Eduardo Santiago
Many sweet moments, and many funny ones, but overall I found it annoying. The whole way through I kept wanting to DNF, but persevered because two people I love and trust urged me to... and, okay, they were right, it was worth finishing, but what an ordeal. I get that it's a farce, that the irritating characters are played for yuks, but they were too much: too obnoxious, too grating, and JayB (main human character) too much of a doormat. The character with by far the highest EQ and IQ was Clancy, the canine narrator.
Which brings me to my biggest disconnect. One problem with having read Nagel ("What Is It Like to Be a Bat?") is that books like these — written from the PoV of a dog — become exercises in nitpicking. A sentence such as "Alana turned her face away, hiding a smile": the emotional, social, situational, and cultural awareness it takes to observe and write that is beyond the ability of many humans; and we're supposed to believe this is a dog? I'm sorry, I can't buy that. I hate to make accusations without proof, but I'm like 90% sure that Mr. Cameron is not, in fact, a dog.
Infuriating. Also humbling and inspiring and powerfully moving. Ghose profiles twenty(ish) twentieth-century(ish) women who made astonishing groundbreaking discoveries despite relentless—and senseless—obstacles at every level. Some of the women we all know: Henrietta Leavitt, Vera Rubin, Lise Meitner. Most of the rest were unknown to me, and that's tragic because without their work and especially their insights we would be decades behind in astronomy, physics, and chemistry. (The obvious next question is too depressing to contemplate: how much farther would we be today if countless women hadn't been stifled? Weren't <i>still</i> being stifled?)
The writing is often simple, perhaps in hopes of attracting middle schoolers? (I'd be in favor of gifting this to a middle or high schooler, though I doubt they'd read it.) Reading level notwithstanding, the content shines. Ghose beautifully illustrates these women's lives and work; their challenges, their grit, and their impact. She complements many chapters with parallels from her experiences as a physicist and educator: things are better today, but not yet better enough. Her passion for learning is palpable and inspiring.
El último cuento, Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego, fenómeno. Horroroso, escalofriante, y tocando incómodamente a la realidad.
El resto me fueron difíciles leer: Enriquez trata con temas de pobreza, ignorancia, abuso, adicción, locura y más, pero (la mayoría de) sus caracteres son huecos, sin vida ni ánimo, rodeados de lo mismo. Pocos tienen inteligencia ni madurez: sus situaciones son banales, sin conección humana. Matrimonios que pelean con gritos. Niños siendo crueles. Nada interesante. Y en la mayoría, en algún momento, aparecen fantasmas o monstros u otro elemento sobrenatural, sin razón alguna y que no contribuye nada a la narrativa.
Pero ese último. Uy.
Sweet... cozy... sometimes to the point of cloying. Preachy... but entirely about values aligned with mine (kindness, community, chosen family, antiracism, resistance to bullying) so that gets a pass. Cringey levels of privilege: the love interests are all physically attractive (and we're constantly reminded of it), the main action takes place in a beautiful seaside estate without concern for anything so pedestrian as money, and all crises -- tense as they are -- get resolved rather more conveniently than is customary in (at least <i>my</i>) real life.
Still.
I liked it. Really liked it. Unashamedly. Not in a guilty-pleasure or bubblegum sort of way, either: it had depth and warmth and tension and a lot of heart.
Contains spoilers
Bello tributo a la obsesión, inspiración, al genio y los bordes de la cordura. Encontré fascinante como Labatut juega con la realidad, pero no quiero hablar mucho sobre su estilo, aún en spoiler, pues él lo explica en los Reconocimientos finales. Un truco literario muy efectivo y original.
My DNF yesterday was a book that's (probably) great literature that I'm not smart enough to understand. This DNF today (at p.60) gives no indication of being great literature. One main character is a worthless self-absorbed nothing, reminiscent of Bukowski; the other main character is a deeply troubled but shallow person with glimmer of potential but not enough to keep me going. The near-future fascist dystopia is played for yuks, and I'm not in the mood for that right now.
Too difficult to read, and not clear that I'd find it worthwhile. Writing is beyond choppy. Beyond staccato. Ratatat little bursts of impressions. Fragments. Hard to read. Not a comma to be found. Best read quickly maybe. Form a gestalt? Couldn't.
And the gestalt I formed is of a child cowering and trying to survive in an environment of ignorant abusive religious subhumans. Don't need that right now.
Tedious, exasperating, with a few gems embedded. Batchelor seems like a wonderful person, smart and compassionate and well grounded, but omg so pompous and so scattered.
