Review: Signal Fires (by Dani Shapiro)

My Review:  5 stars

It's not often that I find myself at a complete loss for words after finishing a book, to the point that I have to sit with it for a few days in order to form any semblance of coherent thoughts to actually put down on the page. That's how awed I was by Dani Shapiro's latest book, Signal Fires (her return to fiction after 15 years).  Though I had not read any of Shapiro's fiction or non-fiction works prior to this (something that I intend to rectify of course), I decided to pick this one up because of strong recommendations by a few book friends who said I would probably love this because the writing style is reminiscent of one of my favorite authors, Fredrik Backman.  And they were right, of course, as I did end up loving this one!

This book is one where it's best to go in knowing little to nothing about the plot in order to get the full emotional experience of it (though with that said, I do think that the publisher did a darn good job with the summary, which came across to me as carefully crafted with particular word choice in mind so as not to give away certain important plot points).  This is a character-driven story through and through (which I love!), but uniquely told in a nonlinear format that jumps back and forth between multiple perspectives as well as timeframes.  Usually, books of this nature (told from multiple characters' perspectives plus jumping back and forth in time) don't work too well for me, as it's distracting and often interrupts my reading flow — but for some reason (and surprisingly), it didn't bother me in the slightest with this book.  In fact, I barely noticed the unusual structure as I was reading, only figuring it out when I finished the book and was getting ready to write this review — undoubtedly a testament to Shapiro's mesmerizing and exquisite storytelling.  Indeed, I could not put this book down once I started it, nearly foregoing sleep just to finish it.

As mentioned earlier, I love character-driven stories, which was definitely an advantage going into this one, but even without that predisposition, I probably would've fallen in love with all the characters in here anyway based on the way they were written.  My favorite character was definitely Waldo, but Ben and Theo also stole a piece of my heart with their story arcs.  Even Shenkman and Sarah, two hugely flawed characters who tried so hard to do the right thing in the hopes of turning their lives around, got to me emotionally with their struggles, to the point that I was rooting for them as well.

Emotionally, there was actually a lot to unpack with this story and if I'm being honest, I would say I'm not quite ready to move on from this one yet (though I know I need to given the pile of books I have yet to get to).  I admire and appreciate the way that Shapiro was able to take life's most ordinary moments (moments we often take for granted) and build them into a story so rich with emotional nuance and poignancy. This was a quiet but powerful story, with an undercurrent of sadness throughout that broke my heart, yet at the same time, there was also an overarching message of hope and love that balanced things out so beautifully.  

Needless to say, I recommend this book wholeheartedly, though be prepared for the emotional journey that it will take you on.  For me personally, I intend to delve further into Shapiro's backlist books when I get a chance — can't wait!

Review: Phantoms (by Christian Kiefer)

My Rating: 4 stars

This was an interesting read about a period of history that I was familiar with, but told from a perspective that I found to be unique and different from what I expected. The story is told from the point of view of John Frazier, who has just returned to Placer County, California from service in Vietnam and finds himself haunted by what he did and saw while deployed there. He crashes at his grandmother's house while trying to overcome a drug addiction, which is made more difficult given the "phantoms" of his past that seem to constantly follow him. While working at a local gas station, he is unexpectedly reunited with a distant relative — his aunt Evelyn Wilson — who asks him to drive her to Oakland to see a friend. It is there that John becomes a reluctant witness to an encounter between Evelyn and her former tenant Kimiko Takahashi, and subsequently becomes ensnared in the mystery of what happened to the Takahashi's son Ray. John finds out that the Takahashi and Wilson families used to be close, but during the onset of World War II, the Takahashis were sent to an internment camp, along with all the other Japanese-Americans in the country. Several years later, Ray returned to Placer County after having served in the war, but discovered that he was no longer welcome in the place where he grew up — the only place he had ever considered home. What happened after that does not become known until nearly three decades later, when John unwittingly learns the truth and must decide how to reckon with it.

As I mentioned earlier, one of the things I thought most interesting about this book was the unique narrative structure, where the person telling the story (and from his own first person point of view too) didn't even have anything to do with the main story arc. In essence, he was a "stranger" drawn into a reckoning between two families, and, on a larger scale, a reckoning with the country's past actions toward an entire race. Both wars — Vietnam and WWII — serve mostly as backdrops, with the focus primarily on the aftermath of those wars and the impact from the atrocities that occurred. The writing was lyrical and poignant, though admittedly, there were also moments where it did veer somewhat toward the abstract, which made those parts a bit hard to follow. Having said that, this was overall well-written and well-told — a book that I feel is a necessary read given it's historical context and its timely connection to recent societal issues. Reckoning with the past is not always easy — more so a past as complicated as this one — yet it is an important step to understanding and learning from what happened so as to prevent something similar from ever happening again.

