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Content Warning: death, violence, murder, misogyny, abortion, cancer, suicide.

Born in the '30s, Wang Qiyao is the typical Shanghai girl, lured in by the glamour of the city and doing her best not to be eaten up by it. A remarkable beauty, but emotionally both sensitive and slightly cold, we follow her across the decades as she struggles through the end of the Japanese occupation, the rise of Communism and her own interpersonal dramas. Beset by tragedy, Qiyao finds herself becoming just like the tragic heroines she grew up reading about and watching onscreen...

This book came onto my radar very recently -- I discovered its existence in the same month I ended up reading it. While it wasn't originally on my September reading list, I had some room and decided that I'd take the plunge with this. If you've read my blog before, or even just explored my Goodreads, it's probably pretty obvious that I love historical fiction, particularly when it takes place in another country (or, even better, on another continent entirely). The author herself was a fascinating person, and as soon as you step into the world she's created on the page, it's clear how much she loves Shanghai and the people that live there.

Although Wang Qiyao is our heroine, Shanghai itself serves not only as the backdrop, but as the counterpart to Qiyao's narrative. The first few chapters describe in vivid detail the longtang that Qiyao grows up in, the pigeons who roost in the city, the lives of the people there as they go about their daily routines, and although it immediately transports you into Qiyao's life, it's borderline tedious. For a moment, I thought: is this going to work for me?

I'm glad I stuck with it, because in the end, I thoroughly enjoyed this expansive and almost epic novel. The characterization is not especially powerful, and it was sometimes difficult for me to sympathize with Qiyao (who often came across as distant and cold), but there's something magical about the world that Wang crafts in this story. It's a depiction of the Shanghai of old, in its days of splendor and opulence, and the new Shanghai, which is constantly recreating itself. By the halfway point I liked Qiyao, even if I struggled to understand her motivations, and the other characters populating her circle were equally engaging, mostly because they were so deeply flawed and therefore both relatable and sometimes despicable. 

There's no real plot, but that's not something that bothers me at all; I'm a huge fan of character-driven novels, and I find it rewarding to follow a character over the course of their life. Qiyao experiences many hardships, setbacks and tragedies, lending it the slight taste of a melodrama, which doesn't cheapen the story but instead makes you feel as if you're watching an opera. Keep in mind that this book is very heavy, with only the tiniest glimpses of joy smattered amongst the otherwise bleak landscape that makes up Qiyao's life. 

If you enjoy some of the abovementioned things (such as character-driven stories, very rich descriptions and attention to detail), I highly recommend this sad, sweeping tale that gives the sensation of being swept into the past. 

Book Review: The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo

 

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Content Warning: racism, homophobia, misogyny, abortion, death, murder, alcohol & drug abuse, violence.

We all remember Jordan Baker: the cool, calculating socialite who is a golf champion and spends her time amongst the highest ranks of East Coast society. Jordan is the star of this reimagined novel, but there's a twist -- she's a Vietnamese immigrant, who also happens to be bisexual as well as endowed with certain magic powers. In this wonderfully creative tale, where magic and demons mix with the roaring 1920s, it's Jordan that gets the chance to explain the events that unfolded in Fitzgerald's original. 

Giving this novel five stars is one of the easiest things I've ever done. In spite of the fact that this is technically a retelling of Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby, it's one of the most original things I've read in a while, replete with magical realism and a main character who will remain stuck in your mind for a long time after you've finished. It is so good, so gorgeously and expertly written, that I was disappointed when it was over. It isn't very long, but what it manages to pack into the 260 odd pages is nothing short of a writing miracle. 

It didn't totally surprise me, as I had previously read one of Vo's novellas, which was equally as captivating in its high-fantasy setting. This one, imbued with both beauty and an undercurrent of violence, left me utterly speechless. When I realized that this was, in fact, her debut novel, I couldn't believe it. It isn't simply that she excels at creating one of the most powerful narrative voices I've ever read, but the writing itself is full of lyricism, something that could nearly be called poetry. Her descriptions are borderline sensory, as if you are truly touching a piece of silk or feeling cool rain on your skin. Evocative is nearly an understatement. 

