Review: Real Americans (by Rachel Khong)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

I just finished a major project for class, so I'm hoping to have some time for catching up on my leisure reading over the next couple weeks. I decided to pick up Rachel Khong's Real Americans next because of an author talk I plan to attend (which I'm very much looking forward to!).  

I will start off by saying that, admittedly, this was one of those books that I found a little bit hard to parse at times, mostly because of the "science" element — which, even though it remains largely in the background throughout most of the story, it does play a pretty significant role in advancing parts of the plot. That said however, I feel that the way Khong structured the story is brilliant — there are 3 parts to the story, each told from the first person perspective of 3 different characters: Lily in 1999, Nick in 2021, and Mei in 2030. All 3 voices felt distinct to me, which is an admirable feat, no doubt, given how different it is to pull off.  The first part of the story, told from Lily's perspective, reads like a romance, as it is the love story of how Lily — the daughter of Chinese immigrants who struggles to make sense of her life working a dead-end job that she's not even getting paid for — meets Matthew, the rich heir of a pharmaceutical conglomerate -a and how they ultimately fall in love and start a family together.  Part 2 fast forwards 22 years later — Lily and Matthew are separated and Lily is raising their son Nick, who is 15 years old, alone in a remote part of Washington.  Told from Nick's perspective, this part feels like a coming of age story, as Nick (who, though biracial, looks more like his father than his mother) struggles to come to terms with his own identity as well as that of his estranged father, whom his mother refuses to tell him anything about.  Part 3 takes place 9 years later, in 2030, but actually provides the backstory that explains many of the things that happened in parts 1 and 2.  This last section (which reads like historical fiction) is told from the perspective of Lily's mother Mei, as she recounts what her life was like growing up in China in the 1960s, at the height of the country's Cultural Revolution, and how she ended up fleeing to America.  What I found interesting about this structure is that all 3 parts, at times, read like 3 different stories (albeit with the same characters), and interestingly enough, the 3 timelines never truly converge like most multiple timeline stories do, yet the overarching story as a whole never felt disjointed.  As I was reading, I was continually engaged with the story, even though oftentimes, not a whole lot was actually happening plot-wise.  All the characters in here were also well-drawn, realistic, and relatable — especially the 3 characters who narrate the story.  

Another interesting thing to note with this story is that it's not one of those stories that ties everything up neatly (and not just the ending). There are gaps in all 3 timelines that are never fully explained, yet the story still feels complete somehow (not sure how to explain this properly but I think those who've read this will know what I mean).  

Overall, this was an engrossing read that I absolutely recommend.  The story itself is definitely the slow burn type — quiet, subtle, and rarely makes any major waves — yet it also never felt boring to me (case in point, I read this in 2 days because I couldn't bring myself to put it down).  Part of this was due to Khong's writing, which the blurb to the book already describes perfectly as "moving" and "immersive."  I haven't yet read Khong's debut novel Goodbye, Vitamin, but given how much I enjoyed this new one, I will definitely have to go back and read that one.

Received ARC from Knopf via NetGalley. 

Review: The Other Side of Disappearing (by Kate Clayborn)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

As has probably been evident from the sparseness of my postings in recent weeks, I've been a bit behind on my leisure reading lately.  Don't get me wrong — I've definitely been reading a lot, everyday in fact, it's just that most of it is stuff I need to read for class so that I can complete my assignments.  With that said however, in not wanting to sacrifice my leisure reading too much, I've been trying to find a better balance between work, family, and grad school obligations so that I can get to as many of the books on my teetering TBR as possible (albeit at a slower pace than usual). 