Review: Euphoria (by Lily King)

My Rating: 4 stars

This is my second Lily King novel (which I'm reading for book club) and while I definitely liked it, I didn't love it as much as  her newest novel Writers and Lovers, which I read earlier this year and loved.  Of course, this one was beautifully written, with breathtaking, evocative prose that flowed seamlessly, which is a writing style I've come to expect from Lily King.   With that said though, this was actually a bit of a tedious read for me, especially the first half of it, mostly because I found it difficult to engage with the subject matter (which I'll get into later).

The story revolves around three talented anthropologists — Nell Stone, Schuyler Fenwick (Fen), and Andrew Bankson — who spend much of their time living among the tribes of the South Pacific (along the Sepik River in New Guinea) in order to research them.  Nell has already established a name for herself in the field, having written a book that was well-received and made her famous.  Her husband Fen is intelligent but has an aggressive personality, which gets further aggravated as he feels more and more overshadowed by his wife's success and by her magnetic personality.  Bankson is a fellow anthropologist studying the Kiona tribe along the River, and after being rescued from the brink of suicide by the couple, he becomes drawn to them.  Over the course of the few months they spend together, their collective brilliance helps them produce their best work (which only becomes apparent later), but at the same time, they develop an intimate yet fiery relationship that ends up spiraling out of control and ultimately threatens to consume them.

As I mentioned earlier, it was hard for me to get into the story at first, mostly because I had no interest whatsoever in anthropology (or any of the sciences for that matter). With Lily King's writing here so incredibly atmospheric, plus the research was so well-done, there were many detailed descriptions that honestly ended up going a bit over my head.  To this point, I guess it also didn't really help that much of the story was the "slow burn" type where the focus was more on character than plot (though actually these are usually the types of stories I love).  So in a sense, I technically only truly engaged with the story a little after the halfway mark when things started actually happening.  Having said that, I couldn't put the book down after that and pretty much read through to the end in one sitting.

Lily King states in her Author's Note that this story was inspired by Margaret Mead and a moment described in a 1984 biography the famous anthropologist, but the story itself is a completely different one and does not in any way mirror Mead's real life experiences.  Even so, after I finished reading this book, I was fascinated enough with the story that I couldn't help doing further research of my own and looking up some information about Mead so I could better understand the inspiration behind the scenes. For me, this is the beauty of historical fiction, especially the well-written kind, where the story impacts me in such a way that I feel compelled to do follow up reading and/or research on my own.  

Overall, I definitely enjoyed this one, as I found the writing enthralling and though a word of warning that there are some graphic, explicit descriptions in here that might be a turn off for some.  For me personally, I love the way Lily King writes and so the overall experience was well worth the effort, despite a few uncomfortable scenes here and there.  King actually has a new short story collection out this month, which I can't wait to get my hands on (it's been pre-ordered and should arrive at the end of this month).  I also intend to continue exploring her backlist, which will take some time, but I know will be well worth the effort.

Review: How Much of These Hills is Gold (by C. Pam Zhang)

My Rating: 4 stars

I've actually been wanting to read this book since it came out last year, but hadn't gotten around to it until recently, when one of my book clubs chose it as a monthly read. Going into this one, I will admit that I was a bit wary, as I'm not a fan of westerns (which is what this was billed as), but I was attracted to the premise of a story about a Chinese immigrant family in the American West during the gold rush era, which, of course, is not often seen in mainstream fiction. Now after having finished this, I would say that it was definitely different from what I expected, both in its bold, lyrical writing as well as in the way the story technically defied categorization in terms of genre and theme — there were elements of a western, yes, but there were also historical elements as well as magical realism that drove aspects of the story.

Majority of the story is told from the perspective of Lucy, who is twelve when we first meet her. Her Pa has just passed away and with her Ma gone for 3 years already, she and her eleven year old sister Sam are now left to fend for themselves in the mountains of the West. As they set off to bury their Pa, Lucy and Sam encounter situations that test the strength of their bond as siblings, as well as their ability to overcome their family's past. The narrative later moves further back to the past and explains the backstory to this family, giving us insight into how a Chinese family such as theirs ended up in a community where few others looked like them. Initially lured to the "golden mountains" by the promise of gold and riches, the reality couldn't be more different — weighted down by a secret in their past as well as the instability of prospecting, they switch to a grueling living by coal mining, which unfortunately does little to improve the family's situation. A third narrative moves the story 5 years after Pa's death, with Lucy and Sam reuniting again after having gone their separate ways — both siblings have changed in some ways, but underneath, they are also still the same. They decide to set off again, together this time, in pursuit of a better life in a place they can truly call their own.