As for the characterization, it's nothing short of brilliant. Jordan is fully realized, come to life against the backdrop of flashy parties and paper magic, with a ferocity and spirit that will make  you love her regardless of her flaws. Adept at hiding her vulnerability, she uses coolness, witticisms and sometimes cruelty to disguise the soft heart beneath her exterior. Although she has been in relationships with both men and women before, it isn't until she meets the sweet, Midwestern Nick Carraway that she begins to truly and totally fall in love.

The relationships between the entire cast were complex, multifaceted and beautifully layered. In the original, I struggled to sympathize with any of the characters, so lost in their own world and arrogance, but here you see the true threads of tenderness extending from Nick to Jordan, from Nick to Gatsby, from Daisy to Jordan. For lack of a better term, it feels real. I loved Nick and Jordan's relationship, and I found it not only endearing but touching as well. This time around, the emotions allow you to actually empathize with all of them. Daisy, for one, is much more likable and understandable; even Gatsby is given glimpses of a past humanity.

I must also applaud the representation here. It was exciting to see Jordan as this deep, intellectual woman, who is caught between the expectations of her and her own desires and wants. No one else truly gets her -- she's othered constantly, the only person of color in a room. Her bisexuality is written with perfect casualness, not necessarily a big deal but nonetheless an important part of her. This book not only tackles the original topic of lost love, capitalism and the so-called American Dream, but also gives us important but subtle commentary on racism, homophobia, and misogyny, and how these things are intrinsically tied with those abovementioned themes. 

Highly, highly recommended. If you're at all interested in this fantastic book, please pick it up as soon as you're able! 

Book Review: Last Night at the Telegraph Club

 

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Content Warning: homophobia, racism, xenophobia, miscarriage, underage drinking, family estrangement.

Lily Hu is seventeen years old in 1954. Under the threat of McCarthyism, she tries to go about her "normal" life, all while fearing that her father might be deported because of America's new fear of Chinese Communism, and dealing with feelings she doesn't quite understand. Finding herself drawn to a school outcast, Kathleen Miller, Lily slowly comes to realize that she isn't the only girl in the world that might be different from her marriage- and boy-obsessed friends -- and that there might be a future and community out there for someone like her. 

I think it's fair to say I've become a diehard Malinda Lo fan. I read Ash sometime in 2015, if I remember correctly, when I was only seventeen myself, and it was like a breath of fresh air for me. Not only did it include a wonderful relationship between two girls, but it was also beautifully written, full of lovely lore and mythology. This year I finally got around to reading Huntress as well; they got five and four star reviews from me, respectively, and so you can just imagine my anticipation for this book.

This book is no different. It's gorgeous -- rendered into life by the emotion and connection to the characters, as well as the descriptions which help to transport you into 1950s' San Francisco. Lily was entirely lovable, gentle but never so sweet as to leave you with a toothache. Her feelings are complex, formed both by the time period she lives in and the restraints of heteronormative life, but all the while she strives to make a place for herself. A place where she can be herself.

The characters are so relatable, and you grow so attached to them, that you don't have to be a part of the LGBT+ community, a person of color, or basically similar to Lily in any way to love this book. Although I can never truly "relate" to the racism, xenophobia and fetishization that Lily is forced to deal with, it's easy to put yourself into her shoes and to be not only angry for her, but also to root for her. Let me assure you, you will want Lily (and by extension, Kath) to win. To make her life into what she wants it to be. Lo's capturing of being other, of the sensation of being "the only one", is vivid and heartbreaking. It's the feeling of never fully fitting in; in her Chinese community, her lesbianism sets her apart; in her lesbian community, her race separates her. 

