Review: Taipei Story (by R.F. Kuang)

My Rating: 4 stars 

I’m recovering from an ear infection this past week that affected my ability to concentrate, so I haven’t been able to get as much reading done as I had hoped.  I’ve been able to plow through, but it will probably be slow-going for a couple more weeks, which unfortunately doesn’t bode well for my ginormous fall reading list (especially given the fact that I’m also a bit behind on my summer reading too and have been trying to catch up).  That said, I am determined to get through all the 2026 books I’ve been planning to read, since I want a clean slate as much as possible going into 2027 given the number of anticipated releases I already have lined up (I’m sure fellow bookworms can relate).

Anyway, working my way (slowly) through my fall TBR, I decided to start with one of this season’s most anticipated releases, R.F. Kuang’s Taipei Story.  Kuang’s newest work is a bit of a departure for her genre-wise, as she goes the straight up literary fiction route this time around (as opposed to her previous works which leaned more toward fantasy, dark academia, and literary satire), and while I did enjoy this one more than the other works of hers that I’ve read (Yellowface and Katabasis, specifically), it didn’t blow me away in the way that I was expecting it to.  This is an important point to make in this case because for me personally, out of all of Kuang’s works, Taipei Story is the one most in my wheelhouse – from a genre perspective, literary fiction is one of my favorite genres to read, and from a subject matter perspective, my Chinese background means that I am intimately familiar with the language and culture elements that form the crux of the story.  Most of all though, I also share a background with the story’s protagonist Lily Chen, being from an immigrant family and part of the Chinese diaspora, who grew up speaking mostly English in everyday life and Chinese only with my family while learning the mechanics of the language (Mandarin, that is) mostly through school.  To this point, I could absolutely relate to Lily’s struggles with learning Chinese, as I had similar experiences during my own undergraduate education pursuing a degree in Asian Studies.  Indeed, the scenes involving Lily’s one-on-one class with Teacher Sun reminded me of the independent study class I took during that time, which was taught by one of the university’s esteemed Chinese literature professors.  I remember the feelings of anxiety when, for my final project in the class, I had to write a critical analysis essay on Su Tong’s classic novel Raise the Red Lantern entirely in Chinese – a feat made even more difficult given the fact that computer-based foreign language typing applications were not common back then, so I actually had to write the entire essay out by hand (though I guess the silver lining is that I was able to get plenty of practice writing Chinese characters).  Having to endure my own “sea of red” for many of the assignments in that class, I could definitely understand Lily’s feelings of frustration and inadequacy in those instances.

When I read a book where there are so many aspects that I’m familiar with (i.e. the language, culture, history, etc.), it usually enhances the reading experience for me.  In this instance, Kuang packed her novel not just with tons of language-related and historical elements that I was already familiar with, she also incorporated a lot of film, literature, food, and pop culture references that I also recognized.  Yet, oddly enough, while reading this book, I didn’t feel particularly connected to either the story or the characters. Now that I think about it, this seems to be a common problem I have with Kuang’s books – regardless of how much certain elements of the story seem to resonate with me (familiarity with the subject matter and/or cultural elements, a shared background with the main character, etc.), I always feel a bit of an emotional distance with her works that makes it difficult to connect or engage at a level that would make the read 5 stars for me.  I am not able to pinpoint exactly what the issue is; as I mention in my previous reviews of Kuang’s works, she is obviously a skillful, intelligent writer – but perhaps that is precisely the problem:  I think sometimes Kuang’s highly impressive academic pedigree (undergraduate studies at Georgetown, master’s degree from Cambridge, another master’s degree from Oxford, currently working on a PhD at Yale) ends up getting in the way of her stories, albeit unintentionally.  With Taipei Story, there were large swaths of the book that, to me at least, seemed to contain “information dumps” which felt irrelevant to the story – in turn, these “information dumps” were often relayed in a matter-of-fact manner that made me feel like I was reading an excerpt from an academic essay or a textbook.  Of course, there is nothing wrong with showing off what you know (it IS one of the golden rules of writing, after all, to “write what you know”), especially if you’ve put in the effort to do the copious amounts of research (which Kuang obviously does with every book) to back up that knowledge, but I think the less-than-seamless way that knowledge (research) is incorporated into the story can, in some instances, have an unintended negative effect on the story (at least for this reader it did).

