Eduardo Santiago
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.
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.
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.
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.
UPDATE: Second, slower reading. I found it more somber this time around, and it's entirely because of the zeitgeist. Johnson's message has not changed -- connection is how we can heal -- but September 2025 is a much grimmer world than June 2025. On the plus side, this reinforces Johnson's imperative to tackle the issue bottom up; on the down side, grassroots is hard; but then, back to the plus side, challenges bring out the best in us. Let's take this on. Read this, and push to build community. Take a hike. Plant a tree. Sit in comfortable silence with a loved one. And pass it on.
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.
Horrifying all the way through. Written in third person—because first person would be preposterous—but it's a deeply intimate third person, heavily focused on Alice's decaying mind and thoughts... and awareness. That's where the book shines: its merciless brutal spotlight on Alice's inner state. Her knowledge of what awaits her but helpless ignorance of when and how. Loss and frustration and courage, and then only nothing. The reader watches a beautiful mind fade then vanish. Most chillingly, she (rightly) plans her exit strategy early on... but then, understandably, waits too long. There is no escape for her or her loved ones.
A thoughtful exploration of Gift Economies, asking us to remember that every one of us is the product of infinite gifting: not just from our families and loved ones but from countless organisms stretching back and back. Remembering this helps us feel thankful, which in turn helps us remember our responsibility to give back wherever and however we can. (Kimmerer says it much more eloquently and convincingly than I can. Please read and reflect.)
A mixed bag with high standard deviation. The good essays were thoughtful, informative, inspiring, delicious, crushing, or all of the above. A few others were mediocre: rococo, convoluted, impenetrable. Probably meant more for poetry-type people than science-type people. And a couple were just flat-out wacko, with astrology and space aliens and magical thinking nonsense. Can't really recommend it but I won't add a rating.
I doubt that either author intended this as a case study in intergenerational trauma and avoidant attachment, but there were few moments where those didn't feel front and center. N. Vo's story, from parental abandonment in childhood through war and exile and integration in a new country, med school hazing, and deaths of loved ones, forms a sobering complement to his daughter C. Vo's memoir of indecision, insecurity, and longing.
The alternating-voice gimmick is more effective than it has any right to be. Either memoir, taken on its own, would be powerful. Interwoven as they are, they're heartwrenching.
Probably a great introductory read for new allies. Chugh covers all the fundamentals of our cognitive biases and offers evidence-based suggestions for overcoming them. She won't cure a nazi MAGgot, but that's not her goal: she's aiming for those who recognize the problem but aren't sure how to help. To use her terminology, turn believers into builders.
Sad news is, the book was published in 2018.
Chilling. Infuriating. Bleak. And, aside from the neurologically impossible dream gimmick, all too plausible. Much of the book's context -- surveillance state, corporate data mining, prisons-for-profit, detaining innocent people without charge, Zimbardoesque sadism of those with power -- is well entrenched today. Lalami merely adds Philip K. Dick to the mix and shows us the next logical step.
Complex characters and relationships, portrayed with feeling. They felt real. Story flow is a little jumpy but deliberately so and, once you get used to it, effective. Keep going.
Abandoned, ch.3. Weird. I can't figure out his target audience: half of it is introductory-level language, suitable for a curious learner like me, the other half makes reference to terms and names and concepts with no explanation whatsoever. I've found good nuggets so far, but nothing that really teaches me about Buddhism. Just basic live-a-good-life stuff, only preachy. And with rather more reincarnation and karma bullshit than I can take.
A vital part of our toolkit right now. Beautifully expressed, thorough, well researched, EMPOWERING, feminist, humanist, sensitive, and mature. Ms. Sandwich has an interesting relationship to crying—she does so more than any person I've ever met or heard of—and has used this superpower for good, by learning about it and sharing her findings. She looks at crying from so many perspectives: evolutionary, cultural, anthropological; across the world and over historical time. All the arts: literature, music, visual, even (swoon!) kintsugi. The book is not only readable and entertaining, it's hella informative and possibly even useful as reference: I'm debating buying my own copy (this one is Library). [UPDATE: I ordered myself a copy]
Am slightly irked that she inserts occasional "telepathy" and "Aquarius" bullshit, because otherwise this is solidly science-based. No fine-detail citation notes (another minor irk) but a respectable two pages of sources. Unfortunately (another irk) the sources are long URLs printed in Comic Sans so my OCR won't grok them, and the list is not available online anywhere I can find. Since this is not a peer-reviewed scholarly publication, I won't dock points, just kvetch.
