Imi

“I was so used to my perpetual status of outsider that I'd stopped questioning in each situation whether this time it was my femaleness or my Asianness or the combination of both that branded me different. Even now, I feel impatient when asked about what being these things mean to me—the expectation that because my race and my gender are often the first things people notice about me, they must also be the most significant to me. When I die, I know the first sentence in my obituary will read, ‘Asian American woman mathematician dies at the age of X.'”

Parts of this novel felt like it could be a real-life memoir, written by a successful mathematician, looking back on her career, highlighting the difficulties she had, as a woman of colour in post-WWII America, when trying to build a career in research and academia, negotiating the intrinsic sexism and racism that looked unlikely to ever fade. That would have been a story in itself. And then you realise there is tension elsewhere in Katherine's life, in her personal family story. Growing up in an interracial family, and mixed race herself, it takes many, many years before Katherine begins to learn the truth about her family history. That story takes her all the way to Germany, where she begins to piece together events that occurred in Nazi Germany.

This is feminist historical fiction, which of course it's always good to have more, but it also feels incredibly unique even in that genre, thanks to be wonderfully diverse, and because of its interesting perspective of using mathematics as a lens to examine reality. I also really connected with Katherine and all her insecurities, how all of history seemed to be stacked against her. And if you like novels with family secrets, there's plenty of them here. Highly recommended.

Give me a bitter, cynical female protagonist any day of the week. There's a moment that Millie feels a spark, a glimpse of hope, that things are finally going to change, and that makes what happens next all the more sad and terrifying. Dark, funny and bleak, but at 200 pages it does not over stay it's welcome. Thank God. Too many contemporary books I've read recently are overly long and over written. This novel makes it's point and that's it. Note perfect.

3.5 stars. A fun historical, magical fantasy. And wonderful in terms of diversity. I really struggle with this genre nowadays, honestly, but I'm glad I picked this up. I completely understand all of the comparisons to [b:Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell 14201 Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Susanna Clarke https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1357027589l/14201.SY75.jpg 3921305] (a book of the genre that I do truly adore), even if I think these comparisons are slightly overstated; Sorcerer to the Crown is set in the 1880s in Britain, a Britain where magic is real and embedded in society. I liked the two main protagonists separately, but I have to admit I didn't really believe in any chemistry there, and in fact I think their personalities clashed time to time. I also think Cho introduced way too many possible conflicts; the plot all gets a bit cluttered and scattered. Maybe I'm being a little harsh, just because I really wished I loved this genre as much as I used to. Still, it was fun as I said. I enjoyed my time with it.

3.5 stars. A truly heartbreaking story of voiceless women in a Palestinian family living in America. It's characters and their motives definitely felt true to life, and I appreciated how it opens the door on the hidden lives, even if it was emotionally draining. The ending felt slightly hurried and unclear compared to the rest of the novel, even if I think I can see what Rum was trying there. Perhaps trying to add in a little bit of hope in what was an entirely hopeless situation.

I went into this with fairly low expectations after following the hype and discussion surrounding its release, but, you know what, I just really enjoyed reading this sequel. It's a page turner! Of course, it does not have the emotional impact and tension of The Handmaid's Tale, but I don't think that was its purpose. Offred was an entirely passive narrator, in her own claustrophobic horror of a life, while here the reader is shown Gilead from multiple perspectives, both internal and external. In many ways, this is what I wanted when I first read The Handmaid's Tale as a teenager; I found myself frustrated that we were never told why or how this horrible reality had come about. Rereading the novel as an adult, I realised that was entirely the point. I can see why fans are disappointed with this as a sequel; it's a lot more action driven and, strangely for a book about Gilead, “entertaining”. Personally, I enjoyed it for what it was, appreciated the glimmers of hope, and don't really think I would have enjoyed a repetition of the misery of the first book anyway (this is the same reason I've avoided the TV series since the end of the first season... I've heard it gets dark). It's as easy as ever to get swept away by Atwood's incredible story-telling, and for that reason I am more than satisfied.

