Sandwich Joe

I went into Wake Up and Open Your Eyes by Clay McLeod Chapman with high expectations. Given the current political climate, the premise felt timely, maybe even urgent. I was so excited for a bold, thought-provoking narrative that held a mirror to our current reality. What I got instead was... disappointing.

The writing style just doesn't work for me. It feels overwrought and lacking the kind of rhythm or subtlety I usually look for in speculative or politically-charged fiction. The characters are thinly drawn, more like mouthpieces for ideas than fully realized people. As a result, I struggled to feel any emotional connection or investment in their storylines.

And while the book clearly has something to say, it delivers its message with the subtlety of a bullhorn. I don't mind fiction that is clear, bold, and political, but this feels like an odd sermon rather than a story. Combine that with a plot that treads familiar ground without offering much new insight, and the novel doesn't land for me.

That said, I did enjoy the disturbing horror elements. Chapman knows how to unsettle, and there were moments that genuinely creeped me out in a good way. I just wish those strong horror beats had been anchored in a more nuanced story.

I wanted to love this book. I really did. But ultimately, it left me more frustrated than inspired.

Noor Naga's If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English is incredibly profound and thought-provoking. The prose is stunning—sharp, lyrical, and emotionally charged—and the structure is masterfully executed. I especially loved the dual perspective, where the same moment is seen through two very different lenses. It makes the disconnect between the characters all the more powerful.

Set after the Arab Spring in Cairo, the backdrop isn't just historical context; it's its own character, an active force shaping everything. The city's tensions mirror those in the characters' relationship, which is entangled in power dynamics of gender, class, nationality, language, and desire. The American-Egyptian girl imagines herself as returning home, only to realize how complex identity really is. The boy, hardened by lived experience and addiction, sees her as an outsider and punishes her for nostalgia for a homeland she never knew. Both characters are deeply flawed, but the novel resists taking sides in a clean way.

In fact, at times the realism made me deeply uncomfortable. It didn't feel exploitative—it felt true. I recognized parts of my own relationships in the dynamic between the boy and the girl, and that made the reading experience all the more affecting.

The novel doesn't offer easy answers to anything (highlighted in the meta-narrative section), and that's part of what makes it so brilliant. There can be both beauty and turmoil in ambiguity.

🎧 I listened to the audiobook, and the two voice actors (one of whom is the author) do an excellent job.

I found Snake Oil by Kelsey Rae Dimberg entertaining, especially with my corporate background. The way Dimberg captures power plays, appearances, and manipulation felt sharp and familiar. The writing is stylish, and the setup pulled me in right away.

That said, it's a long book, and the middle section hit a lull. There was too much information that didn't add much to the story, slowing the momentum that made the opening so strong. As a result, the ending felt a bit distracted and flat.

I've read a bunch of these “weird girl wellness” novels (youthjuice, Natural Beauty, etc.), and while Snake Oil isn't as surreal or strange, it actually offers sharper insight into the corporate world. It shows how privilege and power can be both intoxicating and corrupting, and while it could have been tighter and more focused, it's still a sleek, unsettling read worth picking up.

🎧 It's easier for me to consume longer books as audiobooks, and this one was was very good. The three different narrators (Rhoda, Dani, and Cecilia) were three separate voices, which added to the story.

Fever Dream is unsettling from the very first page. The fragmented dialogue creates an atmosphere of dread and urgency that never lets up.

The novel doesn't tie everything together with a neat twist. Instead, the horror comes from not knowing, from the poisoned landscape and the way danger seeps in everywhere. The writing is spare but incredibly effective, and by the end I was left with that lingering, feverish feeling Schweblin (and the book's English translator) captures so well.

🎧 The audiobook was, at first, very confusing. I think this could have been helped with dual narrators; however, it does get easier as the novel continues.

🇦🇷 The translation was also very good.