Most of the essays assume a preexisting deep knowledge of Buddhist thought, like knowing the "First Discourse", and lots of names and terms. If you're coming at this with little or no knowledge of Buddhism, find something else. And if you're annoyed by language games, by a twentieth-century Anglo trying to wrest meaning from translations-of-translations of 2500-year-old texts and a cultural context that is impossible for us to imagine, give this a skip.
Good little nuggets about agnosticism, the (religionless!) ethical framework of the Buddha's teachings, and history, but for the most part this is just impenetrable handwaving. The essays are not ordered chronologically, or even in any meaningful order, so concepts he dismisses in an early essay (four "noble truths", religious aspects of Buddhism) are spoken of unquestioningly in later ones.
Mostly cozy, but often felt forced or disjointed. The tone was not cohesive: some essays focused entirely on the sensory aspects of the titular food, some on intimate memories and associations, and some were a distant stretch. Frequent notes of antiracism and antiviolence woven in, all of them powerful and relevant; this bumped it from four stars to five.
One element I found notable, and has me super curious: food familiarity. The vast majority of these foods are ones I know and love, but I was astonished when reading the Kaong chapter at how disconnected I felt: that's a fruit I don't know and had never even heard of, and nothing she wrote gave me even the slightest sense of what it's like. That makes me wonder about Americans who've never tasted sugar cane or apple bananas (manzanos): what must those chapters be like? I also wondered, briefly, about non-foodies, people who don't salivate when reading about mangos pineapple vanilla cinnammmmmmmmon, and I guess this book is not for them.
Oh—the illustrations. Swoon.
Conmovedora historia, pero necesario tomarla con cierta reserva. Nunca pude olvidar que Zamora narra eventos de su niñez, luego de veinte años. Me fue imposible aceptar tanto detalle asi que lo leí como autoficción, y da igual pues lo que importa es la vista grande... y en eso triunfa. Salí con un sentido profundo de dolor, no sólo por la dificultad del viaje de Javiercito sino por el conocimiento, en cada momento, de su buena fortuna. Entendiendo que hay miles que no logran el cruce. Pensando en los parientes que toman riesgos tan espeluznantes con sus propios hij@s. Y, a mediado del 2025, avergonzado de mi país por el tratamiento tan desgraciado de los migrantes. El libro relata, sin intentar resolver, tantas cuestiones morales.
Second reading, still very much worth it. Although in many ways dated, the main gist is even more relevant today than in 2000: our lack of touch and connection is destroying us.
Most interesting to me in July 2025: rereading this so soon after The Master and His Emissary. Limbic vs neocortical, or left hemisphere vs right, there are appealing and useful aspects to each model -- but, like all models, they're incomplete and often wrong. I'm really intrigued by how both books converge on similar conclusions from such different approaches.
Most discouraging to me in July 2025: how much worse the world has become since the book's writing, in ways the authors feared. The system is powerfully stacked against us.
Probably not a book I'll be recommending or passing along: the world has changed too much in 25 years, culturally and in terms of neuroscience knowledge. Unfortunately I can't think of any single recent work that quite covers the same ground so elegantly. So, recommended with reservations?
Life-changing, but I'm still too dazed to quite figure out how. There's so much to process. Not all of it is new if you've been paying attention, but it's the aggregation that has blown my mind. As well as the material that is new (to me). Kimmerer always writes of Plant People, and I've worked on myself to internalize that perspective, but Schlanger makes it resonate deeply and powerfully and I really don't know what to do with this mindset shift. It's overwhelming.
Fascinating and fun blend of philosophy, science, and rumination. No matter how much you've wondered about consciousness, you haven't thought about it nearly as much as Harris and her interviewees. You will learn. You will wonder. You will probably be confused as heck in some of the talks. (If you're not, you are orders of magnitude smarter than me).
There's something slightly uncomfortable, though, about listening to so many smart people espouse their particular hypothesis about consciousness: none of this is even remotely falsifiable (in the foreseeable future). So it's a little like religion, but with curiosity and awe instead of bigotry, hatred, and stupidity. And, unlike religion, pondering consciousness positions us to be better people: more aware of the felt experience of other beings, hence kinder.
Audiobook-only because it's entirely conversational. This makes it much more engaging, but means that polishing is impossible: occasional clarifications are necessary in the preludes to some chapters. Some parts are awkward, some dense, and in some I feel like Harris inserts herself too heavily into the conversation, drowning the interviewee. And, sadly, I can't highlight or bookmark or make annotations. I wish they provided transcripts to purchasers.