One of the books on my list from last month is Kate Clayborn's newest romance The Other Side of Disappearing.  Since I don't read a lot of romance overall, I usually go off recommendations from friends when it comes to this genre and Clayborn came highly recommended.  I can definitely see why, as Clayborn's romance feels different from ones that I've read in the past — it's written in a way that leaves much food for thought.  The story is narrated in the first person and alternates between the perspectives of the main couple, Jess Greene and Adam Hawkins.  Adam is employed by Broadside Media, where he is assigned to  work with veteran journalist Salem Durant, whose popular podcast about con artist Lynton Baltimore catapulted her to fame over a decade ago.  That podcast resulted in some unfinished business and Salem wants nothing more than to track Baltimore down in order to tie up that particular loose end. The opportunity arises when they are contacted by Tegan Caulfield, whose mother Charlotte abandoned her 10 years ago when she ran away with her then-boyfriend (whom Tegan finds out is actually con man Baltimore). With some clues Tegan provides, they arrange to go on a search for Charlotte, which they hope will also lead them to Baltimore.  When Tegan's half-sister Jess finds out about the plans, she insists on going along so she can protect the sister whom she has raised since their mother's abandonment.  On this road trip "adventure," all four characters end up discovering things about themselves that ultimately change the course of their lives.

Overall, this was an enjoyable read and a fun way to take a break from so much heavy academic reading.  One of the things that stood out to me with this story is the interesting angle that Clayborn took with the main theme of "disappearing" — she goes beyond the literal definition of the word and instead goes deeper to explore the various forms that "disappearing" can take (not just the physical, but also the emotional, mental, spiritual, etc).  The nuanced way that some of the themes were explored added a little bit of a philosophical bent to the story, which I appreciated.  

My one complaint would be that I found it difficult to connect with the characters for some reason.  I liked the characters for the most part and Adam and Jess as a couple was one I could stand behind and root for (which I did, of course), but I didn't feel as much of an emotional connection as I was expecting. Regardless though, I would definitely read more by this author if the opportunity were to arise.

Received ARC from Kensington via NetGalley.

Review: After Annie (by Anna Quindlen)

My Rating:  4.5 stars

This is a beautifully written story about a young wife and mother, Annie Brown, who collapses on the kitchen floor one night and never gets up again.  In the aftermath, her devastated family, swimming in grief, try to cope with the loss of the person who was the center of their universe — her husband Bill is shellshocked and buries himself in his work; her daughter Ali, only 13 years old, yet as the eldest, takes up the responsibility of caring for her 3 younger brothers as well as her father; Ant, at 11 years old, becomes angry and silent; the two youngest boys, Jamie and Benjy, don't understand what is happening and constantly ask when their mommy will be returning from the hospital, only for their questions to go unanswered; and then there's AnneMarie, the best friend since childhood who was dragged back from the brink of her own drug-fueled self-destruction by Annie, and now is in danger of spiraling out of control again after losing the one person who was her anchor and kept her on solid ground.  

The narrative is divided up based on seasons, starting with the winter day when Annie dies, then follows the family through the subsequent spring, summer, and autumn, at the same time alternating between the perspectives of Bill, Ali, and AnneMarie as they are forced to navigate a world without Annie in it.  The story is so sad and heartbreaking — I especially felt for Ali, who had to take up so much on her own while the adults in her life were adrift and didn't pay her much attention.  All the kids, in fact, I felt so much sympathy for that the entire time I was reading, I just wanted to reach out and hug them, comfort them.

The writing here is so moving and heartfelt — Quindlen captures the nuances of ordinary life so perfectly; at the same time, the way she has her characters navigate grief and loss felt so realistic that, at various points, I found I had tears streaming down my face.

I know Quindlen is a prolific author but this is actually the first time I've read any of her books.  It definitely won't be the last time however and with such a huge backlist, I'm glad that there will be plenty of her books to explore in the future.

Received ARC from Random House via NetGalley.

Review: Supercommunicators (by Charles Duhigg)

My Rating:  4 stars

As I've mentioned in previous reviews, books classified under the "self-help" category can be very much a hit or miss for me. This is partly because overall, it already takes me longer to read nonfiction books and with so many books on my TBR, the time pressure can be quite palpable.  More significantly though, when the book contains a "self-help" element, I feel even more pressure to actually "get" something out of the book in order for me to feel like it was worth my while to read.  This last part depends a lot on how the "self-help" element is presented, which could go in either the "yes, this resonates with me" or "no, most of this doesn't apply to me" direction (of course I always hope for the former).  