I spent the vast majority of this beautiful, brave memoir, sobbing quietly to myself.

A friend recommended it to me many months ago. This friend is queer herself and grew up in a very religious family (her father is a parish pastor), so clearly she was going to identify with Vicky's story (I have to use her first name, because I feel like I know her personally after this book). I'm not religious myself and admit to not being very knowledge about the evangelical Christian community, but my friend thought that not only would I blown away by what Vicky had been put through, but I would also relate to her health struggles.

I can only imagine how much of an invaluable resource this book must be both to gay Christians, but also anyone who believes their true identity makes them an outsider and is ashamed of that. Vicky's upbringing in a particularly devout evangelical community and her subsequent career as a Christian musician and worship leader makes her internal conflict all the more punishing, to the point it dramatically affects her health.

She also beautifully explains how her own personal theology slowly begins to change. The chapters on her research into biblical interpretations were some of my favourites, and as someone with very little knowledge on the bible, that was impressive. It's very accessible and easy to follow. Her conclusions make a lot of sense, even to someone non-religious. She points out how across history the Church has had to change how it interprets the bibles teachings on issues such as slavery and women's equality (even if there is still a long way to go there too); the Church is not fixed, but also adapts to the time and culture. That is such an optimistic and hopeful outlook, and I really hope Vicky is right.

Now I'm sure reading this book wouldn't change the minds of the most extreme homophobes, but, you know, I really think Vicky could persuade a good many people here. It's hard to see how you couldn't sympathise with her after all she's suffered. What is most remarkable is not once does lose her devotion to God and her faith, but the way she considers faith and explains her beliefs is so clear and expressive, that it becomes all the less unsurprising. If that's not inspiring, then I don't know what it is.

This felt more like a memoir without a continuous structure than a true collection of essays. There are only 6 of them, and they're all focused on different periods in Pine's life, without leading to much discussion of a broader or external conclusions. It's more about her own life experience and fantastic if you read it as a personal memoir. Engaging, brutally honest, and full of detail and life. The first two essays were without a doubt the strongest (‘Notes on Intemperance' on her father's health crisis after a lifetime of alcoholism, and ‘The Baby Years' on infertility), so that made the book feel even slightly uneven because of that, but I still loved it as a whole.

Night Film is just as spectacular as I remember it being. It's the book equivalent of going down the rabbit hole. Our protagonist, Scott McGrath, a failed investigative journalist, is obsessed with the Truth, but as a reader... the journey itself is simply so epic, so full of tension, and so thrilling, you end up not caring quite so much what the Truth really is. Which, luckily for me, makes the experience of re-reading this book just as fun as it was first time round :')

Extraordinary collection! Berry writes about what it means to be home, to grow up and leave, and then return and learn to love it once again. I love how she plays with nuances of her local dialect of the West Midlands. It brings the place life within these pages. I'd love to see Berry perform these poems live. Some of my favourite moments:

For years you kept your accentin a box beneath the bed,the lock rusted shut by hours of elocution

My interest in you became geological.Pulling on your wellingtons to walk the dog in the rain,you were granite, durable, funereal almost.Under bath water, you were the agateI found on Brighton beach as a child, sleekand mottled as seal's skin.At other times you seemed a rarer gem

That last summer before school robbed languagefrom my mouth and parcelled it up in endlessLadybird Books, you made me a boat of wordsand pushed us off from the jetty into the Sea of Talk

[I have] conducted science's great experimentsusing darkened cupboards, plastic cups and cressand unhooked a high window on a stuffy dayand heard the room's breath,I have measured time by paper snowflakes,blown eggs, bereft cocoonsand waved goodbye in summer so many timesthat even in September my heart is June.