Overall, I would have to say that this was definitely an enjoyable read that I liked well enough (I mean, I did give it 4 stars when both Yellowface and Katabasis got 3.5 stars and 3 stars, respectively), but I didn’t “love” it like I initially thought I would.  That said, I definitely continue to be interested in reading Kuang’s works – though perhaps knowing that her books usually take a little more time for me to complete, I should plan better in the future and wait to tackle them during a time when I’m under less pressure to get through a ridiculously long TBR list

Received ARC from William Morrow via NetGalley.

Review: Before You Were Anne (by Emiko Jean)

My Rating: 4 stars 

This is the sequel to Emiko Jean’s bestselling mystery / thriller / suspense novel The Return of Ellie Black, which I read when it came out back in 2024 not knowing that it was the start of a series.  In that book, we were introduced to Detective Chelsey Calhoun, a small-town cop from Washington State with a passion for solving missing person cases due to her own personal experience with her sister’s disappearance many years ago.  As I mentioned in my review of that book, I absolutely loved the fact that the main protagonist Chelsey is a strong, smart, competent, no-nonsense cop who holds her own time and time again in a cut-throat profession that is not always kind to a woman of color like herself.  I mean, how often do we see an Asian female as a kick-ass lead detective (in a mainstream mystery/thriller) who is the one doing the heroic work of saving lives rather than merely being a sidekick (often to a male detective who is usually the “hero” of the story).  Given how much I loved Chelsey as a character, I was of course thrilled to be able to read more about her in Jean’s newest release, Before You Were Anne, even though I will admit that I was caught a bit off guard because I thought Ellie Black was a stand-alone novel and had no idea it was the start of a series until recently.  When it comes to series, especially ones with the same characters that continue the previous book’s storyline, I usually prefer to read the books back-to-back one right after the other rather than spread out over long periods of time because I have a bad memory and especially can’t remember details unless it’s fresh in my mind.  In this case, since I last read Ellie Black 2 years ago, I would’ve liked to re-read it before picking up the sequel, but given all the other books I have on my list to get through (this has been a phenomenal year for books, to the point that I’m still working my way through a ginormous summer and fall reading list that I’m determined to finish before the year is over), of course this was not possible.  Regardless though, I still enjoyed being reunited with Chelsey, who is now married and expecting her first child with husband Noah.  Chelsey has moved on from the small-town of Coldwell and is now a lead detective in the Seattle police department, partnering up with Detective Montoya whom she met while working the Ellie Black case.  As the Japanese daughter of white parents who adopted her when she was a baby, Chelsey’s struggles with her identity run deep, but now that she is expecting a daughter of her own, understanding her past and where she came from is even more critical for her.  So when she and Montoya are assigned a new case involving a murdered Japanese woman named Rika Takahashi (who went by the alias Anne Walker) and her missing sixteen-year-old daughter Naomi, it hits a little too close to home for Chelsey, who becomes more invested in the case than she bargained for.

I don’t want to give too much away, since it’s important to go into this one knowing as little as possible, so I’ll keep the details brief.  Overall though, I felt this sequel was very well done and I enjoyed it as much as I did the first book.  I especially appreciate the nuanced way that Jean continues to portray Chelsey – while she is still the kick-ass cop from the first book, we also get to see the vulnerable side of her, specifically in her relationship with her family, which is somewhat strained due to some things that happened in the first book as well as the circumstances around her adoption, which are finally brought to light in this book.  I also really like the way Chelsey’s partnership with Montoya was built on mutual respect and admiration for each other’s abilities, but most importantly, how they are portrayed as equals who trust each other and work well together as a cohesive unit.  This was especially refreshing because the default with stories like this that feature a male/female cop partnership usually involves some type of romantic entanglement trope or some form of insurmountable tension / conflict stemming from gender disparity.

Emiko Jean is quickly becoming a favorite author for me, as I’ve read three of her books so far and enjoyed all of them.  In exploring her backlist, it’s obvious to me that Jean has range as an author, as she writes across multiple genres – from YA to fantasy to romance and now mystery/thriller/suspense.  While I’m most interested in her mystery/thriller series, I also read her stand-alone romance Mika in Real Life, which I also loved, so I’m keen on trying her other books as well, which should hold me over until the next installment of the Chelsey Calhoun series comes out (based on how the sequel ended, I’m pretty sure there will be more books) – I just hope I won’t have to wait too long for it!

