Kelsey

I'd had this book on my shelf for quite a while and was putting it off for fear that it would trigger some sort of emotional response – family trauma stuff, you know – that I wasn't ready for. I'm somehow both delighted and disappointed to report: that was not the case.

As with many research-oriented books, I found that this one in particular was repetitive to the point of becoming unreadable in parts. There was plenty of anecdotal research and no lack of pithy autobiographical stories, but ultimately I thought the scientific backing of the “revolutionary” approach to addiction was lacking. I'm not saying I disagree with most of the arguments in this book (particularly with regard to drug-related policy reform), but if I'm going to read 300 pages about it, I'd hope for a more well-rounded approach that combines both neurological and social evidence.

I'm biased toward Nabokov as he's one of the authors that taught me to love reading in the first place, so take this review with a grain of salt.

I thought King, Queen, Knave was an absolute delight. I'm not giving it 5 stars only because I don't think it holds a flame to the likes of Lolita or Despair. But, in my opinion, Nabokov can do no wrong. He writes some of the most hatable characters I've ever read, including Martha (the titular Queen). She's awful! Don't get me started on spineless Franz either... God, I love him. The best part for me was the fact that the only character worthy of any admiration is Dreyer. Typically the butt of the love triangle in these stories is portrayed as a fool, but Nabokov turns the trope on its head and gives us two cheating idiots who ultimately (it could be argued, anyway) get what they deserve.

Love it.

From pages ~150-300, I had the recurring thought that I should not have read this book.

For one thing, I'm not the appropriate audience for it; I missed 8th grade U.S. history due to relocating from Florida to Georgia (a little besides the point, I know, but still relevant considering how much U.S. history knowledge Mallon expects the reader to have). One might consider me to be quite the idiot when it comes to ‘50s history in particular, and one could certainly say that I know nothing about what it's like to be a gay man in the ‘50s. Or at any point in time for that matter. For a second thing, I think I just found it boring (likely as a result of the aforementioned incompetence).

So having said that, I'll do my best to judge what I was able to understand. Starting with the writing. I thought the writing was quite good, especially when it came to the abundance of dialogue (which, to me, explains why this was turned into a Showtime series despite its dull, slow plot that to any normal person would not warrant 8 episodes). I'd consider reading another book by Mallon if it was based in a different time period and consisted of entirely different thematic elements. Honestly, if I wasn't so busy getting turned around by all the characters being referred to by both their first and last names interchangeably and at varying times, I might have even enjoyed the plot. Thematically, however, I'm hesitant to admit that it wasn't very appealing. Granted, like I said, I'm not the ideal audience for it... but all things considered, your two main characters are still white men in the ‘50s. Despite their quasi-secretive sexual orientation, they still had it pretty good compared to every other character in the book. All the women were secretaries looking to get married, and any mention of any people of color was derogatory and dismissive (as expected of the ‘50s, so I'm not blaming the author for accurately portraying character dynamics... jfyi). I just found it a little hard to sympathize with their plight. But, hey, at least it's self aware! A great line from Mary when responding to a white man asking her to keep him in the loop: “It amazes me that you believe somebody is going to come down the hall to tell me anything other than that the new file boxes I've ordered have come in.”

Great. Now, speaking of Mary... I am delighted to say that she was my favorite part about this whole book. All things considered, she could in some ways be considered the main character (many who have read the book may scoff at that, but I don't care what you think!). Toward the end, she has a revelation that in many ways sums up the whole conflict of the book (non-political conflict anyway): “She was an engine that couldn't turn over; the only state of mind she could fully embrace was hesitation, a conviction that to accept one man or life was to forfeit another.” I guess that takes me back to the good writing. The characters were lovely despite most of them being unlikable. And Mary, most of all, was an excellent character and acted as the glue that brought everything together - she also vocalized what it seemed like all the other men in the book couldn't: I'm unsure, and I'm scared.

Without Mary, the book is unreadable.

Anyways, I guess what I'm trying to say is... meh.

Immediately orders sequel upon completion

I'm usually that annoying type of person who struggles to suspend my disbelief when it comes to fantasy novels. But I was emotionally desperate for this book – after A Little Life followed by a nonfiction about addiction, I told myself it was time for something breezy. City of Brass did not disappoint. I have my qualms (of course, as one must), but they didn't hamper the book's ability to transport me out of my anxiety brain. For that, I am very grateful.

All I wish is that Chakraborty would brainstorm some new ways of expressing “his smile did not reach his eyes”. Might I recommend the following:

“His smile was not compelling”
“He smiled unconvincingly”
“She noticed his smile appeared fake”
Etc, etc, etc.

An engaging read covering some subject matter that was both informative and challenging.

It did, however, leave me wondering... what was the point? I don't always ask that question after reading novels because in many cases I don't know that there was meant to be a big philosophical takeaway. But with this one, it was clear that the author had something in mind when he set out writing this book – something more than an exploration of racism in the 30s, I think. And I only say this because of the two seemingly random tangents about present-day issues with phone obsession, gun violence, and distribution of wealth. A friend pointed out to me that maybe this was the result of some editing? Maybe the publishers wanted him to tone down the comparisons to present-day but allowed him to keep just a little bit of it? If that's the case, then it's a shame. Because upon reflection, I think I would've liked to see more of that.

There's no great way to say this, but... I had absolutely 0 expectations for this book. Not that I expected it to be bad; I just hadn't heard anything about it, and I received it in a quarterly shipment of books that were chosen for me (and, historically, I've only liked about half of them).

So I was surprised at how much I loved it. The internal dialogue was so poignant and interesting that the story itself could meander somewhat aimlessly (and it did) without notice or care. There's so much I appreciated about the narrator that I hardly know where to start... She put words to things that I have only ever felt but not been able to describe. She told anecdotes without over-describing the characters with anything but their actions. She was self-reflective and self-aware in a way that I long to be but have never achieved. To me, this halfway memoir was basically a master class in journaling.

Would recommend to everyone I know. It's a quick 200-pager that provided more insights and challenging ideas than most 400+-page books I've ever read.