This was an emotional read and one that was so beautifully written — lyrical, poetic, and so full of imagery. With that said though, as much as I loved the style of writing, I felt like the beauty of it transcended the story a bit — I'm not sure how to explain it, but I felt like, at times, I got so caught up in the depiction of a scene that I actually forgot where I was in the story and had to go back and reread. There was also an abstract quality to the writing that sometimes overshadowed the plot itself. From a historical perspective, as a few other reviewers already pointed out, there were some inaccuracies that those familiar with the time period and the history of the Chinese workers in the U.S. during that time may not be able to overlook, though for me personally, it didn't bother me too much.

In terms of character development — Lucy and Sam were characters I couldn't help but love, regardless of whatever flaws they may have had. I connected deeply with both characters, to the point that I didn't want the journey with either one of them to end. Perhaps it is because of my affinity for both of them that I didn't take to the ending too well (and that's all I'm going to say about it so as not to give anything away).

Overall, this was a worthwhile read that I definitely recommend, one that I'm also glad I finally got around to reading, however belatedly. This was a strong debut from C. Pam Zhang and I definitely look forward to the next work from her.

Review: The Removed (by Brandon Hobson)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

Brandon Hobson's The Removed is another book I picked up for book club and while I did enjoy it overall, there were some inconsistencies and issues with the story that made this a bit of a tedious read.

First off, I have to say that the writing here was excellent — in fact, the engaging and lyrical flow of the writing was one of the things I liked most about this book, especially the chapters narrated by Maria, which were by far the strongest parts of the story.  Those were the chapters that actually moved me the most on an emotional level and made me wish that the entire story revolved around Maria, Ernest, and Wyatt only without the other characters' story arcs (more on this later).  

While the writing was good, I did have some problems with the execution of the story, which I thought was a bit uneven.  Hobson introduces several heavy topics in this book — grief over the loss of a loved one, the dangers of racial profiling and stereotyping, terminal illness, substance abuse, plight of the indigenous and people of cope, etc — however I felt like the only topic that was thoroughly explored was grief…it almost seemed like perhaps Hobson tried to cover too much all in one shot and some of the other topics ended up falling by the wayside.

And that brings me to the most frustrating parts of this book — the story arcs involving Sonja and Edgar.  I felt like Sonja's entire story was unnecessary and added no value to the story (aside from the "reveal" near the end, though that still didn't justify the necessity of the rest of her story in my opinion).  I also had issues with the way Sonja's character was written, as most of her behavior throughout the story didn't really make sense, even when viewed through the lens of trying to cope with the grief of losing her brother. 

In terms of Edgar's story arc — well, let's just say that I didn't understand majority of it.  It seemed like Edgar's story was written incorporating magical realism, which is something I don't read much of so perhaps that's why it didn't work for me. I mean, plot-wise, I know what happened in Edgar's chapters, but I didn't really understand the point of it all.  It probably didn't help that there was also a lot of symbolism and metaphorical language in the telling of Edgar's story that gave it a dreamlike feel that didn't match with the other 2

narratives.  In addition, similar to Sonja's story arc, Edgar's story arc was unresolved (basically the plot dropped off suddenly, which made the arc feel incomplete) — and both arcs seemed to be completely detached from the main story about their parents, Maria and Ernest. It almost felt like I was reading 3 different unrelated stories, except that the way the book was structured, each chapter alternated between the 3 narratives — so I would read 1 chapter from Maria's perspective, then the next chapter would be Edgar's perspective, then Sonja, then Maria, etc.  Given that I only truly liked Maria's story, this kind of structure made the entire read a tedious and frustrating one. 

Overall, I would classify this one under "it's probably me, not the book."  Hobson is an award-winning author and I certainly don't doubt his writing prowess (after all, as I stated above, I did like the writing), but this book just wasn't for me. While I don't regret reading it, I feel like I spent way too much time on it than I should have. Ah well…onto the next book!!

Last One Out Shut Off the Lights (by Stephanie Soileau)

My Rating:  3.5 stars

Last One Out Shut Off the Lights is an interesting collection of short stories, all set in Louisiana, and featuring ordinary people going about their everyday lives.  The various protagonists in these stories range from teenagers to senior citizens, and through their voices, we get a glimpse of what life is like living in the type of last-chance town where things always feel as though they are in a constant state of flux.  The setting looms large in these stories, and in many ways, can be considered a character in and of itself, lending a hugely atmospheric nature that serves as a backdrop to each story.  