Received ARC from Simon and Schuster via NetGalley.

Review: American Fantasy (by Emma Straub)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

I’ve actually had a copy of Emma Straub’s latest release since it came out in April, but I really wanted to listen to the audio version narrated by the fantastic Marin Ireland, so I waited until my library hold came through this weekend to read this.  I’m actually glad I did because I don’t think I would’ve enjoyed this as much otherwise, seeing that I was never really into boy bands growing up (though I was surely familiar enough with them due to one of my childhood friends being obsessed with her favorite band NKOTB back in the day).  With that said, I do understand what diehard fandom looks like, since I’ve worshipped my fair share of entertainers over the years (and admittedly there are a few celebrities whose careers I still closely follow) – but even so, in the event of a celebrity meet-and-greet, I’ve never been the “screaming fan” type, preferring instead to hang back and bask in the feelings of awe and wonder at being in the presence of someone I admire.  It’s no wonder, then, that the part of the story I related to most is the idea that how we approach fandom can change in complex ways as we grow older.  Despite being obsessed with the 90s boyband Boy Talk when she was a teenager, the story’s main protagonist Annie, now a woman in her fifties, can’t help but feel like “a fish out of water” on this cruise where she gets to be in close proximity to all 5 members of the band for 4 days.  The main reason for her unease is the simple fact of her tastes having matured and so she is no longer the fan that she once was.  In fact, she only agreed to go on the cruise to appease her sister Katherine (still a die-hard fan of the band) who originally signed them up but had to pull out last minute due to an injury.  The constant thought that runs through Annie’s mind is “What am I doing here?” – yet as she becomes more immersed in the environment around her, the long-buried feelings of nostalgia slowly re-emerge, culminating in the unexpected happiness of being able to reconnect with the youthful part of herself, even if only briefly. 

Through a structure that alternates between the perspectives of Annie (a guest on the cruise ship), Sarah (who works for the company organizing the cruise), and Keith (one of the boyband members), we get to see the same event sometimes experienced from different viewpoints, which I found interesting. Having come off a cruise myself last year (family vacation), I was able to appreciate the various details that Straub included in the story – the familiarity of the environment (minus the boy band of course) made the story feel particularly atmospheric for me.

Overall, this was a fun, light read that I found entertaining and enjoyable (and I was able to finish quickly, which is always a plus when I already have an insanely long TBR to get through).  Even though this is the first Straub book I’ve read, it certainly won’t be the last, as I have several of her backlist titles on my TBR that I’m hoping to get to at some point.  If you’re a fan of boy bands or cruises (or perhaps both?), or just want a feel-good read that recalls the nostalgic feelings of youth, I definitely recommend picking this one up.

Review: Lake Effect (by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney)

My Rating: 3 stars

My first exposure to Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney’s work was through her second book Good Company, which I remember reading and finding relatively entertaining, but disliking the characters quite a bit.  With her newest work, Lake Effect, Sweeney once again populates the book with unlikeable characters who pretty much spend the entire story completely oblivious to the myriad ways in which their actions and behavior hurt one another. 

The dynamics of the two families at the center of the story – the Larkins and the Finnegans – are complicated at best, dysfunctional at worst, and all the characters seem to be stuck in a frustrating loop of resentment, anger, and regret that honestly became exhausting to read.  To be clear, I have nothing against dysfunctional families, as I come from one myself, but the way that Sweeney crammed every annoying dysfunction imaginable into these two families with seemingly no redeeming qualities to balance things out made it truly difficult to feel sympathy for any of the characters.  The men all behaved like jerks, the women were mostly caricatures on opposite ends of the spectrum (i.e.: the fanatically religious yet morally hypocritical housewife versus the radically apathetic, sexually promiscuous and morally corrupt “modern” woman), and the teenaged children all continue to behave childishly even into adulthood.  I’m the type of reader who needs to have at least one character to root for, so in this case, not having a single character that I could feel even an ounce of sympathy for made this a bit of an unpleasant read for me. I read some reviews that posited perhaps Sweeney was being satiric with her portrayal of some of these characters and maybe it is the case that she was poking fun at the ridiculous behavior of privileged suburbanites, but I honestly didn’t see the humor in any of these characters’ actions or behaviors (or, perhaps, this was just a case of me not “getting” the joke). 