In this case, Charles Duhigg's newest book Supercommunicators definitely fell into the "resonant" category for me, even though I will admit that I was a tad hesitant about the subject matter at first. I actually decided to pick up this book not because of the subject (believe me, as an introvert with social anxiety who prefers to be alone rather than be around others, reading about how to better communicate is the last thing I want to do, lol), but rather because I had really enjoyed Duhigg's The Power of Habit (which was massively popular when it first came out in 2012) and so was hoping to find more of the same.  While I have to say that this book turned out to be quite different from the habit book in terms of scope and topic, there were some similarities that made it as enjoyable and interesting a read as that one.  First and foremost, I like that the book is written in a straightforward, easy to understand way, with practical, real world examples that felt both realistic and familiar.  I also like how he formatted the book (similarly to his habit book) where he would structure each chapter around a case study and present details that tied the study to the particular concept he was discussing.  Most of all though, I like the journalistic format where it felt at times that I was reading a series of well-written articles (the type of long-form story-like narratives often found in newsmagazines) — of course this is not surprising given that Duhigg is a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter / journalist (and yes, he writes for newsmagazines in addition to newspapers).

For me, one of the things that can be a "deal-breaker" when I read self-help books is the author's tone, which comes across in their style of writing.  Personally, I can't stand self-help books that make me feel like I'm being lectured or talked down to or that subtly imply that I'm missing out if I don't apply the concepts from the book right then and there. I'm the type of person who needs to let concepts and ideas sink in slowly and gradually before I can derive meaning from them, so I'm not keen on books that feel pushy or overly-preachy.  Duhigg writes in a way where his enthusiasm for the subject shines through, but there's also enough neutrality and restraint where it doesn't feel like he's trying to push me toward one direction or another (at least not overtly anyway, lol).  He also writes with a sense of humor, which I always appreciate, especially in nonfiction books.

Even though some of the concepts covered in this book I felt wouldn't necessarily apply to me, there was plenty that I resonated with…and to me surprise, one of the concepts that Duhigg advocated in the book was something I was already doing for years — I guess I was applying "super communicator" techniques without even knowing it!

This is a book that fans of Duhigg's works will undoubtedly enjoy.  Even if you're not a fan though, there's still plenty to enjoy.  If you've read The Power of Habit , the structure of the book will definitely be recognizable (and if you liked that one, most likely this one will appeal as well).  I just found out that Duhigg also wrote a book on productivity and few years after the habit one — I'm definitely interested in checking that book out at some point!

Received ARC from Random House via NetGalley. 

Review: Never Let Me Go (by Kazuo Ishiguro)

My Rating:  5 stars

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

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

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

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

 

Review: The Storm We Made (by Vanessa Chan)

My Rating:  4 stars

First of all, let me just say that this book definitely did not read like a debut to me.  The writing flowed beautifully, the characters were fully fleshed out and developed, and the historical as well as cultural details were meticulously rendered to the point that I felt completely immersed and transported to the time and place of the story (Japanese-occupied Malaya during WWII).  One of the things I love about historical fiction is its ability to bring awareness to events / people / situations, etc., in history through the means of an engaging story, with the best ones often triggering a desire to read up on the subject matter more after finishing the book itself. In this case, even though I was already familiar with the Japanese occupation of various Asian countries during WWII (given my Chinese background, I grew up hearing endless stories about the antagonism between China and Japan during that time), I still felt compelled to read more about the events mentioned in the book (specifically, the Japanese invasion and occupation of Malaysia from 1941 to 1945).  In her author letter, Vanessa Chan mentions her inspiration for the book being from her grandparents, who were initially reluctant to talk about those Occupation years, but ultimately relented and provided her with the many insights into how they survived that time period, many details of which she eventually incorporated into her story.

