Tag / novel

by booksoverlookedblog

May Book Recs: Asian-American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month

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May is Asian American and Pacific Island Heritage Month in the U.S.! AAPI Month began as Asian/Pacific Heritage Week in 1978, and was extended to the entire month of May in 1990. In 2009, the obserservance’s name was changed to Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month. Asia and the Pacific island are both huge places with numerous cultures, and a short list like this can’t possibly cover every country. I’ve decided to showcase four books for this month, with one book focusing on Asia, and one on the Pacific Islands for each category. 

As a reminder: I don’t distinguish YA from adult books on these lists. This is a deliberate choice, for several different reasons I might get into on another post. However, if you are dead-set on not reading any books outside your demographic age, here’s a simple guide: if the main character is a teenager, it’s probably a YA book; if the main character is an adult, it’s probably an adult book. This isn’t always the case, and I do try to note when books featuring teen characters would be better suited for older audiences.

Without further ado, here’s some books to celebrate AAPI month!

Nonfiction

No Country for Eight-Spot Butterflies: A Lyric Essay by Julian Aguon

Julian Aguon is a Chamorro human rights lawyer and the founder of Blue Ocean Law, which specializes in Indigenous rights and environmental justice. He’s also a passionate and talented writer, as exemplified in No Country for Eight-Spot Butterflies. This book is a collection of his essays, speeches, and poems, but it’s also a love letter to the young people of Guam. “The Ocean Within” encourages high school graduates to imagine, dream big, and “get quiet” when they search for their destiny. Other essays discuss threats to the natural world, through climate change and increased militarization of Guam, despite its residents’ protests. Loss and grief are also central themes, shown in deeply personal writing. Though some entries are painful (“Fighting Words” is particularly difficult to read), overall, the book encourages its readers to make changes in the world, even if it’s only in a small way. My favorite essay was “Nikki and Me,” which resonated so strongly with me I had to read it twice. 

Family Style by Thien Pham

Thien’s first memory is “the saltiness of fish…and the sweetness of rice” when he was a young child on a refugee boat traveling from Vietnam to Thailand. Food is the prominent framing device in this graphic novel memoir, which shows Thien’s life first as a refugee, then as a Vietnamese immigrant, and finally as a U.S. citizen. Each period of his life is marked by an important food, from the bánh cuốn his mother cooked in a refugee camp in Thailand to the ham and cheese croissants that signify the Pham family gaining financial independence in the United States. Thien chronicles his family’s story of starting a new life in America with help from other Vietnamese refugees. Challenges included learning English, financial hardships, and strange cafeteria food. At times Thien questions his cultural identity, trying to understand what it means to be Vietnamese and American. While parts of Thien’s story are harrowing, particularly his journey to Thailand, the graphic novel is well-balanced with humorous and touching memories as well. 

Fiction

The Lies We Tell by Kate Zhao

When someone asks Anna Xu why she wants to go to Brookings for college, she tells them that it’s a prestigious school, and the in-state tuition will save her a lot of money. What she doesn’t say is that she wants to solve the murder of Melissa Hong, a Brookings student and Anna’s former babysitter. College life isn’t want Anna thought it would be, with a roommate who loves to party, and her old academic rival, Chris Lu, keeps popping up in unexpected places. At least she has Jane on Friend Me, the school’s friend-finding app. Anna’s investigation is derailed when Chris’s family’s bakery is vandalized with a racial slur, and strange things start happening to her and other Asian students on campus. Is Melissa Hong’s killer still out there? Anna needs to find out what happened to Melissa fast…before the same thing happens to her. 

Dragonfruit by Makiia Lucier

In the Nominomi sea, “dragonfruit” – seadragon eggs – are said to be able to undo a person’s greatest sorrow, though at a price. Hanalei knows this is true: after she and Princess Oliana were poisoned, Hanalei’s father stole dragonfruit intended for the princess to save his young daughter. Hanalei survived, though her father did not, and the princess remains in a coma. Hanalei spent the next ten years of her life in exile, but the sight of a pregnant seadragon gives her hope. After an encounter with dangerous dragon hunters, Hanalei arrives back in her home kingdom of Tamarind. There, she reunites with her childhood friend, Prince Samahitamahenele. She and Sam finally have a chance to save Princess Oliana, but they are not the only ones seeking the dragonfruit. Dangers await them across the waves, and even if they reach the dragonfruit first, what price will they pay? Dragonfruit is a lush and imaginative fantasy steeped in Pacific Islander mythology and imagery. 

by booksoverlookedblog

April Book Recs: Let There (Not) Be Light

At a restaurant, a sommelier might recommend the perfect red wine to go with your steak. I aspire to be a book sommelier who finds nonfiction and fiction that complement each other, bringing out the best flavors in each text to enhance your reading experience. For April, I would like to offer two books that pair well together for a little bit of “light” reading.

Nonfiction

The End of Night: Searching for Natural Darkness in the Age of Artificial Light by Paul Bogard

Have you ever seen the Milky Way with your naked eye? When was the last time you saw a truly starry sky? Earth is brighter than ever, but does that mean that it’s better for its residents? Starting with the brightest light on the planet – The Luxor Sky Beam in Las Vegas –  and ending with the darkest skies in the United States, Bogard examines the multitude of ways that widespread artificial lighting has changed our world. He interviews engineers, astronomers, ecologists, third-shift workers, and even clergy members about what the loss of darkness means for humans and the natural world. Starlight is not the only thing we risk losing when dark skies disappear: Bogard also investigates the health and safety risks associated with artificial lighting, and the disconnect between ourselves and nature. This is a thought-provoking book that will make you see your world – both in day and night – a little differently. 

