dynamic, just like their constant criticisms of every aspect of our lives (how we look, how we dress, what we eat, who we hang out with, etc.) is the natural “love language” with which our mothers communicate with us.  This is partly why I was able to relate so deeply to Alice and Vivien’s constant bickering throughout the story – others might find it annoying, but I actually found it refreshing to see the familiar relationship dynamic depicted so authentically in a mainstream novel.

As for the Chinese history and culture portion – as I mentioned earlier, both authors did a great job in this area.  I watched an interview that Penny and Fung did where they talked about all the thought and discussion that went into this aspect of the book and I have to say that it absolutely shows.  Both authors said that one of their main challenges was figuring out how to accurately portray the history and culture portion without bogging down the story with too much detail – which I feel they definitely accomplished (and it was no easy feat considering the multiple settings of the story in mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, which each have their own very different cultural nuances). One thing from that interview that stuck with me is when both authors mentioned that the only argument they had while writing this book was about a scene in Taiwan that was originally going to depict people looting, but Fung said that in the culture they are writing about, it would be inaccurate to put that, as looting is not a common occurrence in those circumstances, so they ended up writing that scene differently.  Both authors mentioned in the interview that, with Fung’s Chinese background (and especially with various members of her family living in Hong Kong and China currently), she was very conscious about being culturally true to the place that they were setting a scene in.  I definitely noticed this as I was reading (especially the scenes set in my birthplace of Hong Kong, a city with which I am intimately familiar) and I appreciate the meticulous attention that was paid to getting things culturally right.

Overall, I felt that this was a solid collaborative effort from Penny and Fung, especially given the two authors’ completely different backgrounds and writing styles. While I can’t comment on how this book compares to either author’s previous works (because, as I mentioned earlier, I haven’t read either author’s previous works), nor do I care to comment on the genre aspect (i.e. how well the “political thriller” piece was executed), I really enjoyed the story as a whole.  I’m not sure whether there will be another collaboration in the future with these two authors (who are both great storytellers in their own right), but if there is, I’m definitely looking forward to it!

Received ARC from Minotaur via NetGalley (though I ended up reading a finished copy).

Review: The Nine Moons of Han Yu and Luli (by Karina Yan Glaser)

My Rating: 5 stars

Wow!  This beautifully written middle grade novel absolutely blew me away!  I honestly can’t remember the last time I was so enamored with a book that I couldn’t bring myself to put it down, so I ended up finishing it pretty much in one sitting.

I first came across this book in an issue of Kirkus Reviews (I subscribe to Kirkus and read each issue cover-to-cover – yes, I know I’m weird) and was initially drawn in by the gorgeous cover.  Then, I saw the title – The Nine Moons of Han Yu and Luli -- and before even reading the blurb, I knew I had to put this on my TBR immediately – after all, it’s not often that I come across a book that has my childhood nickname (Luli) in it.  Once I read the summary (as well a as a few reviews) and found out that the story revolves around Chinese culture and history (which is also my heritage), I was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to jump in.  Coincidentally, my library hold on the audiobook version came through just as I was debating which version to read, so I went with that one and I’m so glad I did, as the audiobook was absolutely superb!  The two narrators – Sura Siu for Luli’s storyline and Brian Nishii for Han Yu’s – were wonderful:  their narration was lively and animated, bringing not only the two main characters to life, but also the rest of the (relatively large) cast of characters through different voice performances.  Best of all though, both narrators’ pronunciations of Chinese words and phrases were perfect, which lent an authenticity to the audio version that, for me, definitely enhanced the listening experience (as a side note, this can be a deal breaker for me when it comes to audiobooks – I don’t have a problem with the narrator being outside the culture as long as they pronounce the cultural words and phrases correctly).  I ended up loving this book so much that immediately after I finished listening to the library version, I went and purchased my own audio and physical copies of the book so I could re-listen and/or re-read whenever I feel like it.

