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: 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: Whistler (by Ann Patchett)

My Rating: 5 stars

As an Ann Patchett fangirl, I will read anything she writes and while I’m not a completist of her works (yet), reading all her books is on my bucket list of life goals (alongside visiting her bookstore Parnassus someday).  While I slowly work my way through Patchett’s backlist, I’m also making sure I don’t fall behind with her newer works, so I prioritized her newest release, the novel Whistler, which came out this month.  I originally got approved for an ARC copy, but due to timing issues, I ended up reading the finished version, since I of course pre-ordered a copy that landed on my doorstep last week (just in time, if you ask me). 

With Whistler, Patchett once again delivers a beautifully crafted, exquisite story that made me both laugh and cry in equal measure.  This poignant and moving novel opens with our protagonist, 53-year-old Daphne Fuller, and her husband Jonathan visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York when they notice an “old guy” who appears to be following them.  When they go to confront the guy, they discover that he is none other than Eddie Triplett, the former husband of her thrice-married mother Abigail, and the stepfather whom Daphne and her sister Leda loved more than their own biological father.  Daphne last saw Eddie forty-four years ago, when she was nine years old – they were involved in a car crash together that year which ended up changing the course of their lives.  Before they returned from the hospital, Abigail had divorced Eddie and sent him away without even allowing him to say goodbye to the stepdaughters whom he loved as though they were his own.  Devastated, Daphne buries the memories of that brief period when Eddie was in her life and moves on to live a happy existence as a schoolteacher, eventually marrying Jonathan, a now-retired hospital administrator who is seventeen years her senior, but the age difference has not stopped them from having a deep and loving relationship.  Now that they’ve been reunited, Eddie and Daphne resume their father/daughter relationship, catching each other up on their lives and meeting each other’s families and friends, determined this time to never be separated again. 

Switching between first person and close third, Patchett skillfully layers in the events of the past – specifically, the incident that changed both Eddie’s and Daphne’s lives – while telling Daphne’s story in the present.  This is done so masterfully that, to be honest, I didn’t even notice until I watched an interview that Patchett did where she mentioned it.  As always, Patchett writes perceptively about the complexities of human relationships, capturing the messiness of complicated family dynamics in a way that is both resonant and relatable.  The characters in this story were all so wonderfully rendered, I honestly loved them all, but Daphne and Eddie were definitely favorites – the way they interacted with each other was witty and fun and never failed to put a smile on my face.  I especially loved how Patchett juxtaposed the interactions that the nine-year-old Daphne had with Eddie during the car crash scenes versus their interactions once reunited as adults to highlight both characters’ growth as well as the nuances of their relationship. 

With this newest novel, Patchett continues to do what she does best – present an emotionally subtle story with endearing yet far from perfect characters who navigate the vicissitudes of life with grace and clarity.  Reminiscent of Patchett’s previous two novels, Tom Lake and The Dutch House (both of which I loved), Whistler is written in a wistful yet hopeful tone – in addition, there are also similarities in its focus on characters who are perfectly content with basking in the quiet enjoyment of being in the company of people they love.  There are not many authors out there who are able to take a simple premise such as this one and craft a narrative that is both incredibly rich (yet not overwhelming) as well as profoundly insightful.  Ann Patchett is, without a doubt, a national treasure and I can’t wait to see what she has in store for us next!

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

My Rating: 5 stars

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

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

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

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

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

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

Review: Everyday Movement (by Gigi L. Leung, translated by Jennifer Feeley)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

As the city of my birth, Hong Kong has always occupied a special place in my heart.  Of course, I still have relatives in Hong Kong, but it is really my fondness for the city (despite growing up thousands of miles away in the United States), that has spurred me to continue keeping my birth city front and center.  From a daily life standpoint, I stay abreast of Hong Kong-related news just as much as I keep tabs on everything happening in the U.S.  From an entertainment standpoint, I’m actually more familiar with the goings-on in the HK entertainment industry than I am in Hollywood (which is truly saying something considering I live in Los Angeles, so Hollywood is essentially in my backyard).  With all that said, the one area in my life where HK is a bit less dominant is my reading life, though I have to say that this is by no means deliberate.  As a life-long avid reader, I’ve always been one to read widely, so even though I definitely have favorite genres (i.e. historical fiction, literary fiction, to name two), I don’t like limiting myself to reading only specific genres or specific types of books.  When it comes to Hong Kong books however, I unfortunately don’t have much choice due to the dearth of books about the city published in English (and living in the U.S., it is harder for me to access the Chinese language versions that are usually published exclusively in HK).  So in the rare occurrence where I come across a book either set in Hong Kong or written by a Hong Kong author, I will always be interested in reading it, regardless of subject matter and in spite of any type of feedback regarding the book, whether positive or negative.