This method book cover to cover was exactly what I was hoping for so far. I followed it cover to cover, and found it really comprehensive. There are also a few pieces I've really liked and will keep coming back to. List below with dates I first started them:

Favourite Pieces:
- 19/09/18: ‘The Harp Song' (p.61)
- 19/09/18: ‘Beautiful Brown Eyes' (p.65)
- 26/09/18: ‘Alpine Melody' (p.69)
- 17/10/18: ‘Blow the Man Down' (p.89)
- 15/11/18: ‘Cafe Vienna' (p.94)
- 05/12/18: ‘Lullaby' (p.95)
- 27/02/19: ‘Chiapanecas' (p.120)
- 13/06/19: ‘Scarborough Fair' (p.135)
- 24/07/19: ‘The Entertainer' (p.140)
- 07/08/19: ‘Amazing Grace' (p.142)
- 26/08/19: ‘Over the Rainbow' (p.144)
- 15/11/19: ‘Singin' in the Rain' (p.148)
- 17/10/19: ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo' (p.156) - This piece was the last one in the book, and it was so, so difficult! Spent so much time on it. And it's turn out it was harder than most of the pieces early on in the next level book...

I think I'm burnt out on the simile/metaphor heavy, disjointed, stream-of-consciousness kind of purple prose. Despite the obvious beautiful insight and moment, I found myself getting lost and frustrated frequently. The story itself is tragic and highly disturbing at points. Some moments, in fact, once I got my head around what was actually happening, left me feeling a bit sick. I don't know if this is another case of reading a book at the wrong time, but it definitely wasn't for me this time round.

I'm so pleased to have really enjoyed this novel after hearing so much about it. It's full of empathy and humour, which makes for a lovely reading experience. The ending tied up everything too quickly and neatly for my tastes, but that's really a minor complaint. I loved Eleanor's engaging narrative voice, the slow build of Eleanor and Raymond's friendship, and the idea that simple acts of kindness can be the making of someone's life.

Overly indulgent, stylised, and gimmicky. This very much over stayed its welcome. I was intrigued by the opening chapters, but my enthusiasm quickly drifted away. I often like fiction as abstract, experimental stream of consciousness, but it has to be done well and cannot be this damn long. Something that could have been a great short story, dark and funny, turned into 300+ pages of dense drivel.

I was afraid upon starting this that it would eventually drift into melodrama, but happily that never happened. In fact, it was surprisingly subtle. The ending was also beautifully done and I was glad Lee did not take the easy way out here. Three women, all at different stages of life and from different class backgrounds, are part of the expatriate community of Hong Kong. Another way the book surprised me is that it focused less on these differences, and on how their lives are brought together by the simple fact of relocating to such an exclusive community, but more on themes of motherhood and family. It grew on me as the book went on.An accomplished, character-driven novel.

I hope to write a full review of this at some point, but for now I'll say this was fascinating, informative and (sadly) very, very relatable. This book covers many topics from the law surrounding digital legacies to the very human psychology of grief. I lost a very close friend earlier in the year. In the last few years our friendship had been almost entirely digital (first while I was abroad and then we lived opposite sides of the country). It's been tough (understatement) to get my head around the fact she's gone while still being able to scroll through my messages and see her name there. So I can relate to the experiences of many of the people Kasket interviewed. Fantastic book! 