At first glance, the story appears to be told in two alternating timelines:  Han Yu’s story takes place in 731 China while Luli’s takes place in New York’s Chinatown in 1931.  Both protagonists set out on adventures to save their families, but the reasoning behind why they do so is markedly different.  Han Yu is one of four children who lives in the city of Chang’An (the capital of China during the Tang dynasty era) with his parents.  Alongside his dad, Han Yu works the steamed bun stall at the local market and though they don’t earn much, they live a contented life as a close-knit family.  Even though he doesn’t recognize it, Han Yu has a special ability when it comes to animals in that he can relate to them in a way that causes them to naturally flock to him.  But it’s not just tame village animals such as dogs, camels, and magpies – there are whispers throughout the village that Han Yu has the special protection of a tiger that had appeared at the time of his birth, though no one has actually seen it in real life.  When a horrible plague descends on Chang’An, Han Yu sets out on a perilous journey across China, traveling thousands of miles to Tian Shiu and Dunhuang in order to save his family.  Luli is a fifth grader living in New York’s Depression-era Chinatown with her parents, both of whom had worked hard all their lives in order to save enough money to put towards paying off the mortgage on their house.  But business at their restaurant has been slow and soon, the family finds themselves in dire financial straits.  With the help of her neighbors and the rest of the community, Luli is determined to do whatever she can to help her family save their home.

I didn’t realize this until close to the end of the book, but the story should actually be more accurately described as being told in two “parallel” timelines rather than “alternating” – reason being is that both Han Yu and Luli’s story arcs occur within the same “nine moon” cycle, just in different eras.  I felt this was such a clever way to structure the story, not to mention the insight it provides in terms of how the Tang dynasty moon cycles worked relevant to the modern-day Gregorian calendar.  But the two timelines were parallel in other ways too – the steamed buns, the animals, the art, the significance of the silk, found families, friendship, etc. – the list goes on and on.  As I was reading, I couldn’t help but marvel at the cleverness of the many connections between the two tremendously different storylines, both of which come together in the end in a way I wasn’t expecting, but I absolutely loved.

When it comes to dual timeline stories, I usually have a preference for one timeline over the other, but in this instance, I enjoyed both times quite equally.  Though with that said, Han Yu’s timeline did have a slight edge, mostly from a familiarity perspective due to my background studying Chinese history and culture.  Many years ago, I had actually gone on a tour of the Silk Road and one of the places I visited was Dunhuang (which is where Han Yu travels to in the story to find the healing grasses for his family) as well as the nearby Mogao Caves (the Thousand Buddha Caves in the book).  Reading about both of these places brought back so many memories of that trip, but more importantly, it made this part of the story more resonant for me, as I had experienced for myself the magnificence of those sites as well as the historical significance surrounding them (and yes, I also had the very interesting experience of riding a camel during that trip and I can truly say that I absolutely related to the scene in the book where Han Yu struggled to get on and off his camel, LOL).

There was honestly so much to love about this book that I feel like I could gush about it forever.  I especially love how well the historical and cultural elements were incorporated into the story, all of it blending together in a way that created a truly immersive experience (especially the audio version).  I also appreciated the emotional depth of the story, which was so well done in both timelines – just the right amount of emotional pull without going overboard – that I found myself both laughing and crying in equal measure.

Given how much I loved this book, I of course highly recommend it, though with the caveat that the audio book version is the best way to experience this one.  Fortunately, the audio version also has the Author’s Note in it, which is also a must-read in and of itself, as the author, Karina Yan Glaser, provides valuable insight into the structure of the book – such as why she chose to set the story in Chang’An (Han Yu’s timeline) and New York City (Luli’s timeline) specifically.  Also, since this is a historical novel, Glaser also discusses which aspects of the story are real versus fictional (i.e. Han Yu’s friend and traveling companion in the story is based on a real person – the famous Tang dynasty poet and politician Du Fu).  As is the case whenever I read historical fiction, I always make it a point to read the Author’s Note as closely as I read the book itself, as I love finding out the “behind-the-scenes” stuff and also learning about the inspiration behind various aspects of the story.

If you get a chance to pick up this delightful book, definitely do so, as it is a fantastic read that I would actually love to experience again in the future.

Review: Made in China: A Memoir of Love and Labor (by Anna Qu)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