With all that said, this wasn’t an entirely disagreeable reading experience in that there were some contentious moments where the fallout from the “scandal” (the main driving force of the entire story) came to a head, which did make for some entertaining reading.  Overall though, I would say that this book wasn’t really to my taste (or perhaps I’m just tired of the “privileged people behaving badly” trope that seems to make its way into so many books nowadays) and if this hadn’t been a book club selection, I probably would not have picked it up.  While I don’t regret reading this one, the fact that I wasn’t keen on both of the books I’ve read by this author is probably a sign that her works don’t jive with my tastes, so I should think twice before picking up another of her books.

 

Review: The Seekers of Deer Creek (by Thao Thai)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

After reading and loving Thao Thai’s debut novel Banyan Moon when it came out in 2023, I’ve been excitedly waiting for her next book, which finally arrived last month with The Seekers of Deer Creek. Thai’s sophomore effort is just as beautifully written as her debut, with so many profound moments that not only resonated with me, but also were sources of thought and reflection that continued to linger long after I finished the book.  Banyan Moon was a family saga about mother / daughter relationships and the complicated cultural dynamics that can inform these relationships in ways both positive and negative.  This time around, with Seekers, Thai centers her story around the Nguyen sisters, Vivi and Calla, and the complexities of a sibling relationship that is strained and emotionally fraught, yet also deeply loving.  The two sisters couldn’t be more different: Vivi is practical and sensible, the protector and “responsible” one whose job it is to constantly rein in her free-spirited and “frenetic” younger sister Calla who can be reckless and unpredictable to the point of worry. Yet both sisters share more in common than they think, especially in their struggles with addiction (both literal and figurative) and surviving a tumultuous childhood that ended up having a huge impact on both of them, though in different ways.  After the death of their father, Calla finds a letter and sketch in his home that is eerily similar to a painting created by reclusive Vietnamese artist K.P. Ly. -- the letter mentions an “offering,” which Calla believes is meant for their family.  She brings this discovery to Vivi in the hopes that she will accompany her on a search for this supposed relic from the past and while Vivi reluctantly agrees, the decision is a difficult one to make given the dissonance in the sisters’ relationship.  Indeed, the journey to understand their family’s past ends up having a profound impact on both sisters.

I have to say that I loved this novel nearly as much as I did Thao Thai’s debut, though I found the mystery aspect a little lacking, which is why I rated this one 4.5 stars instead of 5.  With that said, I actually connected with the part of the story that explored Vivi and Calla’s sibling relationship more than the mystery involving K.P. Ly and the lost artwork.  I related so much to Vivi, with her reticent personality and myopia when it came to her own needs.  Calla hits it on the nose when she reprimands her sister: “You like having the answers, working in the shadows so no one could judge your heart and mind.  You’d sooner vanish than leave yourself vulnerable.”  Vivi resents her sister for seeing through her, and yet, deep down, Vivi recognizes that, at the end of the day, she “didn’t want to win, she only wanted to be understood.” Vivi’s struggle to reconcile what she wants versus what is expected of her resonated with me deeply – true, some of Vivi’s behavior frustrated me to no end (such as the way she repeatedly hurts the people who love her by saying cruel things to them in efforts to push them away – her inability to allow anyone to love her was akin to a lingering illness that she could not overcome), but I still found myself rooting for her.  Perhaps one of the reasons why I’m so drawn to Vivi is because I see so much of myself in her, whether it’s the inherent flaws that she struggles to overcome or the attempts to navigate her different roles in life (“steady sister, dependable daughter, supportive best friend”).  To this point, I found this quote from the book particularly relevant and meaningful: “Some humans come with a price.  You accept them in their entirety, because learning to love their flaws is easier than not loving them at all.”