Ouch.I loved every second of [b:The Three-Body Problem 20518872 The Three-Body Problem (Remembrance of Earth's Past #1) Liu Cixin https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1415428227l/20518872.SY75.jpg 25696480]. Exhilarating and imaginative, and an all round fun heavy scifi epic. This sequel carries on from where that book left off, so of course I was really excited. The sense of mystery of the first book, that I loved so much, is of course gone now, but even without that I was expecting something incredible.I had a sinking feeling right at the start, when the sickening storyline of Luo Ji's ~imaginary, dream woman~ was introduced. Luo Ji is the protagonist, really, this time round, and he is, to put it simply, an insufferable man-child. Not only did I hate spending so much of the book with his character, I was disappointed at the treatment of all the female characters. Unlike The Three-Body Problem, none of the main characters are women. The first time we meet Luo Ji's character properly, he has just slept with a woman he can't remember the name of... until she is suddenly killed off!! The General of the UN is described as a a “refined Asian lady who didn't project the sense of power needed”. I should have started taking a tally, but I believe there were multiple instances where it was stated that the most defining feature of a woman who was part of the military and/or space fleets was that she was “thin and slender”. There are women who plot against their Great Thinking husbands, or they are stolen away to motivate these Great Men to actually do something, anything, in their Great work of saving all of humankind!!. Because saving all of humanity is still not enough. I could go on, but I think I've said enough.Moving on to be a more minor, but still disappointing, issue... The prose and dialogue is also clunky and overly drawn out. I believe this might have something to do with the translation, as the translator is different than the first book, which in contrast still felt very readable, even when there was a lot of very science heavy information to get through.I'm just sad. I was looking forward to this so much and it crushes me that I slogged through it, and despite a few new interesting scifi concepts, nothing could overcome my overwhelming disappointment and unease. I doubt I'll read the final book in the trilogy. And it hurts to write that.

3.5 stars. A difficult read for many reasons: graphic descriptions of violence (really, James does not hold back here), its high page count, multiple perspectives, and the use of patois and local slang. The long monologues, cluttered dialogue, and streams of consciousness were tiresome, especially around the middle, so I can't say I believe it needed to be anywhere near this long. I don't know if I just got used to it, but the novel did become a lot more readable as it went on. Nina deserved her own book! Her character arc was fascinating and wonderfully done, but seems so at odds with the rest of cast (mostly gang members).

Two lines run through my head:
Beware! the root is wrapped about
Your mother's heart, your father's bones

They are from ‘The House of Eld' and I understand them now. We carry our parents inside us, their blood in our veins, their voices in our heads.[...] And, as I think that, I catch my reflection in the mirror and for a moment Mother is looking back at me, and her eyes are saying, ‘See, you are more like me than you know,' and I feel the root tangling round my heart.

Spectacular! Historical fiction at its finest. Layered, rich in detail, clear in its time and place, this book uses 3 perspectives, from 3 generations of the same family, to slowly construct a narrative surrounding the dark days British Raj in India through to the end of the First World War. Unlike many novels utilising multiple perspectives, I thought each perspective was as important and poignant as the others, and I think that was thanks to the fantastic characterisation. There were so many dark reveals in the final chapters, which I don't want to say too much about. The ending was troubling and tragic, but fantastically done, and Sinha treats her characters and this troubling history with great compassion. I really was not prepared for how good this novel would be, and am very much struggling to get that across now. And apparently this was a debut novel! So I must wait to see what Sinha writes next...

Wow, that was something else. I listened to BBC Radio 4's production of Deaf Republic while travelling today and ended up rewinding and relistening to parts over and over again. Utterly extraordinary. This radio adaptation was incredibly well-done (I'm sad it expires soon as I can't keep relistening), with multiple voice actors and, as far as I can tell, not abridged (usually, the abridger is listed in the show notes and there's not mention of that here). I was spellbound by this. It's a lyrical narrative, and reads like a timeless epic or fable. Moving and soul-crushing, and a political commentary on terror and war. I'm ordering a hard copy right now, plus another work by Kaminsky. Thank you, BBC Radio 4, for introducing me to this masterpiece.

2.5 stars? I admit I am probably not the target reader for this. Romance is a genre I've always struggled with (it takes a lot for me to stay invested plot-wise), so I was hoping this would lean more into the adventure side, but in fact the novel dragged from the point when the war began. Achilles is portrayed as a spoilt brat, and Patroclus spends the entire time hero-worshipping him. Most of the secondary characters merged for me, but I would have read more about Odysseus and Thetis. The scenes with those two shone, and I did enjoy Miller's style and overall aim to freshen up classical mythology, so I would try another book by her. In fact, I already own a copy of Circe, so will have to give it a go some time, even if this one wasn't quite my bag.