It's only Kath that truly seems to understand her, to put both halves and to see them as a whole. This book does feature a rather prominent romance, but refreshingly enough, that is not the primary motivation behind Lily's story. Instead, this book takes us on a journey of not only acceptance and hardship, but also gives us brief chapters from Lily's mother's point of view as well as her aunt's. Some people were not pleased with these brief intrusions on Lily's narrative, but I personally found them interesting and a wonderful glimpse into the other women in Lily's family. Meanwhile, the romance is tender, sweet, and all-around enjoyable. 

I really, truly cannot recommend this book enough. It's full of wonderful characters, a both heartwarming and heart-wrenching story of the journey of finding yourself, and as an added bonus, full of historical detail and the kind of in-depth research that makes you feel as if you're really living in the past. For me, Lo has done it again. I can only imagine what she'll come out with next, and I can tell you I'll be wanting to get my hands on it as soon as she allows us the privilege of reading it! 

Book Review: Inseparable by Simone de Beauvoir

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Ecco for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: misogyny, death, parental abuse (emotional and verbal).

Written in 1954, but never before published, this short book details the intense and lasting friendship between two young girls, Sylvie and Andrée. Based off of de Beauvoir's own relationship with the fascinating, melancholy Zaza Lacoin, and exploring existentialism, religion and the restrictive lives women were expected to lead, this novel deepens our understanding of the first transformative love that shaped many of de Beauvoir's beliefs and even her future as one of France's most recognized feminist voices.

The novel starts in a classroom: Sylvie, a dedicated and studious pupil, is surprised when another little girl she's never met before takes the seat beside her. This is Andrée, one of the daughters of a large, well-respected family, who immediately captures Sylvie's attention with her sparkling and irreverent personality. It's this relationship that will change the course of Sylvie's life forever, and in this simple exchange between the two girls, we see already the blossoming of feelings deeper than friendship on Sylvie's part.

The prose is beautiful, both moving and full of simplistic descriptions that insert you directly into the scenes, and the interactions between the two women are fraught with love and tension that extends deeply beneath the surface. Although Andrée's emotions towards her companion are not quite so intense, it doesn't take away at all from the sweet, tender -- and often selfless -- love that Sylvie develops and nurtures for her friend. De Beauvoir also perfectly renders that sensation we sometimes have with our friends, lovers and those we cherish: do I truly understand you? And what does it mean to be understood by someone, in every sense of the word?

I must also mention the deep and profound discussion that takes place regarding religion, both in Sylvie's own inner monologues and in dialogue between the characters. As someone who was raised in the Christian faith (but nowhere near as intensely as Andrée or even Sylvie) many of the questions posed here resonated with me. Can we fathom God's will? Does God want us to be obedient in all ways and in everything, including in ways that smother or harm our spirit? Sylvie (and by extension, Simone herself) loses faith early on; Andrée remains a devoutly, fervently religious Catholic; but in spite of these differences, it makes no difference to their friendship, which is full of the kind of pure love that cannot be destroyed even by such a divide. 

It's the constraints and pressures of a life of perfect goodness, as well as the expectation of perfect womanhood, that ultimately leads to the tragedies that later befall Andrée and Sylvie. Andrée's mother, who she adores completely, is oftentimes the enemy who cuts her down and tries to force her into a mold that has previously destroyed her own life. There we see again the cycle of motherhood and the sharing and passing down of their trauma and grief onto their daughters, a cycle that still to this day continues to ensnare women. It's hard to fully discuss and relate in a review all the feelings and philosophies at play here. Only by reading this work can you feel and understand its profoundness.

Now, before I go onto recommend this book, I feel there's one more thing I must address. As someone who is aware of de Beauvoir's morally and ethically repugnant relationships with young women in her later life, I can't review this without making mention of it. These women (many whom were underage, and were pupils she taught at school) were exploited and taken advantage of both by de Beauvoir, and by her partner, Sartre, who she often introduced them to.