Thao Thai writes in a way that is both profound and perceptive, with so many gorgeously rendered sentences that I ended up having something to highlight on nearly every page.  With this book, I also did something I hadn’t done since grad school: close read and take notes.  While doing this took me longer to get through the book than normal, it was well worth the effort, as I picked up on so many nuances that I probably would not have otherwise. One example is Thao Thai’s allusion to the poem “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti, which I had written a paper about in one of my English Literature classes – as soon as I saw the reference, I couldn’t help noticing the parallels between the sisters’ relationships in both works and it completely changed how I engaged with the story.  That said, as much as I loved the experience, I probably won’t do this type of close reading analysis with every book, at least not upon the first read, as I see now that there is a benefit to reading a book straight through and then doing a closer read upon the second go-around when I already know the main beats of the story.

If you loved Thao Thai’s debut as much as I did, I would definitely recommend reading her sophomore novel, though I must be clear that both books are very different in story and tone, despite sharing similarly emotive and beautiful prose (and absolutely gorgeous covers).  I can’t wait to see what Thao Thai will write next!

Received ARC from Mariner Books via NetGalley.

Review: Big Little Truths (by Liane Moriarty)

My Rating: 4 stars

In her first ever sequel Big Little Truths, Liane Moriarity takes us back to the world of one of her most popular books, Big Little Lies, where we are reunited with Madeline, Celeste, Jane, Bonnie, and Renata on the Pirriwee Peninsula in Australia. It is 10 years later and the precocious kindergarteners from the first book are now teenagers in high school.  Dealing with all the drama that comes with the territory of parenting teenagers is already fraught and difficult, but add to that a parent having to manage a health crisis, a mother-in-law who may or may not have dementia, an illicit vaping business at school, a marriage at a crossroads, a strange man approaching young girls asking weird questions, and unsurprisingly, parents and kids alike having to deal with the fallout of the incident from the first book.  Oh and let’s not forget the inciting incident that opens the sequel – the principal at the high school that all the kids attend receives a severed human finger in the mail, which triggers an investigation by the same bumbling police detective from the first book.  All of this allows Moriarty to employ a similar format as the first book – a narrative with short chapters told from the alternating perspectives of the main characters that is interspersed with updates on the investigation from the detective, school announcements from the principal, WhatsApp chat excerpts from the parent groups, and excerpts from interview sessions, though this time around, instead of parents giving their testimony in a police interrogation, it is the children talking to a counselor (about a situation that will be revealed at the end of the story).

As she did with its predecessor, Moriarty does a great job here juxtaposing the silly human foibles (i.e. feeling indignant about getting upstaged at one’s birthday party) with the serious life and death issues (i.e. dealing with a family member’s cancer diagnosis), creating a delicate blend of heart and humor that makes this book a simultaneously delightful and reflective read.  Again, Moriarty covers a lot of ground in terms of social issues and themes, yet she is such a compelling storyteller that the story flows seamlessly and effortlessly – despite its length, this book never feels overwhelming or tedious to read.  Case in point – I finished this book (listening to the audio and reading the physical book in tandem) in 2 days because I just had to know what was going to happen.

With all that said, I have to admit that I enjoyed the first book a tad more than the sequel (I had actually rated Big Little Lies 4.5 stars whereas I rated the sequel 4 stars) – I can’t pintpoint exactly why, but I’m thinking perhaps the drama and politics in that story were lower stakes, so Moriarty could ratchet up the “ridiculous” factor (i.e.: the outlandish actions and reactions of the parents, especially Madeline) a bit more and therefore make the story overall much funnier (and I felt like I could laugh without restraint).  Also, the “twist” in the first book, while serious, kind of kept the kids out of it for the most part.  By comparisons, some of the themes in the sequel were a lot more serious (definitely went beyond the “typical petty schoolyard drama” from the first book), plus the “twist” here directly involved the kids – I guess for me, the overall higher stakes of the “drama” kind of made it uncomfortable to laugh as freely as I did at some of the events that occurred in this book versus the first one.  Still, this is brilliantly written and especially good on audio as narrated by Caroline Lee, who was the narrator for the first book as well.  The audio narration was excellent as expected, though my one (minor) complaint would be the segments with the counseling session excerpts – unlike with the audio for the first book, the narrator didn’t identify each person speaking this time around and since all the voices sounded the same, I couldn’t tell who was saying what.  Luckily, I had also bought a print copy of the book, so for those sections, I decided to read the conversations in tandem while listening – not a dealbreaker of course, but it did slow things down a little.