With all this in mind, I approached Gigi L. Leung’s novel Everyday Movement with a certain amount of anticipation, despite my usual aversion to reading books that lean heavily toward politics.  Set against the backdrop of the 2019 pro-democracy protests in Hong Kong, Leung’s novel actually consists of a series of interconnected vignettes about people from different walks of life who are impacted by the protests going on all around them.  As the story opens, we get glimpses of what life is like for college roommates Panda and Ah Lei, as they navigate their new reality as active participants in the many protests that occur on Hong Kong’s streets triggered by the central government’s planned implementation of a national security law.  At night, Panda and Ah Lei don their protest gear and are regularly chased and tear gassed by police out on the streets, but during the day, both women go about their usual routines – attending class, going to work, arguing with their parents and with each other, going on lunch and dinner dates, etc.  But underneath the enactment of these everyday routines lies a bubbling tension – a feeling of unease and anxiety for the future, not only of their beloved city, but of their own lives as they know it – that threatens to spill over any minute. Via alternating viewpoints, the story expands outward to capture the moments in the lives of others within the two women’s orbits: there’s Panda’s cousin Ah Mak and the fraught relationship he has with his girlfriend Chan Yeuk over each other’s commitment (or lack thereof) to the protest movement, culminating in a break up that, ironically, brings each of them closer to the other’s viewpoint; there’s Panda’s little sister Sai Mui who, as a pre-teen, is too young to understand everything that is happening around her, yet finds herself caught up in all the tension and anxiety through her sister’s love/hate relationship with their mother as they stand on opposite sides of the movement.  There are others too – periphery characters such as the hairdresser Ning On and the affair she has with a protestor nicknamed “Little Professor” as a means to escape the realities of her life while her daughter Ning Yuet doubles down on her activism; English teacher Ho Sam, a mainlander living in Hong Kong who struggles to reconcile his dueling viewpoints, at once supporting the movement while also opposing it; and finally, Panda’s boyfriend Ah Ming, whose less extreme position in support of the movement as opposed to his girlfriend’s fierce devotion creates an untenable rift in their relationship.

Overall, I felt this novel had a promising premise, but it fell a little bit short for me in terms of its execution.  Subject matter-wise, I appreciate Leung’s candid depiction of the political turmoil and the protests, all of which were rendered viscerally realistic to the point that, at times, I forgot that this is a novel and felt that I was reading a non-fiction book instead. To this point, there was a bit of a journalistic feel to the novel, where it felt as though the author was trying too hard to write from a position of neutrality, which resulted in the writing feeling somewhat stilted and emotionless.  This made it hard for me as a reader to connect with the story or any of its characters – though with all that said, I’m not sure if this was actually an issue with the translation or the author’s writing itself. I also felt that the story didn’t have much of a plot, which is usually not a problem if the characters are well-developed, but in this case, due to the varying viewpoints, the focus was on a bunch of different characters rather than just one or two, resulting in the lack of opportunity to flush out any of the characters fully.  All of this combined was perhaps why I ended up not really feeling anything for any of the characters.

While I’m glad I read this one, I’m also a little bummed that I didn’t end up liking this one as much as I thought I would.  Even though some parts of it didn’t really work for me, I would still recommend this one for its realistic portrayal of the HK protests as well as the timeliness aspect in terms of what has been going on in the U.S. as well as the rest of the world – which, for those impacted, would make this a very relatable read.

Review: Kin (by Tayari Jones)

My Rating: 5 stars

Tayari Jones’s latest novel is a beautifully rendered story of two motherless daughters – self-named “cradle friends” -- raised together in the small town of Honeysuckle, Louisiana who, despite growing apart and living entirely contrasting lives as adults, manage to maintain their lifelong friendship and sisterhood truly through thick and thin. 