The angle that Chan ended up taking with this story — having it revolve around a wife and mother in British-colonized Malaya who provides intelligence to a Japanese general that ultimately ushers in a brutal occupation — was an interesting and unique one.  When the story opens in February 1945, Cecily's family is in a bad spot: her husband Gordon, formerly a high-ranking bureaucrat in the British-run colonial government, has been reduced to doing physical labor at a sheet-metal factory; her teenage son Abel has just disappeared, following the fate of other boys in the town who were kidnapped to a camp guarded by Japanese soldiers; her youngest daughter Jasmin has to hide in the basement all day to avoid being recruited into service at the comfort stations; and her eldest daughter Jujube is pushed to the brink of madness trying to protect her little sister while also attempting to maintain order in the household. Seeing her family coming apart at the seams, Cecily understands that this is all her doing — we are then taken back to 10 years earlier, where we get Cecily's backstory and how she came to meet the man who would change her life forever:  Shigeru Fujiwara, a charismatic Japanese general who convinces Cecily to work with him to achieve the goal of "Asia for Asians" by overthrowing the British colonial government in Malaya.  Their efforts prove successful and the Japanese invade a few years later.  Unfortunately, the Japanese occupiers turn out to be cruel and callous, killing "more people in three years than the British colonizers had in fifty."  The rest of the story alternates between these two time periods as well as between the perspectives of Cecily and her three children, with the timelines eventually merging as the war comes to an end and we see the impact of Cecily's actions on both her family as well as on the community at large.

This was one of those books that I almost finished in one sitting, as the story was so compelling that I found myself unable to stop turning the pages.  With that said however, this was also a difficult and exhausting read due to the heavy subject matter — while this was expected given the premise going into it, what I didn't expect was the emotional depth of the characters, who were each written in ways that made it hard not to feel for them in some capacity, despite their actions.  As I was reading, I was honestly preparing myself to hate both Fujiwara and Cecily, but when I got to the end, well, let's just say that I had to rethink my feelings about them (and I'm still thinking about it, even now).

One of the things that also struck me about this book was how much I resonated with certain aspects of it — not the parts about espionage or the war of course, but rather the complexity of the feelings and circumstances that inform some of the characters' decisions. I think this complexity is best described by Chan herself in her author's note where she states:  "I wrote about inherited pain, womanhood, mothers, daughters, and sisters, and how the choices we make reverberate through the generations of our families and communities in ways we often can't predict. I wrote about carrying the legacy of colonization in your body, about being drawn to a toxic man, about complicated friendships, about living a life in fragments, about the ambiguity of right and wrong when survival is at stake."  Indeed, I can relate to nearly all of these things due to having encountered them in some form in my own life.  Perhaps this is also why I was able to empathize with many of the characters, even the unlikable ones who made the worst of decisions — with Cecily specifically, her actions were inexcusable and unforgivable of course, but she also paid the ultimate price for what she did…whether what she endured was punishment enough, that will be for each reader to determine.

Received ARC from Marysue Rucci Books via NetGalley.

Review: River East, River West (by Aube Rey Lescure)

 

My Rating: 4 stars

When I finished reading this book, my first thought was that this was an interesting read and very different from what I initially expected going into it (my second thought was: This is a debut?  It certainly didn’t read like one!).  Given my background, I naturally gravitate toward immigrant stories (especially the ones involving immigrants from Asian countries to Western ones), where I know I will encounter experiences similar to my own – so when I read the summary for this one and saw that it would be a reversal of the traditional east-to-west immigrant story, I was definitely intrigued.  Though having said that, I will admit I was also a bit concerned, as I associate “west-to-east immigrant narrative” with “story about the expatriate community in Asia” – as someone who came from a place with a long history of colonialism (the former British colony of Hong Kong), I am more than familiar with how the expat community operates and to be honest, it’s one of my least favorite things to read about (I guess you can say that I’m sick of picking up a book about an Asian country expecting to read about the local community and culture, only to find out it’s actually about expat shenanigans told from an expat perspective, with very little about the culture of the country itself).  Add to that the fact that I’m also not a fan of “rich people behaving badly” stories (which is what many expat stories essentially boil down to), so of course, I was quite weary going into this one and was bracing myself for a potentially unpleasant reading experience.  While there did indeed end up being quite a bit of “unpleasantness” in the story (those who’ve read this book will know what I mean), I was actually surprised by how different this one turned out from the typical expat stories that tend to glamorize the expat lifestyle.  In her podcast interview with Books & Boba, the author Aube Rey Lescure talked at length about her inspiration for this book (I absolutely recommend listening to the interview after reading the book, as she provides some great insights and I actually appreciate the book a lot more than I would have otherwise) – one of the things she said that struck a chord with me is that she wrote this book not as a glamorization of the expat lifestyle, but rather, as an “anti-expat takedown” of sorts, highlighting the impact that the presence of these expats, with their indifference and condescension (and excessive, indulgent, high-riding lifestyles), had on the local Chinese community.  Thinking back through the story after hearing Lescure say this, I see now that was the same sense I had gotten while reading this one, which is probably why I was able to appreciate this story more than other expat stories I’ve read.