Of course, as is usually the case with short story collections, some were hits and some were misses, though all shared the common feelings of incompleteness and lack of closure to them.  With that said, I did like how all the stories explored issues of identity and belonging in ways both subtle and obvious — but most significantly, each story felt realistic and relatable in some manner. One of the things that struck me after I finished reading was how "ambivalence" could manifest itself in such varied ways — a sentiment that the author, Stephanie Soileau, demonstrated in a masterful way through the very different characters in each of the stories.  

Overall, I enjoyed this collection, even though I wasn't necessarily able to resonate with each character or with each story.  The many blurbs for this collection describe the stories as striking, fierce, evocative, empathetic, engaging — I agree with all of these, though I would also add "cleverly and thoughtfully" written, as each story gave me pause and made me ponder, in a way that I wasn't expecting.  I also learned a lot about Louisiana  — a state that I knew little to nothing about outside of the city of New Orleans being located there and also what had been in the news about Hurricane Katrina.  This is a collection I definitely recommend, a worthwhile read that I'm glad to have discovered (this was Jesmyn Ward's July pick for her book club on Literati).  It's also a relatively short read, but one that doesn't skimp on details in its depiction of Louisiana life and culture.

Review: Heavy: An American Memoir (by Kiese Laymon)

My Rating:  4.5 stars

 

Last month, when I found out that author Jesmyn Ward started a book club on Literati, I immediately went to go check it out and of course, ultimately, I couldn't resist joining.  For the club's inaugural read, Ward chose Kiese Laymon's memoir Heavy, which he wrote in the second person perspective directly addressing his mother.  I've read quite a few memoirs over the years and this one, by far, has been the most powerful and thought-provoking.  In eloquent, beautifully-rendered, poetic language, Laymon writes honestly and candidly about his  experiences – from his difficult coming-of-age growing up as a hard-headed, heavyset black boy in Jackson, Mississippi, to his complicated relationship with his brilliant but abusive mother, to his own struggles with obesity, eating disorders, gambling addiction, and a lifetime spent running away from truths he didn't want to face.  Deeply interwoven throughout Laymon's narrative is also a searing exploration of systemic racism in America as well as the complex (and oftentimes misunderstood) realities of living as a person of color in a society that largely prefers to move forward without having to reckon with its past.

 

Laymon tells his story with a raw honesty and candor that I absolutely found admirable.  It's not easy to share traumatic memories about one's life, especially memories that previously (and continues to) evoked so much pain, anger, confusion, shame, sadness, etc. – yet Laymon does not hold back, and instead, bares his soul as well as his heart.  He doesn't hide his own flaws, nor does he try to deflect or assign blame for his trauma onto others – in addition to taking responsibility for his own shortcomings and where his actions may have hurt others, his reluctance to criticize his mom despite the pain she caused him, choosing to love rather than to confront, then finally communicating his feelings to her via this book, to me, it speaks volumes.  I found his journey so heartbreaking, yet he was willing to share such a vulnerable part of himself with us – I admire and appreciate his courage!

 

Not surprisingly, this was a difficult book to read, not just because of the "heavy" subject matter, but also because of the visceral emotions that reading about Laymon's experiences evoked.  On a personal level, I was able to relate to so many of Laymon's struggles, whether it was within himself, his family, or society as a whole, despite the fact that we both come from different cultures and backgrounds (he is a Black man who grew up in Mississippi while I'm a Chinese woman who grew up in California) due to having experienced some of the same issues that he did.  I recognize the pain from having been a victim of abuse and the impact it can have on your sense of self and well-being.  I understand confusion of having a parent-child relationship where you love each other dearly, yet somehow can't step yourselves from hurting each other over and over again (as well as the cycle of shame and guilt that goes along with it).  I know what it feels like to grow up in an environment where, no matter how hard you try or how much you are able to achieve, you'll forever be considered "less than," merely because of your skin tone or facial features.  Laymon talks about the ills of systemic racism and the ease with which it allows some people to weaponize "blackness" against him, and against his fellow black brothers and sisters, akin to ways that I've seen the "model minority" label weaponized against many in the Asian community.  

Given the weight of the topics and the tremendous ground that Laymon covers, it is nearly impossible to reconcile the many stirring insights and revelations that he sets forth in these memories that he shares so candidly with us.  This is a highly recommended memoir, one that is both heartfelt and heart-rending, but a must-read nevertheless.