After her mother’s death at the hands of her father, Vernice (Niecy) was taken in by her Aunt Irene (her mother’s sister) and raised to be a refined young lady who not only ends up attending Spelman College (one of the most elite schools for Black women), but also marries into a powerful and rich family where she finally gets to experience the “motherly love” that she had been yearning for since childhood.  Annie, on the other hand, experiences a completely different fate as she longs to find the mother who abandoned her as a baby, leaving her to be raised by her grandmother.  When she inadvertently stumbles across a potential address for her mother, Annie sets off on a perilous journey that takes her on what is essentially a wild goose chase across the American South, searching for her mother while also experiencing love and friendship in the process.

The story is told through the alternating first-person perspectives of Niecy and Annie, and I have to say that this structure worked really well because as a reader, I felt as though I was experiencing everything alongside both women.  Jones has a wonderful way of writing unforgettable characters whom we can’t help but root for and love, despite their obvious shortcomings, and this was definitely the case with Niecy and Annie.  I love the strong bond between these two characters and the “kinship” they shared despite not being related by blood (there’s a scene late in the book where Niecy refers to Annie as “family” – reading that honestly made me cry).  Jones is a masterful writer who has the unique ability of taking a complex theme and weaving an emotionally rich, nuanced story that balances both humor and heartbreak in a powerful and moving way. With the exception of the ending, which gutted me (it was hard not to cry given how invested I was in these characters), the rest of the story was well-balanced on the emotional front (in terms of being both heartwarming and heartbreaking), while also giving us a realistic view of what it means to be a Black woman living in the South during the 1950s and 60s.

This book is getting a lot of buzz (it was recently chosen for Oprah’s Book Club) and deservedly so, in my opinion.  Definitely prioritize this one if you get a chance to pick it up – it is truly a wonderful read!

 

Received ARC from Knopf via NetGalley.

Review: Heart the Lover (by Lily King)

My Rating: 5 stars

When I first found out that Lily King would have a new book out this year, I was super excited, as I had read Writers and Lovers a few years back and absolutely loved it.  As I tried to find out everything I could about King’s new novel Heart the Lover (an interesting title that I realize now is perfect given the context of the story), I discovered that the story is actually connected to King’s previous novel, which of course made me want to read this one even more.  With that said, since it had been a couple of years, I felt like I needed to refresh my memory of Writers and Lovers, so I decided to do a re-read of that book before starting this new one (for the record, I’ve never been much of a re-reader, mostly because I have a never-ending TBR list and very limited free time, so I would rather spend that time making a dent in that list).  Now, after finishing both books back-to-back, I’m so glad I decided to go this route because it absolutely elevated the reading experience for me!

Normally, when I rate a book 5 stars, I wouldn’t have any problem gushing about all the things I loved about the read, but in this case, I have to hold back a little because I don’t want to spoil the story for those who haven’t had the chance to pick this one up yet (if you’re one of those people, my advice would be to “hurry up and do so,” lol).  What I will say is that, even though this book can definitely be read as a standalone, I feel that having the background context from Writers and Lovers makes this a much more emotionally resonant read.  One of the (many) reviews I read for this book refers to it as both a “prequel and sequel” to Writers and Lovers, which is such a brilliantly apt description that summarizes the connection between the two books without giving too much away. With this prequel+sequel, I definitely enjoyed getting to revisit characters I loved from the first book while also meeting new characters that I grew to love just as much.  Speaking of which, in each of the books of hers that I’ve read, Lily King seems to have a special talent for writing endearing characters whom you can’t help falling in love with, despite disagreeing with (and sometimes getting annoyed by) their actions and/or behaviors.  But what I love most about King’s writing here is the way she is able to capture the endearing qualities of children -- the wide-eyed curiosity, the naivete, and overall innocence of childhood – so perfectly.  Many of my favorite scenes in both books were the ones that featured children interacting with the adults – the warmth and humor that emanated from these scenes never failed to put a smile on my face (especially poignant at our current moment in time when the world around us feels so chaotic and miserable). 

Anyway, I’m going to keep things short and sweet for this one and end with a solid recommendation to definitely pick this one up so you can experience it for yourself.  Aand if you are able to read it back-to-back with Writers and Lovers, all the better!