While this work personally was something I found moving, beautiful, and complex, I must say that my rating is based only on that fact. While de Beauvoir's prolific work changed the face and understanding of feminism and women's rights forever, I would be especially remiss not to bring it up while reviewing a book that deals directly with those topics as well as with her sexuality and relationships with women. I think it would have been more honest and forthcoming if these things had been mentioned in Atwood's foreword or in de Beauvoir's daughter's afterword. Going forward, we must acknowledge these things that de Beauvoir did, if only so that we may do justice to the young women (and girls) who became her victims. 

Book Review: Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Macmillan-Tor & Forge for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: violence, murder, death, suicide, gore, recreational use of drugs and alcohol, homophobia (including slurs), racism, misogyny, cancer, animal death, child abuse, body horror.

Andrew and Eddie have been best friends -- and sometimes, perhaps, more -- since a traumatic childhood bonded them together. While Eddie is off attending Vanderbilt, he's left behind Andrew, promising to bring him to their to-be-shared house where they'll both go to college and, presumably, spend all of their time together as usual. Something horrible happens, though. Eddie commits suicide, leaving behind a huge inheritance for Andrew, one that doesn't just include his family's old plantation house and a car, but also a frighteningly powerful haunting. Desperate to find out if Eddie really left him behind, Andrew begins to discover secrets that leave him wondering just how well he truly know the man he believed to be his twin flame and other half. 

I struggled writing the summary for this one, as there's so much to it that so few words doesn't do it justice. Although this story is primarily about Andrew and Eddie, who share a fraught background and a sort of dark magic, it's also a rumination on the traditions of Southern Gothics and the occult. When I saw so many people comparing this to The Raven Boys, more specifically mentioning that the characters and relationships are reminiscent of my favorite of the boys, Ronan Lynch, I was thrilled to give this a try. For me, this novel was a full, even three stars, but I was slightly disappointed because I'd expected it to be something I would automatically click with.

Mandelo's writing is beautiful; there's no other descriptor that fully and simply explains the stylistic writing and lovely vocabulary at use here. However, in spite of this, I sometimes found it hard to connect with any of the characters. It was almost as if the prose came first, and somehow, its sleekness left me feeling a bit distanced from what was actually happening. The first 50% to 60% of this book was intriguing, but something of a slog, making it hard for me to want to pick it back up once I'd put it down. I don't mind slow-burns, but in this case, the pacing was off for me, and that had a big impact on how much I enjoyed the reading process.

Talking about the characterization, I have to say flat-out that I didn't like Andrew. Even his intense suffering over Eddie's death (and his secrets) didn't conjure up much sympathy for me. I understood that Mandelo was trying to show us just how caught up in each other Andrew and Eddie were -- to the point of outright ignoring and hurting others -- but it was hard for me to empathize with a man who blatantly uses and behaves cruelly to those in his life who love him. One of the characters (who takes a very minor role), Del, is a perfect example of Andrew's disregard for others: she obviously cares for him, and makes an effort to both be in his life and try to offer him advice and healing, but Andrew treats her so badly it honestly made me angry. There's also some casual remarks that Andrew makes in his narration that were misogynistic and, frankly, both frustrating and boring to read.

The worse part of it all is that the last portion of the book is actually unflinchingly painful and wonderfully realized. I began to like Andrew, and to understand him; the relationships he built with the other friends Eddie had left behind were touching and authentic; his coming to terms with his sexuality was sweet and frightening and real. The haunting, too, becomes more tangible; the end "twist" was not surprising nor original, but in combination with all of those other things, it was more than enough to make up for that small detail. The exploration of toxic masculinity was interesting enough, but it was the discussion of racism and the South's legacy that set this apart from other Southern Gothics. The haunted land, tormented by a past (and present) of racism and the pain and suffering of slavery, was well-done, although I think that aspect could've taken a larger and more important role. 

So, an imperfect novel, yes, but with Mandelo's talent, I would be happy to read what they have to offer next. Some things in this book didn't work for me, but for a large part of people interested in this, I think they'll love it. If you like slow-burn Southern Gothics that touch on the South's bloody history, explore the pitfalls and beautiful things about discovering who you are, and how grief can control us, I'd recommend you pick this one up.