Personal note, of interest to probably zero people other than me: a remarkable number of independent serendipities came together within a very short time span to inspire me to read this book. The catalyst that primed me was this sentence: "It is also the right hemisphere that is responsible for the peculiarly human ability to express sadness through tears." Just one throwaway sentence in the oh-so-dense [book:The Master and His Emissary] which I've been slowly reading the past month, but a sentence that—like so many other sentences in this book!—made me stop and wonder: is that really a uniquely human ability? Ms. Sandwich addresses that within the first TEN PAGES, impressing the hell out of me. Next factor was seeing friend J. mark this as to-read on GR. Next, the death of someone I cared about. And two more that are not mine to share. These coincidences are not the meddling of some stupid sky-god, they're simply the random workings of a wonderfully chaotic Universe, which IMO makes them even more worthy of deep awe and wonder.
Personal note 2: her music playlist did nothing for me, but Leontyne Price's rendition of Libera me from Verdi's Requiem never, ever fails to dampen my eyes.
Supremely niche; reading it was a worthwhile exercise, but I'm hard pressed to think of anyone I'd recommend it to. Think of it as an evening or two spent with a rambling great-aunt reminiscing about her childhood. Parts of it were informative, especially the tales she relays from her elders: people who lived in 1840s New Mexico. Other parts were dry and skippable, yet others insightful, tender, infuriating, sometimes even fascinating. The author comes across as a kind, thoughtful, generous, intelligent person but it's really hard to read some portions with a modern sensibility: favorable treatment of cattle ranching, unironically complaining about homesteaders invading "her" lands while also lauding that "the Indians were rounded up and put into reservations." A powerful humbling reminder that I, too, have made—and still make—moral choices that I should be, and am, ashamed of.
Our brains are a complex amalgam of systems with different, sometimes conflicting, priorities and values. This is not controversial. What Schwartz seems to be doing is imposing a homunculus model on top of this, one where each "part" is its own little person that you can talk to and will talk back. This, to me, feels weird. It takes a much better imagination than mine. Fortunately, most people seem to fit that category, and I can see how this could be a wonderful approach toward healing. Those of us who are aphantasic, and with no inner voice, and who firmly believe that there is no such thing as a capital-ess Self, I guess we're stuck with meditation. There are worse fates.
Unrated, because I Just Don't Get It, but I will try to mindfully recommend this to my more normal friends.
(Side note: I read this in response to a conversation with friend K. who had just read it. IFS sounded like something that a therapist had tried with me for several years, unsuccessfully, much to the frustration of both. This book has given me a greater understanding of what s/he was trying to accomplish, and my current awareness of my limitations helps me understand why that did not and could never work. Too soon old, too late smart.)
Tender. At least the first two-thirds; after that, there's some tension, uncertainty about motivations and story direction and outcome, and you'll have to read for yourself. I'll just say this: the book ends satisfactorily and was quite enjoyable to read.
The mythology is complicated but fun overall. Nice worldbuilding. And the supernatural stuff is really just setting -- backdrop for the real story, which is about oppressed minorities and the self-righteous nazi bullies who terrorize and kill them; about living in hiding, about the suffering of loss; about the suffering of remorse.
Started off simplistic in language and style, like a fireside story for a younger audience... but once she got her voice, WOW. Remarkable person, remarkable storyteller. Courage, integrity, principle, there were moments I came close to tears.
We need people like her. One way to make that happen, I think, might be to gift this book to young adults. There's a lot of context they'll never understand, but much more that they will, because not that much has changed in fifty years. Last I checked we still have racism, misogyny, corruption, political power plays, and way too many white males.
Favorite quote: It is incomprehensible to me, the fear that can affect men in political offices. It is shocking the way they submit to forces they know are wrong and fail to stand up for what they believe. Close second: I have not given up—and will not give up until I am compelled to—my belief that the basic design of this country is right. What is essential is to make it work, not to sweep it away and substitute—what? Something far worse, perhaps.
First things first: the whole concept of "ghosts" is embarrassingly silly.
That said... I enjoyed the hell out of this book. The ghost gimmick is key to the story, but the focus (har!) is always on the protagonist. Her dealing with the ghosts, personally and culturally, involves complex moral questions and I loved how Emerson developed (har!) these issues, how her character struggled and grew. I loved the supporting characters, loved Emerson's pacing and well-sustained level of tension: it was hard to put the book down.
Jumbo levels of improbability, and not just the ghost thing: dialog; some of the personal interactions; high body count; and oodles of perfect-timing serendipity. Still totally worth reading. Grab a Suspension of Disbelief pill or two—or even a handful—and prepare for some thoughtful fun.