Review: The Correspondent (by Virginia Evans)

My Rating: 5 stars

I can’t remember the last time I read an epistolary novel that had such a profound impact on me, to the point that I’m still thinking about the story and its characters long after I finished reading.  I’ve always found the epistolary format very tricky to get right, which is probably why not too many authors attempt it -- so in this light, I applaud Virginia Evans for not only putting in the effort (for her debut, no less!), but also doing such an amazing job with it.

At the heart of this novel is the titular “correspondent,” a septuagenarian named Sybil Van Antwerp who has a prickly personality and is stubbornly set in her ways.  While she is not “mean” per se, she can be outspoken and direct to a fault in the letters that she writes to friends, family, and strangers alike, unafraid to mince words and not shy about “letting people have it” if she thinks they deserve it.  That said, Sybil’s letters aren’t always criticizing or negative – sometimes they are full of praise and sometimes they are indifferent, but most often the letters are a way for Sybil to gather her thoughts and make sense of the world around her. I will admit that, at first, I didn’t think I would like Sybil all that much, as I was kind of put off by her stubborn cynicism, but over the course of the story, she really started to grow on me, especially as I learned more about her and started to better understand the nuances of her life.  With character-driven novels such as this one, an element that I always look for is whether the characters – specifically the main protagonist(s) – grow and change in some way or they remain essentially the same throughout the story. In this regard, I definitely appreciate the way Evans developed Sybil’s character arc – she is flawed, yes, and she absolutely makes mistakes, some small, a few big (so big, in fact, that they altered the course of her life forever), yet she learns from these mistakes and tries to do better, even if, in some cases, it is too late.  Some of the letters are a way for Sybil to work through her guilt, grief, and regret over various incidents that occurred in her life, which we as readers may not realize until we see how things play out at the end of the book.  Either way, Sybil ends up becoming an unforgettable character for me, someone whom I enjoyed getting to know, and ultimately, couldn’t help rooting for, even when I disagreed with some of her actions and behavior.

One of the criticisms of the epistolary format is the oftentimes lack of emotional depth – though this is true in many instances, it certainly wasn’t the case here, at least not for me.  This book made me laugh, cry, and feel all the emotions in between.  Not only that, I was also able to connect with both the story and the characters, on so many levels. I loved the “bookish” element to the letters, as Sybil is very well-read and one of the things she enjoys doing most is writing to the authors of books she’s read and giving them her unfettered opinion, be it good, bad, or indifferent.  She writes to Ann Patchett (one of my favorite authors) about her novel State of Wonder, to Kazuo Ishiguro about Never Let Me Go (one of my all-time favorite novels), to Larry McMurty about Lonesome Dove (one of the most poignant letters in the book), to Diana Gabaldon about her Outlander series (a letter which cracked me up because most of it was complaining about the amount of sex in the book), and most often, to Joan Didion, a “friend” with whom she shares an emotional connection (I don’t want to say more because I don’t want to give the story away).

Given how much there was to love about this book, I could go on, but I think it’s best to let readers experience this one for themselves.  With that said, the epistolary format isn’t for everyone, so the reaction to this book might be different depending on the reader (which, of course, is perfectly okay).  I loved this one and connected with it on a profound level (partly because I’m also an introvert who prefers written communication over verbal communication), but others might not feel the same way.  There are also quite a few trigger warnings with this one, so that might be something to look into for some readers.

All in all, a great read that I wholeheartedly recommend!

Review: The Original Daughter (by Jemimah Wei)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

I debated for a long time how best to rate this book.  On the one hand, there were elements of the story that I really connected with – such as Genevieve’s struggle with coming into her own and finding herself in the face of a culture that emphasizes the bonds of family over individuality, as well as the conflicting feelings of resentment and love that forms the basis of Gen’s fraught relationship with her mother Su Yang.  I felt that the author, Jemimah Wei, did a great job capturing the angst as well as the difficulties that the characters faced in trying to convey their feelings – specifically, I was able to relate to the way Genevieve internalized her resentment toward her family, much of it stemming from the cultural reticence that influenced much of her upbringing.  Sharing a similar cultural background with both the author as well as the characters helped me feel emotionally invested in the story, to the point that several scenes actually had me close to tears due to how familiar the particular experience felt.