In her interview, Lescure describes her book as a coming of age / family drama / social novel set in China, which is definitely an apt description.  In her discussion with the hosts about this being an inversion of the usual east-to-west immigrant story, Lescure said that she couldn’t write the typical China to America immigrant story because that wasn’t her experience.  Instead of being a story about Chinese immigrants in America, this one revolves around an American expat Sloan raising her biracial daughter Alva in modern-day (2007-2008 time period) Shanghai, China.  Lescure said that her mother (who is French) separated with her father (who is Chinese) and raised her as a single mom in Shanghai – she went to the local Chinese public school for 8 years, then transferred to what she called a “budget” version of the international school for 2 years; significantly, her mother was a “renegade” who didn’t want to be part of the expat community, so their lifestyle was an unrooted one where they spent much of her childhood moving across Shanghai, renting one apartment after another.  Throughout the story, Lescure included many cultural details and nuances to capture what her experience of growing up in Shanghai as a biracial teenager was like – she especially wanted to capture the granularity of her Chinese school experience and show how different it was from the international schools that the expat kids went to (fun Easter egg for those who’ve read the book:  Lescure said that the test question scenario was from real life – she had answered that exact question the same way and got marked wrong…it was a moment of revelation for her about the education system in China).  Something that Lescure did clarify was that even though certain elements of the story were based on her own experience, the sections about the expat community and lifestyle she actually did not experience, as those were based on what she heard from people she knew. 

One of the things that stood out with this story is the way Lescure juxtaposed the two entirely different worlds – the nuances of the local Chinese community in which she grew up versus the glitz and glamor of the expat community – presenting both realistically to the point that it felt immersive.  At the same time, she also interweaves the story of Lu Fang, the Chinese businessman whom Alva’s mom Sloan marries at the beginning of the story – the dual timeline narrative alternates between Alva’s perspective in the present (2007-2008) and Lu Fang’s perspective starting in 1985 and spanning decades, with both timelines ultimately converging in the present, in a way that I honestly did not see coming.  In a sense, this story isn’t just about Alva’s coming of age, but also of Lu Fang’s, which I felt was an interesting way of structuring the story.  I’ve mentioned in other reviews that with immigrant stories, we oftentimes get to hear from the immigrant child’s perspective, but rarely from the adults / parents’ perspectives, so I appreciated that with this story, Lescure chose to go in a different direction and give us Lu Fang’s story as well.  For me, this added emotional depth to the story, especially at the end, when we find out some of the things that happened to Lu Fang and the impact this has on his relationship with Sloan and Alva. 

Overall, this was a worthwhile read, though some parts will not only be difficult to stomach, but will also tick some people off (I certainly felt angry and frustrated with some of the things that happen) – of course, this means that there will be trigger warnings galore.  Also, the characters aren’t too likable in here – the kids I could empathize with, but the adults (specifically the parents) I honestly could not stand (except for maybe Lu Fang at certain points in the story).  Although with that said, after hearing Lescure describe her purpose for writing the characters the way she did and what she was trying to achieve by doing so, it did make me dislike them a little less.

The unlikable characters and some of the plot points aside though, another aspect of this book that I really enjoyed were the various cultural references (especially the Chinese ones), as well as the untranslated Chinese characters and phrases sprinkled throughout the story.  In her interview, Lescure talks about this and mentions that the meanings of most of the Chinese words can be picked up from context (this is true, as majority of the Chinese was either translated or explained), but there are a few instances where only readers who know the Chinese language will pick up on (like the scene near the end with the Chinese poem, which was actually my favorite scene from the story).  I always enjoy coming across things I recognize in books that I read – it makes the reading experience more fun and engaging (and the difficult aspects a tad more tolerable).