As I continue my new-found audio book journey, I’ve been focusing on listening to memoirs and other non-fiction works that I’ve had on my TBR list for ages, but never got around to reading previously.  One such memoir is Anna Qu’s Made in China: A Memoir of Love and Labor, which I can’t remember why I had on my list, but I’m glad I finally got to it.  To be honest, the subtitle of this one is kind of misleading, as there was little to nothing about “love” in these pages, though the part about “labor” is true enough.  Not long after Qu’s father dies when she was a baby, her mother goes to America to pursue a better life, leaving Qu behind in China in the care of her grandparents.  At five years old, Qu is finally reunited with her mother and her new family in Queens, New York, but instead of being a happy reunion, this becomes the start of a nightmare for Qu.  In addition to being forced to work at her mother and stepfather’s garment factory (aka sweatshop), Qu is also repeatedly abused by her mother, who favors Qu’s half-siblings (a brother and sister) and alternates between treating Qu as a maid (making her take care of all the household choirs as well as both of her half-siblings) or pretending she doesn’t exist.  Qu spends most of the book detailing the abuse she suffers at her mother’s hand, such as when she is punished for doing her homework and thrown out of the house by her stepfather at the direction of her mother.  The most harrowing instance of abuse is when Qu’s mother beats her with a hanger for daring to tell her half-sister to ask for permission before using her colored pencils – an incident that nearly kills Qu when she tries to jump out the window to avoid her mother’s violence.  Pushed to the end of her rope, Qu alerts the Office of Children and Family Services through her school’s guidance counselor and after an investigation, Qu sees her situation improve in that she no longer has to work in the family’s sweatshop (where any money she “earned” went to her abusive mother) and instead, she is allowed to make her own money through jobs such as a dental assistant and waitressing.  Even though the social worker assigned by the OCFS, Mary, helps make Qu’s life a little bit better, the one thing that Mary is not able to help Qu with is the one thing she desperately wants – to make her mother love her.  Qu eventually goes off to college and becomes estranged from her mother for the most part (though she does go back to visit her mother, stepfather, and half-siblings at their Queens home and has dinner with them as though nothing happened, which I honestly found a bit baffling given everything she suffered in that family, culminating with her mother’s most recent refusal to provide her with the signature needed for her to continue with her schooling).

In the second half of the book, which takes place 20 years later, Qu recounts her experience working at a start-up company that is on the brink of collapsing.  This portion of the memoir I felt was kind of irrelevant to everything that occurred in the first half (though perhaps Qu included it to show how miserable her life continued to be due to all the lingering trauma from the abuse?).  During this time, Qu decides to request her OCFS report and when she receives it, she is shocked to find tons of inaccuracies with the report, all the way down to the OCFS finding that there was no evidence that Qu was ever abused.  This revelation, along with the discovery that her mother had kept the news of her beloved grandfather’s death a secret from her, devastates Qu.  Though the memoir does end on a slightly positive note with Qu being reunited with the grandmother who raised her in China and the only person in her family who truly loves her unconditionally, that scene felt too short and abrupt to counteract the “heaviness” of everything that came before it.

Overall, I found this to be an uncomfortable read, not just because of the subject matter, but also because there were points throughout the memoir (though mostly near the end) where it came across as though Qu was trying to justify her mother’s abusive behavior by relating it to the struggles she endured being widowed at a young age and then having to build a life for herself after immigrating to America alone. In a segment near the end of the book, it almost felt like Qu was trying to find excuses for her mother, insinuating that perhaps the hardship of having to overcome her situation as a Chinese immigrant woman in America is what made her violent and abusive, which might be true, but then seems to dismiss everything else she had written prior to that. 

The other thing that made this a not-too-pleasant listen was the narrator of the audio book (not the author) who read the entire book in a tone that sounded perpetually angry and bitter.  While it can be argued that using such a tone probably makes sense in this case given the subject matter, it felt grating after awhile, especially after listening for several hours straight, and put me in a depressed mood.  I think this is an instance where it would’ve been better for me to actually read the book instead of listening to it via audio.

Review: The Things We Never Say (by Elizabeth Strout)

My Rating: 5 stars

I didn’t think that I could love another Elizabeth Strout character as much as I love Olive Kitteridge and Lucy Barton but gosh darn it, Artie Dam has definitely earned a place at the top alongside my two favorite characters from the Strout universe!

On the outside, Artie seems to live a happy life – he has a teaching job he loves, a son he adores, a wife with whom he has spent more than three decades, friends and neighbors he often hangs out with, and so much more.  Yet on the inside, Artie struggles with a profound sense of loneliness – a feeling that is compounded by the anxiety he feels about the chaotic state of the world (the story takes place around the time of the 2024 election) – all of which combine to push him into what seems to him like a perpetual state of despair and gloominess.  Outwardly though, Artie is his usual self – humorous, kind, intelligent, and always making a difference to those around him (especially his students) in one way or another. When Artie discovers a secret that has been kept from him for many years, he is forced to re-examine his life, his relationships, and the people closest to him, leading him to question how it is possible to not actually know someone despite being so close to them for so long.