People have looked at my blog and questioned how I can possibly have dementia. They wonder how someone with a diseased brain can possibly write so fluently. I'm thankful that part of my brain isn't broken, that while words lose themselves on their way out of my mouth, the written ones make it on to the page before it's too late. It's sad when the things you continue to do make people question whether you have dementia. They're not inside my brain to hear or see the hallucinations. Would it make them feel better to see me on a foggy day, the type where I curl up under my duvet and hide away from the world? Would that make the disease fit better into the pigeonhole they've allocated it?

So many times reading this wonderful memoir, I wanted to give Wendy Mitchell a standing ovation for continuing to find ways to live well and happily, despite the system, her employers, and people around her doubting her. Really many gave up on her when she was only in the very early stages of early-onset dementia. The assumptions that her life is done, finished, do more harm than good. Wendy is down-to-earth, inventive and resourceful in how she copes. Now, do I think everyone can have such a positive attitude? Perhaps not, many wouldn't have the opportunity, but it's wonderful to see how Wendy again and again turns expectations on their head. Everyone should read this memoir; it teaches you not only about the experiences of someone living with dementia, but also how our important language is when talking to (or about) someone with a disability or illness. This book was also really well structured and put together, with the help of a ghostwriter Anna Wharton, and that makes it a very easy and enjoyable read. I will be recommending it to many and I wish Wendy all the best in her quest to make the most out of life. Fantastic!

Periods run deep, and they can be powerful signifiers of health, fertility and identity. But we have been so busy making sure no one talks about them at all, we have failed to see the other types of pain, beyond the physical, they can cause on a daily basis.

Chatty and informal, this book is all about starting a conversation, and ridding society of the shame and silence around something that should feel so mundane and normal. I really enjoyed Barnett's why of presenting the various stories and issues she brought up. Recommended, whether you have periods or not. None of this should be revelatory, but that just shows how far we have to go.

A novel that manages to be both furiously frantic and far, far too long. I loved the style, the sharp and inventive prose, along with the interesting narrative choice of first-person plural, all of Truman's ‘swans'. Babe and CZ's stories and voices were by far my favourite and in my opinion the most compelling, while the rest all began to merge. Every theme and idea was repeated endlessly and in a messy, convoluted timeline, so the book soon began to overstay its welcome. A shame, because when it was a good, it was really good. Entertaining, original and fascinating.

I'm surprised I loved this even more than [b:Amy and Isabelle 167216 Amy and Isabelle Elizabeth Strout https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348311763l/167216.SY75.jpg 3356874]! Tyler Caskey is a minister in late 1950s New England. The story is an exploration of grief and a crisis of faith, treated with respect and subtlety. I love how Strout builds small-town community dynamics between all of her realistic and carefully drawn characters. A wonderful novel that had me tearing up throughout.

Does anyone else find starting new podcasts more intimidating than reading a book? I have no idea why I feel that way, but I do. If a podcast has a backlog of hundreds of episodes, then I just seem to panic and not know where to start, so put it off, listen to old favourites I'm already caught up on, or start a very new podcast with a low episode count. I've had this podcast recommended to be so many times over the years, so when I noticed the podcast creator had released this book, aimed at being an easy-going and accessible introduction to feminism, I convinced myself it would be better a place to start.

Maybe I should still give the podcast a go, but this book left me a little disappointed. The first chapter was really good, but the rest of the book's structure felt off, being entirely made up off anecdotes from France-White's own life, chucked-in interviews, and a few random factoids from feminist history. I also felt put off by how the book seemed to be striving to be “inclusive”, but the discussions with feminists from varied, minority backgrounds didn't seem to lead anywhere. Being disabled myself, the few mentions of disability felt really hemmed in, like “oh, we forgot to mention disability!!”, rather than being explored in any depth. Maybe that's fine for an introduction, but for how repetitive some parts of the book were, I really think there would have been space for more.

And... I do have to say... I am a feminist, but my biggest disappointment with this book was that despite being a written by a comedian it just didn't have enough humour or jokes...