Needless to say, if you read and enjoyed Big Little Lies, this sequel is a must-read.  If you haven’t read the first book, well, you actually shouldn’t read this one because despite everyone swearing up and down that this sequel can be read as a standalone, that is actually not true, as the sequel not only gives away the ending to the first book, it also refers back to things that happened in that story and some of the aftermath as well as impact on the characters that likely will not make sense without the context from the first book.  And no, having watched the HBO series adaptation doesn’t really count because they changed a lot of things in that series, including the ending (besides, as Moriarity makes clear in her Author’s Note, this sequel is to the actual book, not the series).

 

Review: The Devoted (by Catherine Cho)

My Rating: 4 stars

As those who follow my reviews probably know by now, I can be somewhat of a fanatic when it comes to the depiction of Hong Kong (both the city and its culture) in certain mediums of entertainment (such as movies and TV shows, for instance), but especially in books.  Given Hong Kong’s literary bona fides as the former home base for some of the greatest authors in the Chinese-speaking world (Jin Yong, Ni Kuang, and Eileen Chang immediately come to mind), it has always saddened me to see the dearth of books set in or about HK that actually appear in the mainstream literary market (I’m referring mostly to fictional works here).  The books that do make it are usually written from an expat perspective (which of course makes sense given the city’s colonial roots) and oftentimes, I feel, lean too heavily into depicting the glamorous, fast-paced “cosmopolitan international city” side of HK rather than the ordinary, somewhat gritty and definitely less glamorous side that I’m more familiar with.  Though perhaps, with Hong Kong’s unique position as a city perpetually undergoing an identity crisis, I probably should not be so surprised by the disparate depictions that can vary widely based on one’s perspective.

Within this context, I found Catherine Cho’s novel The Devoted quite refreshing in that it is told from an expat perspective (the experience of a Korean family in Hong Kong), yet it also leans heavily into the side of Hong Kong that most mainstream audiences in the English-speaking world probably would not be familiar with: the dark, gritty world of HK’s infamous triad societies. Granted, we ordinary folks likely wouldn’t be familiar with the inner workings of these triad societies either, but for those of us who grew up on a steady diet of HK movies and TV series (especially in the decades when the triads were actively involved in the HK film industry), the triad society concept definitely wouldn’t be a foreign one.  Indeed, as I was reading Cho’s novel, I could picture the world she was writing about quite vividly: scenes from all those famous triad movies I grew up watching -- A Better Tomorrow, Election, Infernal Affairs, the Young and Dangerous franchise, to name few -- would come flooding back into my mind, but at the same time, it also made me curious to see what Cho’s version of the triad society would look like.  I say this because majority of the time, stories about the triads (whether movies, TV shows, or books) center on the male members of these organized crime groups – women were usually periphery characters who were either victims of the triads’ activities or passive partners expected to stand by their men no matter the cost. Cho’s story, however, goes in a slightly different direction in that she centers the narrative around a young Korean woman, Eunha, whose father and brother are both Dragon Heads (triad society leaders).  Despite attempts to shield Eunha from this criminal underworld, including having her marry into a respectable family, it’s impossible for her not to be impacted in some way due to her family’s infamous connections.  Caught between two very different worlds, Eunha struggles to reconcile the various roles she is meant to play -- daughter, sister, wife, mother -- while trying to navigate the complexities of a past that is inextricably tangled with her future.  I appreciate how Cho decided to center Eunha’s struggle as the driving force for the main tension in the story (as opposed to the experiences of the men whom the triad societies usually revolve around), yet at the same time, she does not skimp on the details about the triad lifestyle and activities.  This made for both a unique and atmospheric read.

As mentioned earlier, I had initially picked this one up purely for the Hong Kong setting, but in all honesty, knowing that the story would be told from the expat perspective gave me pause in that I thought this would go the way that most expat narratives usually do: a glamorized version that doesn’t reveal much of the “real” Hong Kong.  But to my pleasant surprise and delight, that definitely wasn’t the case here, as Cho actually gives us plenty of glimpses into the “old” Hong Kong that I know and love.  Some of the nostalgia-inducing details that I noticed in the story (in no particular order): the New Territories, fishing villages, horse races at Happy Valley, the ferry, Victoria harbor, neon signs, Mongkok, Tsim Sha Tsui, Stanley, street hawkers and food stalls, cha chaan tengs, the “other” family on the mainland, KTV, 5-10-15 drinking game, Lan Kwai Fong night life, dark alleyways, the Peninsula hotel, Lane Crawford, tai tais, night markets, Sandy Lam, the monsoon weather, typhoon season, dim sum restaurants, tiny apartments in buildings with doormen, jade medallions, the Peak, Kowloon, fortune tellers and soothsayers, trams and buses, egg tarts and milk tea (I could go on but I will stop here, as this list is already way too long).