If you decide to pick this one up, I definitely recommend also listening to the author’s Books & Boba interview, as it puts the entire book in greater perspective.  Like I mentioned earlier, I came to appreciate the book on a much different level than I would have otherwise.

Received ARC from William Morrow via NetGalley.

 

Review: The Women (by Kristin Hannah)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

"There were no women in Vietnam."   As Kristin Hannah states in the Author's Note to her magnificent new novel The Women, this sentiment – that no women served in Vietnam, despite numerous first-hand accounts of women who were there as nurses, medical personnel, news correspondents, volunteers, etc. --  was the prevailing one during a time period that saw a country torn apart by a senseless war that should never have happened in the first place.  As someone born in the late 1970s, long after the war was over, I of course had to rely on history books to learn about the Vietnam War – books that I realize now were mostly lacking in detailed information.  In fact, the mentions of the Vietnam War were always so brief to the point that I had no idea how bad things actually got in America:  that there had been a period of "collective amnesia" spurred on by the government where even the mere mention of "Vietnam" was taboo; that Vietnam vets were shamefully mistreated by both the government and ordinary citizens to the point that many had to go into hiding and were even afraid to mention they had served;  and most frustratingly, that women's efforts in the war were rarely (if ever) acknowledged and their experiences were largely discounted – in being constantly told that "there were no women in Vietnam," they were rendered invisible, forcibly forgotten and "disappeared" from history.  With this novel, Hannah brings these women's experiences to the forefront and once again, delivers a heart-wrenching, emotional story that provides more depth of insight into aspects of American history than many history books are able to do.

The woman at the center of the story is Frances "Frankie" McGrath, a nursing student from a wealthy, conservative family, who decides to follow her brother's footsteps when he ships out to serve in Vietnam in 1965.  At the age of 21, inexperienced and with barely any training, she joins the Army Nurse Corps and arrives in Vietnam without the faintest idea what she would be up against. Surrounded by devastation and destruction everywhere she turns, Frankie comes face-to-face with the atrocities of war on a daily basis and learns to survive amongst the chaos.  In Vietnam, she meets two other nurses – Barb and Ethel – and together, they endure horrific violence, death, loss, and heartbreak mingled with moments of incredible courage, bravery, and hope.  In circumstances where both life and death hang by a thread, the deep friendships that Frankie forms with those whom she works untiringly side-by-side every day, along with a strong belief in the good they are doing for the war effort, carry her through the darkest of days.  But when Frankie and her friends return home to a country deeply divided, where tensions run high and the overwhelming sentiment is to forget the war ever happened, the women realize that what they endured in Vietnam was only the beginning of a long battle for justice — for themselves as well as for those who sacrificed life and limb for a country that doesn't want to recognize their existence. 

I will be honest in saying that this was a difficult read for me, but also one that I couldn't put down (I finished this one in two sittings, as I couldn't stop myself from turning the pages, desperately wanting to find out what happens next).  Hannah has proven time and time again that she definitely knows how to tell a gripping, atmospheric story with complex female characters who are deeply flawed, yet realistic and relatable in ways that you don't see coming until you're so immersed in their world that it's too late to pull back. It wasn't until I finished the book that, upon reflection, I realized that perhaps the book was a little longer than it needed to be and some scenes were a bit repetitive and maybe not really necessary.  But overall, this was a well-thought-out, meticulously researched story, poignantly told in a way that, I felt, did justice to the history and complexity of the Vietnam War era.  I especially appreciated Hannah's Author Note where she talked about the decades-long process of how this novel came to be and I definitely feel she made the right choice to wait until she was ready to tackle this subject.  In my opinion, she did a magnificent job!

Kristin Hannah has become one of my favorite historical fiction authors whose works are high on my "must-read" list (though admittedly, I still have many books in her extensive backlist that I need to get to at some point).  While initially, I had felt bad about not getting to this one before publication date (I realize I missed it by a few days), I now know that I need not have worried, as Hannah's work pretty much speaks for itself.  I'm sure this will be one of the buzziest, most-read books of the year (and deservingly so in my opinion).  