On the other hand however, I felt the story unfolded way too slowly, and the middle section especially dragged.  This is normally not a problem, but with a character like Genevieve – whom I felt was tolerable but not necessarily likeable – dwelling so much on her flaws made it more difficult, in my opinion at least, to feel prolonged empathy for her struggles.  Indeed, by the end of the story, my sympathy for Genevieve had turned into frustration and ultimately, irritation.  For a book that spans 350+ pages, to only focus primarily on one character’s thoughts and actions made the story feel way too long and drawn out.  Given the story’s heavy emphasis on complicated family dynamics, I think it would’ve been more interesting if we had gotten to hear the perspectives of the other family members – particularly Genevieve’s adopted sister Arin and her mother Su Yang – which also would’ve made the ending more poignant.  I’m usually able to finish a book of this length in 2-3 days, but this one took me more than a week to read, partly because whenever I had to put the book down to do other things, I didn’t always feel like picking it back up again. 

Overall, this turned out to be a mixed bag for me – some parts of it I really liked, other parts not as much.  A decent read, albeit one that requires a little bit of patience, especially at the midway mark.

Review: My Friends (by Fredrik Backman)

My Rating: 5 stars

This year has been a chaotic one for me: in addition to being super busy at work, I’ve also had some family issues I had to take care of, plus my own health issues I had to attend to – on top of all that, I’m on the final stretch of my Master’s degree journey, taking several classes all at once so I can finish in time to graduate in September.  With so much going on, my “leisure” reading life has unfortunately taken a hit, resulting in me falling behind on my reading goals. While I have been able to squeeze in a few books here and there, I haven’t been able to read as much as I would like.  With that said however, I hope to be back in full force come September, as I will be done with school and everything else should be sorted out by then.

Now even though I’ve been so busy, that has not stopped me from making time to read the latest novel from one of my all-time favorite authors, Fredrik Backman.  Yes, Backman has another book out (released this month, in fact) called My Friends and it is SPECTACTULAR!  I honestly don’t have words to express how much I love this book (though I guess the fact that I got 4 different versions of this book – including a signed version!!! -- is proof enough?)

As is the case with all of Backman’s novels, this one is absolutely an emotional roller coaster where I found myself laughing hysterically one minute and bawling like a baby the next.  In his signature style, Backman takes us on a poignant, heartfelt journey of 4 teenaged friends who form an unbreakable bond so deep and powerful that it ends up changing the life of a complete stranger 25 years later.  In all of Backman’s novels, the emotional core of the story lies in the characters, all of whom are tremendously flawed, with lives that are messy and oftentimes dysfunctional, yet you can’t help falling in love with them and rooting for them regardless of what happens.  I don’t know how he does it, but with all his characters, Backman is always able to capture the essence of what it means to be human, and portray human relationships in a way that resonates deeply and emotionally.  To me, his characters are always so real and yes, always, always unforgettable!

Those who are familiar with Backman’s style already know that this will be a story that is at once heartwarming yet also heart-wrenching.  In this story, there is sadness and pain, violence and heartbreak, loss and suffering, yet there is also hope and healing, resilience and redemption, humor and warmth, and yes, loads of laughter and love.

If you believe in finding hope even in the face of loss and suffering, if you believe in finding humor in the most unexpected of places, if you believe in the transformative power of art to connect people across generations, but most of all, if you believe in the ability of deep and unwavering friendship to heal wounds and transcend the worst impulses of human behavior, then you need to pick up this book.  Read this one with an open heart, but also have a box of Kleenex by your side because you will definitely need it!

Received ARC from Atria Books via NetGalley.

Review: Rental House (by Weike Wang)

 

My Rating: 4.5 stars

A couple weeks ago, I had made a plan to take advantage of the vacation time I would have during the last two weeks of December to catch up on as many 2024 reads as possible. While I realize now in hindsight that this plan was a bit too ambitious given all the family obligations I had around the holidays, I’m glad I put in the effort because even though I won’t get through as much as I had planned, at least I’m making a decent dent to my TBR pile.
 