Flaws and all, these are conversations worth listening to again. If I last another five years, I'd like to see how they age... and how my thinking has changed. Recommended.
Taught me some valuable lessons, the most prominent being not to jump to conclusions too early.
I feel ashamed to admit that my first reaction, two chapters in, was cynical dismissal. I rolled my eyes as I ticked off the self-help tropes: Fun Personality Type Quiz, Inspirational Stories From Real People, Questions To Reflect On. Then I started realizing that the content itself was good. Very good. Sober, realistic, practical life lessons not just for activism but for being a responsible grownup: managing your focus, time, energy; framing in positive terms; choosing deep work, not shallow; allowing for mistakes and decision fatigue; creating routines. Williams covers, succinctly but solidly, pretty much all the foundations of how I try to live my life, including principles I've understood for decades and some that have taken me much longer to learn. Some I still struggle with despite understanding their importance (self-care, yeah, I know).
It is June 2025 as I write this: we are all activists now, and for the remainder of our lives. Might as well learn to do it right while respecting our limitations.
Cute but soooo clunky. Six short stories, all of them nearly identical: introduction, setup, seemingly-impossible food request, chapter break. Food mystery solved, with extra discoveries to boot! Client weeps tears of joy. Banal closing prayer.
You know how some books you need to read in one or two sittings so you can keep track of all the characters and situations? This is the opposite: I would've found it more effective to read one story, put the book aside for some months, read another, repeat. That way the constant repetition of the same context elements might be less irksome, and the awkward dialogue less grating, you see.
Brutal and bleak but wow, so valuable and informative. Starts off strong and keeps the momentum, chapter after chapter. (One exception, around halfway, much too wonky and dense for me, but, shrug).
Impressive research, and I'm stunned by all I've learned about the racist classist horrifying roots of our housing crisis: zoning, FHA, contract loans, GI Bill, much more. Some I vaguely knew, much more was completely new to me. There will be new material here for everyone, I think. Tragically, a few of the worst causes started off with good intentions... but there seems to be very little that can't be corrupted by American ingenuity and greedy rich bastards.
Does not cover climate change and the problems it is bringing. Overpopulation is briefly mentioned, but only to dismiss it as a bogeyman. Uncomfortable silence too about the principal reason for the U.S.'s easy cheap expansion, that being the availability of free land everywhere--if you don't count the already-existing inhabitants, of course. Highly recommended despite these gaps: as Appelbaum himself states in the final chapter, tolerance is a key principle in growing and improving ourselves. Voltaire said something along those lines.
Part One (the brain) was dense but fascinating. It required close attention, note-taking, frequent rereading of paragraphs and pages. His arguments come off as solid, although possibly that's my personal bias speaking.
Part Two (history) was dense and impenetrable. Much handwaving, many claims that I find unfalsifiable. His depiction of a left-brain dystopia, in the final chapter, is chillingly close to present-day USA but with one surprising exception: he surmises that religion would be obsolete. Forgetting, apparently, that religion is a power-control mechanism?
McGilchrist is the most erudite writer I've read in years. Much of my reading time was spent looking up words, philosophers, historical figures. I learned a great deal about the brain, the mind, and consciousness. But I'm neither intelligent nor educated enough to understand the vast majority of it. Would someone please come out with a Reader's Digest version?
It took me too long to figure out how to read this: is it a memoir? autofiction? pure fiction? There are ambiguous hints of each... and once I gave up on pigeonholing it all flowed so much better. Delightfully. So much so that I went back and reread it as soon as I finished, picking up much more, paying closer attention to the gorgeous artwork, and bumping from four to five stars. It's worth the reread, there's a lot in here. Bechdel is hella smart, and funny, and bitingly sarcastic, and tender, and it adds up to a beautiful moving work. Jabs—often at her own expense—at consumerism, the attention economy, heteronormativity, mononormativity, the dystopia we find ourselves in. Wisdom and insight on relationships, communication, and what really matters. And, for fans of Dykes To Watch Out For, they're all here in exquisite middle-age glory! What a treat to spend time with them again!
Oh, almost forgot: lots of cats and baby goats.
Well, that was unexpectedly sweet. Tender and moving and heartwarming and, okay, a little preachy and heavyhanded, with the noble principled characters just a tad too much so and the despicable ones likewise, but sometimes we need role models to aspire to and mustachioed villains to hiss at. And aside from those very few extremes—only four characters—the rest of the cast is richly, complexly, interestingly human.