For me, this was a nostalgic read that I ended up enjoying due to my familiarity with the setting, but I understand this may not necessarily be the case for others, so I would suggest doing your research before deciding whether to pick this one up.  One thing I will say is that for a story about triads, this is actually pretty tame, especially when compared to the HK triad-themed movies of the old days.  Most of the violence (which there isn’t much of in the first place) happens off the page so those who are concerned with reading about gory scenes don’t have to worry.  If anything, read this one for the historical and cultural aspects, which were particularly well done in my opinion.

Received ARC from Washington Square Press via NetGalley.

Review: Grown Women (by Sarai Johnson)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

Sarai Johnson’s debut Grown Women is a book club read and one that is right up my alley, since I have a particular fondness for multi-generational family stories with strong women at the center.  The story revolves around four generations of Black women – Evelyn, Charlotte, Corinna, and Camille – and their complex relationships with each other as they contend with their roles as mothers and daughters amidst the underlying tension created by past trauma.  The conflicts between Evelyn, Charlotte, and Corinna run especially deep, nearly to the point of no return – that is, until Camille enters their lives.  This bright and beautiful girl triggers a long overdue reconciliation between these three women, who decide to collectively raise Camille and in so doing, give themselves the chance to put aside past hurts and “do better” by each other. Through a narrative that alternates between the perspectives of these four women who are determined not to let the pain of the past get in the way of caring for those they love, Johnson presents a poignant story of familial love, healing, and the courage to overcome past hurts to forge one’s own path to happiness.

Overall, this book is well-written – I especially appreciated its in-depth, realistic portrayal of the four women at the heart of the story, as it really helped me as a reader get to know these characters. With that said however, the story’s non-linear structure didn’t entirely work for me, as there was too much jumping back and forth, not just between characters, but also between time periods.  As I was reading, I found it difficult at times to distinguish between the characters’ voices, leading to confusion that required me to flip back through the previous pages to see who was speaking.  Of course, this was even less convenient to do via audio, with the constant “stop-and-go” making the listening experience much longer than it needed to be.  Though to be honest, structure aside, the story itself was detail-heavy and meandered a little in parts, which made the overall read/listen feel kind of tedious.  While the audio version was quite good (the audiobook narrator Karen Chilton did a great job), I found myself having to switch back and forth between the audio and print versions because the pacing was way too slow and I was getting impatient.

While I’m unsure if I would have picked this one up if it hadn’t been a book club pick, I’m glad that I got the chance to read this, as I found the way that Johnson explores mother/daughter relationships within the context of race and class especially illuminating.  I would definitely be interested in reading more by this author in the future.

 

Review: You Are Here (by David Nicholls)

My Rating: 3 stars

I had decided to pick up David Nicholls’s You Are Here because so many of my book friends loved it, so when my audiobook hold finally came through, I was excited to finally read this, as there were so many aspects of it that seemed to be right up my alley:  smart and funny protagonists, witty banter, heartwarming humor, characters that are realistically written, a love story rather than pure romance, etc.  I liked all the characters well enough, especially Marnie and Michael, who were relatable and realistic, and as a romance novel, I appreciated the not-as-common premise where two middle-aged protagonists unexpectedly get a second chance at finding love while on a 10-day hike through England.  With so many things going for it, I was truly expecting to fall head-over-heels in love with the story like all my friends did. 