As is her style, Strout writes movingly yet realistically about the human condition, with its many trials and tribulations, mundanities and cruelties, and both its beauty and ugliness which, more often than not, can co-exist in surprising ways.  On an emotional level, I understood Artie in ways I didn’t expect – specifically, his ponderings about relationships and our inability to know each other, even with our closest, most intimate family members.  I’ve honestly felt this way with my own family on numerous occasions and as I reflect upon my own relationships with them, I realize how applicable Artie’s sentiment truly is.  I also can’t help but marvel at how very aptly the title of the book ties into the story – which, at its core, really is about all the things we never say, whether it’s because we “can’t” or “won’t” say them.

One thing I do have to mention (which I kind of alluded to already earlier in my review) is that our current political situation plays quite a huge role in the story.  Now, I’m not normally keen on books that incorporate politics into the story, especially contemporary politics, and usually this is a dealbreaker for me – but this book ended up being an exception.  The reason is not because it was written by one of my favorite authors, but rather, the way that the political situation was incorporated made sense within the context of the story and its characters (and it was not heavy-handed, which I appreciate).  Of course, everyone’s tolerance of this will be different, which is fine, but I personally did not have a problem with it.

With her latest novel, Strout presents us with an entirely new cast of characters (and a new setting too, as this story is set in Massachusetts rather than her usual go-to of Maine) and I ended up loving this one so much more than her previous novel Tell Me Everything (which I enjoyed, but not as wholeheartedly, as the main highlight of that book for me was the long-awaited meeting between Olive and Lucy, but that was only a small portion of the story) – perhaps because this time around, I was fully invested in not just the story, but also all the characters (both the main characters and the supporting ones).  Though with all that said, there IS an Olive-related easter egg in the story, though it’s subtle and can be easy to miss (especially for those who may not be familiar with Strout’s previous works), so Olive fans definitely keep an eye out. 

As I was putting my thoughts together for this review, it dawned on me that many of my most favorite contemporary authors (Elizabeth Strout, Ann Patchett, Fredrik Backman, Lisa See, just to name a few) have something in common that is one (though not the only) reason why I love them so much:  they all have the distinct ability to write about the human condition in ways that resonate and really hit home.  Though I’m not sure if there will be another Artie book (there might not be given what happens in the story), I still look forward to encountering these characters again at some point.  Either way though, one thing is for sure and that is, I will continue to read whatever Elizabeth Strout writes, no matter what!

Review: Gather Me: A Memoir in Praise of the Books That Saved Me (by Glory Edim)

My Rating: 4 stars

I enjoyed this memoir from the founder of the Well-Read Black Girl book club, Glory Edim, where she discusses the books and authors that saved her during some of the most difficult moments of her life. From Nikki Giovanni to Maya Angelou, Audre Lorde to Toni Morrison, and many many more, Edim recounts how the words of these brilliant writers had such a huge impact on her and eventually inspired her to start her hugely popular book club so she could continue to uplift stories by Black writers.

Even though I come from a completely different cultural background, I found that I was still able to relate to quite a few of the struggles that Edim talks about in her memoir.  For example, as the daughter of traditional Nigerian parents who immigrated to the United States, Edim had to constantly navigate the culture clash between her American upbringing and her Nigerian heritage, with having to reconcile the two often leading to an identity crisis.  This is an experience that resonates deeply with me as someone who also comes from a very traditional culture (Chinese) that oftentimes conflicts with the culture that I was raised in (American). One scene from Edim’s memoir especially stuck with me -- she talks about how she was attending her father’s funeral in Nigeria, alongside her mother and her brother Maurice and ended up causing an uproar when she insisted on saying a few words, as the cultural mandate was for women to be seen but not heard:

“I had written something about my father that I wanted to read, but I was firmly told that it would not be possible: A daughter does not speak at her father’s funeral. A woman does not speak in church. I was told not to worry; Maurice could speak for us both.”  

Edim also recounts other instances during her trip to Nigeria where she would be standing next to her brother, but people would refuse to speak to her or even acknowledge her existence, choosing instead to talk to the male in the family. Coming from a culture that places higher value on sons over daughters, I know first-hand what it feels like to be on the receiving end of such snubs (both intentional and unintentional), so I applaud Edim for standing up for herself.