Review: Atonement (by Ian McEwan)

My Rating:  4 stars

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

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

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

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

Review: Mercury (by Amy Jo Burns)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

I'm somewhat behind with my reading goals this month, as I took on a bit more than I should have with school and work, plus an unexpected family incident upended some of my plans for this week — but the good news is that, going into next month, I was able to sort things out so that I should be able to get my reading back on track very soon.

With that said, I was able to squeeze in and finish another January ARC a couple days ago, Mercury by Amy Jo Burns — a book that I've been wanting to read ever since I found out about it several months back.  I had read Burns's fiction debut Shiner (she had written a memoir prior to it) a few years back for book club and it became one of my favorite reads that year (one that I had rated 5 stars).  There was so much I loved about that book:  the lyrical, immersive writing that flowed so beautifully that I found myself highlighting one quotable sentence after another; the atmospheric portrayal of time and place that made me feel as though I was right there alongside the characters; and of course, the strong female characters (the heart and soul of the story) who loved fiercely and devotedly, yet rarely got anything in return, instead having to forge their own paths in a world dominated by men whose power often when unchallenged and unchecked. (For more of my thoughts on Shiner, please check out my review of it). While Burns's second novel, Mercury was a fantastic read that I loved quite a lot, if I had to choose between the two, Shiner would still be my favorite.

Mercury is about a family of roofers who live in a "great house" in the small river valley town of Mercury, Pennsylvania — the family patriarch Mick Joseph, his wife Elise, and their three boys Baylor, Waylon, and Shay.  One day in 1990, teenager Marley West arrives in Mercury with her mother Ruth and while stopped at a light they spot 3 men standing atop a roof at the far side of the road. The next day, Marley encounters two of the men (the Joseph brothers) at a baseball game, where she also meets the youngest Joseph brother (10-year-old Shay) as well as their mother Elise — a woman who was beautiful, impeccably dressed, unapologetically cool and collected in a way Marley had never seen before, and also had the ability to "command attention [from everyone around her but especially from her boys] with a single word."  Marley is captivated by this family and as a perpetual loner who is tired of having to move from town to town, she yearns for a seat at the Joseph family table. Soon, that's exactly what happens, as Marley's world becomes inextricably melded with the family's.  As she comes to understand the Joseph family dynamics though, and encounters one difficulty after another, Marley soon realizes that she got more than she had bargained for.  Years later, a discovery in the church attic unearths past hurts and the family finds themselves on the brink of falling apart. As the Josephs scramble to save their family, they must also rethink their priorities and decide what matters most to them.

Just like with Shiner, there were many things I loved about this book:  the writing, of course, which was engaging and immersive and made me feel transported to the small town of Mercury; the characters were also well-developed and wonderfully drawn, especially the 3 Joseph brothers, who each had their own distinctive personalities as well as strengths and weaknesses (though admittedly, I couldn't stand the patriarch of the family, Mick, who, to me, seemed to be a reincarnation of Briar from Shiner); most of all though, I loved the women in this story — Marley and Jade especially, and even Elise to some extent — who were all strong in their own distinctive ways and fought to forge a path for themselves despite society's convictions and judgments.  My one complaint is that there was a tad more romance than I expected, which made some scenes come across a little "soapy" to me, but luckily it wasn't overwhelming so didn't detract from the story too much.

Overall, this is definitely a story worth reading.  One of the things I love about Amy Jo Burns is that she writes with lot of heart and empathy for her characters — even the "bad" characters are written in a way that you end up feeling sorry for them rather than hating them.  I will admit that, despite the dysfunction of the Joseph family, I couldn't help rooting for all of them (this is saying something, since dysfunctional family stories can be a hit or miss for me).  I felt invested in the ups and downs that this family goes through — both the heartbreaking moments and the joyous ones — but most of all, I appreciated the message of resilience and hope that Marley's experiences especially demonstrated.  

This was a wonderful read and I can't wait to see what Burns comes up with next!

Received ARC from Celadon Books via NetGalley.