Yet for some reason, I found it difficult to get into this one.  Perhaps it was the slow start to the story, as Nicholls does take quite a bit of time to set things up, and also the structure, where each (short) chapter hopped back and forth between Marnie’s and Michael’s perspectives in seemingly quick succession, which felt a bit dizzying and also made it hard to get to know each of the characters deeply.  It also perhaps wasn’t a good idea to listen to this one on audio, especially at the speed that I’m usually most comfortable with (1.25x).  While the two narrators were lively and entertaining, it was hard to understand what they were saying at times due to the accents not translating well at higher speeds – whenever this happened, I would pause the audio and locate the same spot in the book so I could see what I missed.  This repeated “stop-and-go” got a bit tiresome after a while, not to mention it took me out of the story so often that it started to negatively impact my reading experience.  Specifically, this became a somewhat tedious read which, overall, made me enjoy it much less than I initially anticipated.  About halfway through the audio, I decided to switch over to the e-book version and while that worked a lot better for me, as I was able to read the book through without stopping, it was, unfortunately, a bit too late by then. 

I think the lesson learned here for me is to choose carefully when deciding which books to listen to on audio versus which ones to read in print, and definitely to do more research before diving in, since the impact to the reading experience can be quite significant.

I may try this again at some point down the road, as my book friends don’t usually steer me wrong and I think in this case, I just picked the wrong medium with which to experience this one. If I do end up taking another stab at this, definitely will go with the print version.

Received ARC from Harper via NetGalley.

Review: An Infinite Love Story (by Chanel Cleeton)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

I’ve read nearly all of Chanel Cleeton’s historical fiction novels, her newest release, An Infinite Love Story, is probably my favorite of her works outside of the Perez family series.  This time around, Cleeton centers the story around the Space Race of the 1960s, when the United Staes and Russia were locked in a fierce battle to develop their space program and send people to the moon.  The story opens in 1968 and revolves around Vivian Mitchell, whose astronaut husband Joe has just been launched into space for a lunar orbit mission when his spacecraft loses contact with mission control.  As the days turn into weeks, Joe and his crew are presumed dead.  In the throes of immense grief, Vivian yearns to escape the public scrutiny that comes with the territory of being an astronaut’s wife and instead, mourn her husband in peace – but when the investigation into the lost spacecraft veers off course and the entire incident is in danger of being written off as an “operator error,” Vivian knows she cannot stand idly by and watch people tarnish the reputation of the dear husband who dedicated his life to advancing America’s space ambitions. In so doing, Vivian also shines a light on the struggles that astronaut families face, as well as the sacrifices that the wives especially are expected to make in order to support their husbands’ careers.  When Vivian starts to receive messages of a personal nature that she believes could only have been sent by Joe, her hope in her husband’s survival is rekindled and sets her on the path to not only uncover the mystery of what possibly happened, but most importantly, to bring her husband back to her.

Cleeton’s latest novel is a bit of a departure from her previous works.  In addition to the historical backdrop and the love story that are the usual focal points in all her stories, this one also incorporates some speculative elements, veering slightly into science fiction territory, but in a way that doesn’t detract from the main storyline – specifically, Vivian and Joe’s “infinite love story,” which we get glimpses of through chapters that alternate between the start of their relationship in 1961 and the launch as well as its aftermath in 1968.  I normally don’t read much speculative or science fiction, as the supernatural and science elements usually overwhelm and go over my head, but in this case, Cleeton was able to balance the various genre elements – historical, romance, science fiction – quite perfectly. 

I was also very much invested in the central love story, as Vivian and Joe’s relationship felt believable to me and was written in a way that it was nearly impossible not to want to root for them. All of the supporting characters in the story were also wonderfully rendered – I especially loved the friendship that Vivian and Polly shared, which moved me almost as much as the main romance did. Speaking of which, I felt that Cleeton did a great job with conveying the poignancy of Vivian and Joe’s enduring love for each other, but not in a sappy or saccharine way – their relationship, as well as all the others in the story, were emotionally nuanced and realistic.  Having read most of Cleeton’s previous works, I feel that this one has an emotional depth to it that many of the others lacked.

I definitely enjoyed this one a lot overall, though it fell a tad bit short of 5 stars for me only because I found some of the writing a little clunky and there were some overly repeated phrases (such as “if she was being honest” or some variation of this) that I felt were unnecessary, which distracted me at times as I was reading (though much of this could be attributed to the fact that I read an ARC copy – maybe the final edit will be different). Though with all that said, both issues are relatively minor in the grand scheme of things.  Without a doubt, I definitely recommend picking this one up, especially if you’re a fan of Cleeton’s works.  For me personally, I feel that Cleeton gets better and better with each novel, which makes me anticipate what she might write next!

Received ARC from Berkley via NetGalley.