This was definitely a worthwhile read, one that was made even more special with its message about the power of books to not just entertain, but also inspire, heal, and serve as a refuge during moments when it is most needed.  This one is especially good on audio, where Edim’s lively narration adds an emotional element that without a doubt enhances the reading experience.  And yes, the book recs are a wonderful bonus!

Review: The Young Will Remember (by Eve J. Chung)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

Ever since I finished reading Taiwanese American author Eve J. Chung’s stunning and immersive debut novel Daughters of Shandong back in 2023, I have been eagerly anticipating her next book, so I of course was ecstatic to find out that her sophomore novel, The Young Will Remember, would be published this year.  Whereas Chung’s debut drew on her own family history – specifically, the story of her maternal grandmother and her experiences during the Chinese civil war -- this second novel is inspired by her half-Korean husband’s family history and shed lights on another lesser-known piece of 20^th century history:  the Korean War, which was also known as the “Forgotten War.” At the same time, Chung also incorporates her own experiences as a women’s human rights lawyer as well as her work with victims of sexual violence to bring some much-needed attention to the crime of military sexual slavery and the history of “comfort women” during World War II and the wars that followed it. 

Chung weaves these threads together through the story of Eleanor (Ellie) Chang, a Chinese American journalist who becomes trapped behind enemy lines when the plane she is riding in goes down in the mountains of North Korea at the height of the Korean War.  Upon witnessing her comrades being executed in cold blood, Ellie believes she is about to meet the same fate – that is, until a woman she later comes to know as “Emma” claims Ellie as her long-lost daughter Song Yun-Hee, whom Emma had been searching for ever since she was kidnapped by Japanese occupation forces during the previous war.  Even though Ellie is obviously not her daughter, Emma takes her into the home where she lives with her long-time friends, the Pak family – Pastor Pak, his wife Imo, and their son Jae-Min – and treats her as part of the family.  Gradually, Ellie forges a close connection with Emma and Imo – a relationship that only grows stronger as the war intensifies and they are eventually forced to escape to safety in the south. Throughout their harrowing escape, even as they bear witness to the chaos and destruction of bombs raining down on them almost daily, Emma never stops searching for her daughter and at some point, Ellie also takes up the search for Yun-Hee as her own personal mission.  While the search for Yun-Hee is a thread woven throughout the narrative, the heart and soul of the story centers around the bond that Ellie and Emma form as they endure the difficulties of life amidst the upheaval of war.

Once again, Chung delivers a moving story about ordinary women who, bound together by the will to survive the extraordinary hardship and devastating heartbreak that they face, fight against all odds to rise resiliently above the forces that threaten them.  In situating her characters within the historical context of the impact that World War II had on Korea (which she discusses in her Author’s Note), Chung succeeds in doing what well-researched and well-written historical fiction does best: shed much-needed light on little known aspects of history that can also serve as relevant teaching moments when circumstances require it.  In this light, and given its themes, the title of the novel – The Young Will Remember – is indeed apt.

While I still prefer Chung’s debut novel Daughters of Shandong (which was a 5-star read for me), this sophomore effort is a worthwhile read and definitely highly recommended – though with the caveat that this won’t be an easy read by any means, given its depiction of war and its atrocities. Even so, it is still time well-spent.

Received ARC from Berkley via NetGalley.

Review: This is the Story of a Happy Marriage (by Ann Patchett)

My Rating: 5 stars

Ann Patchett is one of my favorite authors, so it probably doesn’t come as a surprise that I will pretty much read anything she writes.  After finishing Tom Lake back in 2023, I’ve been slowly working my way through Patchett’s backlist and recently finished her 2013 essay collection, This is the Story of a Happy Marriage, which I listened to on audio – a wonderful experience in and of itself, since she narrates the audiobook herself. 

Despite what the title says, this collection of essays actually covers a variety of topics – yes, her marriage to Karl is talked about at length, but there are also essays about everything from her relationship with her grandmother, to her friendship with the late Lucy Grealy and the reception of the book she wrote about her (Truth and Beauty), to her closeness with one of the nuns who had taught her in school.  There are also essays about her dog, about how she came to co-own the bookshop Parnassus in Nashville, about her experience “training” in the police academy so she could write about it (her father is a retired LAPD officer), as well as the introduction she wrote as the editor of the 2006 volume of The Best American Short Stories (among many other essays).  Though I loved all of the essays in this collection, if I had to pick a favorite, it would definitely be “The Getaway Car,” which is Patchett’s manifesto about writing – the tips that she gives in this brilliant essay are absolutely invaluable, which also makes this a must-read for all writers, whether aspiring or seasoned.

