Nik Kroushl
Nonfiction written so closely and compellingly it reads like a novel, but you couldn't make some of this up. I delighted in the Philly references and cringed at the sticky parts of white progressive churches dealing with racism (which hit a little close to home). Complex but never villainous, deeply human but never heroic. I am deeply fascinated by the commitment and near obsession that Circle of Hope members held for their church (so different from mine -- there is no Jesus freak style devotion to keep you at a UU institution). And how that powered them to do so much community work.... And also kept them from evolving after their founding pastors left (although let's be real, they refused to leave).
It does feel like Rachel came out on top on the portrayals and Jonny on the bottom. I'm not sure if this is because their actions were just not equal or the author's own closeness / biases / judgments involved. (For example: the narrative definitely sides with Rachel on the idea of "hearing all voices of color in the congregation including those who say that racism is not a problem here", and frames Julie's disagreement as slightly ridiculous. In truth, Griswold gives multiple interviews to dissenting BIPOC who cast doubt on the racism of the church but does not spend comparatively much time exploring experiences of the dozens of BIPOC who joined committees/groups aimed at anti-racism, who presumably DID see racist problems at COH. the problem of the dissent is that of magnitude. Do you listen to the 3 people who say "I'm a POC and there's no racism" or the 30 people who say "I'm a POC and there is"? Anyway -- it is sticky....)
Contains spoilers
I'm in a place right now where I'm trying to reckon with polycrisis and collapse. So are the characters in this book -- although they are mostly deciding not to cope or acknowledge it and instead engage in their own acts of avoidance. Their reality is also somewhat collapsing at the death of their father.
It's not really a comforting portrayal of collapse. Things get incrementally worse. The mother of two of the daughters becomes so distressed by the coming collapse -- so isolated as well in her fear of it -- that she joins a cult that believes human sacrifice will reverse the collapse.
It will not. And at the end of the book Armfield offers very little hope -- just that of having survived one terrible moment. And having to keep on in a new iteration of the endings. And deciding that life and love in the end of the world is still worth it for the sake of life and love. And that the anger we feel about what should've been, how our lives were supposed to turn out, the proverbial riches of continued existence and happiness and descendants -- that will not save us either but drive us further apart if we let it.
Contains spoilers
As much fun as book 1. I love seeing Anequs' social commentary and politics evolve over time, and the depth that her friends are gaining chapter by chapter (none of them perfect or perfectly politically correct -- and Anequs herself showing her flaws from time to time beyond the context of just having personality traits the Anglish don't enjoy). At this point the cast has gotten pretty large. I appreciate this fantasy book's allegories on larger political questions, and the introduction of more Nampeshiweisit. It still costs me a bit to remember which cities and altered culture/country names are which, but remains a blast of a world to inhabit. I am here for Anequs' polyamorous commune dreams and I love that she is gently schooling the annoying but well meaning socialist boys.
Creepy! Probably not the easiest book to pick for reading before bed, especially if you are freaked out by pregnancy. I read it quickly -- it was a compelling read -- but probably would not pick it up again. Irene was interesting as a main character and the visions of Dr Bishop's past were some of the most interesting parts of the story, but I had a hard time seeing her as a real villain. (Maybe the real villain is the imposition on women that having a baby is the most important thing you can do.)
Loved the zany stories but also how the memoir turned toward a more cohesive research and exploration of different types of group living. As someone newly interested in intentional community and its various forms, reading about the pitfalls of such communities from longtime practitioners was a valuable reminder. This book reminded me that building relationships and intimacy is always an act of community and effort, no matter whether you live in a group house, a cohousing community or a single family home with a spare room.
Also it's fun to read about how children of hippies grow up! My family was nothing like Lola's but I loved reading about hers.
Contains spoilers
I worried that Kelly Link's brilliance as a short story writer would make her debut novel too dense or hard to follow, but I was thankfully wrong. Yes it was weird and broke the literary rules, yes there are some plot points I'm unclear about, but it was deeply accessible to follow Laura, Susannah, Daniel, Mo, Thomas and the others through their stories. I did actually really love these characters, they were all so distinctly wrought and had depth and their own arcs, which I think is difficult to do with a medium sized cast like this where they also all have their own POVs.
I was worried the ending would be unhappy, but it held its weight as a bittersweet and narratively appropriate conclusion. (I should have known better, based on the romance novel throughline.) The pacing was occasionally rambunctious, but the abundance of deeply funny moments and sexy moments and sweet moments made up for it all. I had a hard time putting it down and going to sleep.
A really comprehensive history of migration and US policy on immigration spanning the 70s to 2023. While I vaguely knew that US interventionist policy in Central America contributed to the migration crisis, I had no idea of the details or scale. It was sometimes hard for me to keep straight the developments and policy in the US side of things, but largely because US administrations kept backtrackingand reinstating and changing processes, making it impossible to follow. This book has both a policy element and a very human element.
This is less a "solutions" book and more of a "wow, we fucked up SO big in so many ways" book. Infuriating. Difficult to read. And really well done.
A short modern fable. Lots of woo woo about manifesting your true destiny. Peddles in individualism. I just never believed the premise that "when you're pursuing your Personal Legend, the whole world conspires to help you," or that when we don't pursue the dreams of our youth our lives become worthless and out of sync with the universe. Overuse of the phrase "Personal Legend," disappointing relegation of the one female character to the role of personality-free love interest... wasn't for me.
Contains spoilers
This is a dreamy book, in many ways feels like being dragged into a riptide of beautiful and dense and continuous prose. The perspective tumbles around, between the minds of protagonist Laura Diaz and her family members and lovers, often a narrative that hunts down a truth not consciously known to our narrator but which even so underlies each event. A conversation between Laura and one of her lovers seamlessly cascades into a wordless exchange of secret thoughts, which in their specificity also reveal broad truths about the human experience.
I'm still trying to wrestle with all this book "means". There's so much packed into this lifetime epic that traces the major political events of 20th century Mexico as much as it does the life of Laura Diaz. (It was a very fun way to learn about some of the history, especially the Frida y Diego cameos, but I wish I'd solidified more historical knowledge before I read it.) I resonated with Laura's internal conflicts as she tries to figure out her place in post-revolution Mexico, to figure out what meaning her life can have both in personal relationships and in broader political endeavors, especially as a privileged woman who is also constantly navigating the waters of grief. Laura consistently loses herself in trying to understand and care for others, until she finally discovers the meaning-making and contributory artistic calling that pulls the fragments of her life and experiences together.
The writing is beautiful and often confusing. The symbolism is ripe and lyrical. There are aphorisms that succinctly, cuttingly lay bare the burdens of life in a dark world, the meanings or lack thereof of individual lives. There is the seemingly evergreen conundrum of young revolutionaries (or people who want to change the world, who fight hard and lose a lot for what they believe) who find their ideals and dreams trodden into the ground as time goes on, the struggle of idealism that either dies young or lives long enough to become a villain. There's the long confusion of family members who don't understand one another or who understand one another too well, and to their detriment. The characters are stunningly wrought if not always easy to understand or to like; they're larger than life in their arguments, their martyrdom, their ideals.
There are pieces I found frustrating: I don't think this book passes the Bechdel test (which is not an end-all, but indicates the focus of the book on the men in Laura's life). Her relationship with Harry felt like it could have been cut from the book -- the dynamics bothered me and I think the points made in this piece of the plot could have been made elsewhere. Fuentes seems to have a fascination with Jews and the Holocaust that feels... weird, including the martyrdom of Raquel Mendes. At times the poetry of the writing undermines the point.
But I think there's much more here for me to mine, and I'll hopefully be returning to re-read this book.