One of the books that I have been looking forward to reading ever since I found out about it is Rental House, Weike Wang’s third novel that she wrote during the pandemic. I loved her previous novel, Joan is Okay, which resonated with me deeply and was a 5-star read for me, so of course it’s no surprise that this new book was high on my list of must-reads.  I finally got around to reading the book this week and I’m definitely glad I did.  At only 213 pages, this slim novel is a quick read, but yet, one that also packs a punch.

 

In Rental House, Wang presents a marriage between two people from completely opposite ends of the cultural divide.  Keru was born in China, but immigrated to the United States with her parents as a child and despite having completely assimilated into American culture (including becoming a citizen through naturalization), she is still viewed as “foreign” by many people, including her own in-laws.  Keru’s parents, who are strict and demanding (as most immigrant Chinese parents are), expect perfection at every turn and believe that only through endless striving and struggle can immigrants such as themselves gain success in a country not of one’s origin. Nate is white and from a rural Appalachian, working-class family that distrusts intellect and striving as a means to get ahead and instead believes that those in a position of wealth (including the government) should be expected to help them out.  Despite being from two disparate cultures, Keru and Nate marry after college and instead of having kids, decide to raise a sheepdog whom they name Mantou (which means “steamed bun” in Chinese).  The book is divided into two parts, with part 1 being about a vacation in Cape Cod with Keru and Nate as well as both sets of in-laws (albeit separately – Keru’s parents visit first, then Nate’s parents), while part 2 takes place 5 years later, with Keru and Nate vacationing in the Catskills, this time without either set of in-laws (though their presence is still hugely felt despite not being there physically).  The story essentially chronicles the culture clash that ensues as Keru and Nate navigate a life together while simultaneously having to deal with the differences between their families.

 

As a Chinese American woman, I always feel seen whenever I read Weike Wang’s works – more than when I read other works by Chinese/Chinese American authors – probably because of how realistically she is able to portray the Chinese American experience in a modern-day setting.  I love how Wang captures the nuances of the Chinese American experience so perfectly and precisely every time – though in Rental House, the differences are more out in the open due to the juxtaposition of the two main characters who are from such disparate and opposite backgrounds. Given my own background, I especially resonated with Keru’s struggles: the pressure that her Chinese immigrant parents place on her to achieve success, with this success in turn being used as justification that her parents’ sacrifices were not in vain; the never-ending identity struggle that comes with being caught between two disparate cultures; constantly having to weigh the necessity of assimilation against the risk of losing her own cultural identity; and the nagging feeling that, even when she does everything right (works hard, gains prestige and wealth through a respected, high-paying job), it is somehow never going to be enough.  Most of all though, I resonated deeply with the way Keru behaves in the presence of her parents, especially her mother. Growing up with my background, I’ve found that one of the biggest things that my non-Asian friends have the hardest time understanding is the relationship dynamic between the Chinese mother and her children (sons to a certain extent but especially daughters).  In the face of relentless criticism from our Chinese mothers, the most common question that Chinese daughters such as myself get asked is why do we behave the way we do in front of our mothers and furthermore, why do we allow our mothers to treat us this way in the first place.  What those who ask this question fail to understand is that, for Chinese mothers, criticism (especially toward Chinese daughters) is their love language – it’s something so ingrained and such a natural element of the Chinese parent/child relationship that, when we’re in each other’s presence, we automatically slot into our roles without even realizing it.  Weike Wang is one of the few Chinese American authors I’ve read who is able to convey this dynamic so well on the page and I love her for it!

 

With all that said, my favorite novel of Wang’s is still Joan is Okay, but this newest one isn’t too far behind.  I will pretty much read anything Wang writes at this point, and I’m hoping her next novel won’t take too long to come out.

 

Also, one last thing I want to put out there: as those who are familiar with Weike Wang’s works probably know, her style is not for everyone.  She writes with a wry, ironic wit in a snarky, dead-pan style that is oftentimes misunderstood, perhaps because she is unapologetic about portraying her main protagonists in all their quirky, eccentric, realistically flawed glory, which may not work for all audiences.  Her books also tend to be heavily character-driven and not only lack a coherent plot, but also lean more toward “slice-of-life vignette” territory where parts of the story may feel abrupt or incomplete.  This kind of style may not work for all readers, so it’s important to keep this in mind when deciding whether to pick this one up.