One thing to note -- this is a compilation of essays that Patchett wrote for various publications over the years, but they are not in chronological order, so technically you can skip around if you want, especially if you already read a particular essay when it was first published (though for me, I still read the collection straight through from beginning to end, regardless of whether I had read an essay previously or not).  With that said, I would actually advocate for reading all of the essays in this collection due to the multifaceted nature of the essays, which, combined as a whole, provides a fascinating glimpse into Patchett’s world and especially helps those of us who are fans of her work better understand who she is not just as a writer, but also as a person.

This is a collection I absolutely recommend, whether you’re an occasional reader of Patchett’s work or a superfan like me – and of course, if you decide to pick this up, the audiobook is definitely the way to go, as there is something about listening to Patchett narrate her own essays that elevates the reading experience.

Review: A Living Remedy (by Nicole Chung)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

Nicole Chung’s second memoir is a poignant love letter of sorts to her parents, both of whom pass away less than one year apart – her father from diabetes and kidney disease in 2019, and her mother from cancer in 2020, during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.  Chung’s grief is palpable as she recounts the tragedy of her parents’ deaths and her own helplessness in being able to do much for them, both due to financial hardship and physical distance. Mixed in with the pain of losing her parents – both of whom loved her deeply -- is the guilt that comes from feeling that she abandoned them by leaving behind the rural hometown that she grew up in as soon as she could, in pursuit of a life that couldn’t have been more different than what she had known.  Alongside that is the feeling of rage that followed Chung almost incessantly as she gradually begins to understand the role that deep-rooted inequalities in America’s healthcare system played in the premature deaths of both her parents, who were only in their 60s when they passed. In highlighting these disparities, Chung is not vindictive – instead, she lays out the challenges that her parents encounter with the system, and in so doing, not only gives voice to their experiences, but also provides an insightful look into the frustrations of a system that, in its deliberate complexity, is neither meant to be fair nor equal.

Chung’s account of her parents’ experiences especially resonated with me due to my own mother’s health issues, many of which are similar to her parents’: diabetes, kidney disease, breast and uterine cancer, high blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, just to name a few.  I understand the difficulties of having to navigate a complicated healthcare system that, at the end of the day, often times leads to disappointment and despair.  I could also relate to Chung’s worry for her parents as well as the guilt that comes from not being by her loved ones’ side when they needed her most.

This was a heartbreaking read, but also an insightful one that gave me so much to think about and reflect upon, both as it pertains to my own family situation as well as the overall state of the healthcare system in this country.  I definitely recommend this searing, honest memoir, especially the audio book version, which, even though not narrated by the author herself, was still powerful and poignant in its recounting of the everyday realities and struggles of ordinary people trying to live their lives.

Review: Charlotte's Web (by E.B. White)

My Rating: 5 “radiant” stars!

I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic recently, so I decided to go back and revisit a childhood favorite: E.B. White’s masterpiece Charlotte’s Web, which is a book I adored and read many times as a child but never got the chance to re-read in adulthood.  Honestly, what can I say about this book that hasn’t already been said?  This charming story featuring an unlikely friendship between a pig and a spider is a timeless classic, with themes that readers of all ages can relate to.  Indeed, reading this book as a child, I delighted in the whimsy of the talking animals and like so many others, I adored Wilbur (to the point that I wanted a pig of my own, lol) and loved Charlotte (which is saying a lot considering my overwhelming fear of spiders).  Of course back then, the focus was on the two main animal characters (and rightfully so), but reading this now as an adult, I was also able to appreciate the rest of the characters in a way that I couldn’t as a child. For example, I found Templeton quite funny and could never help chuckling whenever the old sheep tricked him into doing something he didn’t want to do by appealing to his baser instincts.  The goose and gander and their brood of little goslings were fun to read about as well.  By comparison, the human characters were far less interesting in my opinion, except for when they made bumbling fools of themselves, which I admit that I did find kind of funny.  Upon each re-read, whether as a child or adult, I also found the message about the enduring power of genuine friendship, even through life and death, incredibly moving.

I’m definitely glad I got the chance to revisit this wonderful book as an adult.  It was just the heartwarming pick-me-up I needed after a grueling and stressful week at work. If I didn’t already have such a huge TBR to get through, I wouldn’t mind making it a habit to re-read a favorite childhood classic more often!