The story meanders gracefully through a lovely landscape of people around a smallish community. The relationships between everyone can be hard to follow at times, so this is a good book to focus on over a few days, not a book to put aside and read sporadically. I do encourage you to do so. McBride writes with gentleness and heart, on themes of injustice, strength, growth, and redemption, and I think this book will stay with me. Or at least the first ninety percent: the are two unnecessarily convoluted heist subplots near the end that didn't really work for me. Maybe you'll find that part fun, and if not, just skip a few paragraphs here and there but I hope you'll finish.
We are sick; we are tired; and we are sick and tired of the increasingly downward spiral we're in. Johnson addresses our unwellness from many perspectives, using a systems-level view to converge on an integrated picture of what ails us, how we got here, and where we need to focus if we want to fix things. She draws from her experiences as a medical practitioner and an acequia community member. She cites up-to-date research, and she's done her homework: the text is well dotted with end notes in all the appropriate places, and those references are current and relevant.
Johnson's argument boils down to the undeniable fact that humans evolved as cooperators, not just with each other but with our environment: awareness of surroundings, and recognition of reciprocal needs and responsibilities, is what kept our ancestors alive and even thriving. The hijacking of social norms by self-absorbed greedy individualists has cost us dearly. This will not come as a surprise to most readers, since we tend to self-select... but it might be news to some of our less aware friends-and-relations, so this is a book to read and then pass along strategically.
What was a surprise to me was Johnson's inspiring final chapters. She asserts that we already have the principal tool we need to address our situation: imagination. Since imagination does not spring ex nihilo, she provides a helping hand: examples of successful (albeit small-scale) cultural shifts that have led to progress. Maybe you, or someone you gift this book to, will envision a step-by-step path to a healthier planet and a healthier us.
I felt uncomfortable in two dimensions. First, the privilege: access to trees and birds and land and silence will never be possible in a planet of N-billion humans. Second, the privilege: the precautionary principle espoused in chapter 11 has a strong anti-development hint to it. Both of these issues are much too complex to go into here; and, to be fair, Johnson acknowledges them to some extent. I can live with my discomfort, because the book's assets—its arguments, evidence, insights, and above all its intriguing final chapters of promise—far outweigh the negatives.
Thank you North Atlantic Books for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.
So much heart! (And brain, and courage... but that's another story). Green starts off strong, with emotional tension and conflict, and maintains the pace. The characters are mostly believable: their maturity and self-aware stretches credulity at times, ... but I'm 100% OK with that. Just this week a friend and I were conversing about the importance of speaking to the potential in people—to who they <i>could</i> be; to who you see in them—and by doing so uplifting them and helping them manifest their promise. This is what I see Green doing, and I love it. There are countless inflection points in the book where a kind intention, a step back to reflect, makes a critical difference to a relationship and/or an outcome. (There are bad decisions too. This is no fantasy.)
The writing is evocative, rich, with an exquisite eye for detail. It's hard to believe this is a first novel. I loved the attention to geology and engineering and integrity, but a couple of times the science felt cut short. I wonder if some parts got lost out of fear of losing the reader? Hey editors, science nerds read, too! It was serendipitously fun to read this so soon after The Emerald Mile: that gave me useful background context about dam construction.
I was delighted to see Angle of Repose in cameo, then stunned to learn, in the Author's End Notes, about Stegner's theft. Am still feeling indigested a day later but am grateful to have learned the truth no matter how ugly.
May we all end up as la-di-da, spiritually enlightened types.
Contains spoilers
Too surreal for me. Or maybe just not surreal enough? It felt incomplete, like the mutation elements weren't explored to any interesting degree. Characters were simultaneously flat and shallow. Cringey white privilege: two instances of shark guy going batshit, destroying property and/or inflicting harm on others. Cops are called, oh, no problem, just go home and recover.
For a while I thought <spoiler>it was an allegorical exploration of dementia: loss of personality and control, helplessness in the face thereof</spoiler>. But no, the final third of the book strongly suggests otherwise. Those parts felt jarring and inconsistent with the first two thirds, <spoiler>in which the mutating characters lose all traces of humanity including human memories and behaviors. The Lewis-and-Margaret bits do not add up</spoiler>.
There's also an uncomfortable degree of <spoiler>mommyhood worship, to the point where I wondered if the author is a rabid religious antiabortion nut job. (I haven't bothered to look her up to find out). The Epilog was creepily saccharine</spoiler>. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but there was just a disturbing vibe.
Writing was lovely. Lyrical at times. Not enough to salvage the book.