Fiction

The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau

Twelve-year-olds Lina and Doon have lived in the city of Ember their entire lives, where nothing is more important than light. Without the electric lights, the city would be in complete darkness all the time. With no known way to make portable light, blackouts are frightening for all the city’s residents. When Assignment Day arrives, Lina is disappointed that she’s been assigned to be a laborer at the Pipeworks. Much to her surprise, Doon trades assignments with her. Now Lina can spend her days running through Ember as a messenger, while Doon descends into the bowels of the city. With blackouts increasing at an alarming rate, Doon knows that something is wrong in Ember. If he can get close to the generator that powers the city, maybe he can learn why the blackouts are happening. Meanwhile, Lina discovers a two-hundred-year-old message from the founders of the city. Parts of it have been destroyed, but whatever it contains could be the key to saving Ember. She and Doon must work together to discover the forgotten secrets of Ember, and maybe even bring its citizens into the light. 

by booksoverlookedblog

March Book Recs: The Troubles

March is Women’s History Month, and it’s also Irish Heritage Month! I’ve decided to combine both of those things for this list. Media often show stereotypical depictions of the Irish, flattening an entire culture into a few jokes about alcoholism and leprechauns. Like millions of Americans, I have Irish heritage, and these depictions have always irked me. 

One part of Irish history that has long been close to my heart is The Troubles. The Troubles were 30 year period of political and sectarian violence between Unionists and loyalists (mostly Ulster Protestants) who wanted Northern Ireland to remain part of the U.K., and Irish nationalists and republicans (mostly Irish Catholic) who wanted Northern Ireland to join the Republic of Ireland. The Troubles officially came to an end with the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, which ended much of the violence in Northern Ireland. But my personal connection with The Troubles isn’t just from my Irish-Catholic heritage or watching the show Derry Girls. In the early 2000s, my family hosted a girl from Derry for three summers. Those were the best summer vacations I’d ever have. My mom described them as “a six-week sleepover.” While our guest did talk about some of the violence she and her family experienced, my memories of her and our summers together are full of laughter, dares, and the filthiest jokes I’d ever heard. 

For the March recommendation list, I’ve chosen two books where The Troubles play a central role in the lives of women. These are both great as audiobooks. Other than the readers’ lovely Irish accents, you’ll also be able to hear the correct pronunciation of Irish words.

Nonfiction

Thin Places: A Natural History of Healing and Home by Kerri ní Dochartaigh

Kerri ní Dochartaigh was born in Derry halfway through The Troubles to a Protestant father and Catholic mother. She lost two homes in the span of one year, once due to a petrol bomb, and once due to harassment. To escape the violence in Derry, she found solace in the natural world, in her cement-filled backyard and “thin places” where the Veil between this world and the spiritual one is thin. ní Dochartaigh’s memoir is one of great sadness as she writes about the emotional scars that have shaped her entire life. Yet there is great beauty to be found in it as well, as she tenderly writes about her beloved thin places, the endangered Irish language, the resiliency of moths, and what it means to be an Irish woman. She also discusses violence in Northern Ireland following Brexit, and what she fears and hopes for Derry, the city she loves and hates. Often heartbreaking, Thin Places is a gorgeously written meditation on loss, trauma, and healing. 

Fiction

Factory Girls by Michelle Gallen

It’s 1994, and smart-mouthed Maeve cannot wait to get out of her small town in Northern Ireland and start studying journalism in London. She and her friends Caroline and Aoife must first get their exam results to confirm their places in their chosen universities. To save up for their futures, the three young women get jobs in the local shirt factory for the summer. The job brings new challenges Maeve has never faced before: ironing 100 shirts a day, working alongside Protestants for the first time, and avoiding the advances of the factory’s lecherous English owner, Andy Strawbridge. Tensions rise between the Catholic and Protestant workers whenever there’s a bombing or murder, which occurs all too frequently. As the summer goes on, Maeve starts to realize that there is something going on behind the scenes at the factory, but standing up for herself and her friends could cost her dearly. Flashbacks show Maeve’s experiences growing up during The Troubles, including the death of her elder sister and bombings that were called “lucky” because everyone survived. As a slice-of-life novel, the plot can feel thin at times. However, Maeve’s narration and snappy dialogue is laugh-out-loud funny, and watching her and her friends find their path to adulthood is satisfying. Though the main characters are teenagers, frequent sexual references make this a book better suited to an adult audience.

by booksoverlookedblog

Banned Books 3: Other

This is the final entry of our banned books triptych. I’d wanted to talk about this in my previous post, but I got a little carried away and couldn’t find a good place for it. (tl;dr: “This is America. You want to live in North Korea, you can live in North Korea. I don’t want to. I want to live in America.” – Ron Swanson)

Now we come to the most common reason books have been challenged or banned: that strange, nebulous category of “other.” 

And let me tell you: “other” is wild. Some of my favorite reasons given include a book using the phrase “poo poo head” (Super Diaper Baby by Dav Pilkey) and the Harry Potter books for having real curses and spells.

The curses and spells used in the books are actual curses and spells; which when read by a human being risk conjuring evil spirits into the presence of the person reading the text.

Rev. Dan Reehill

I am extremely disappointed. In the many years I’ve been reading Harry Potter,  I have never once summoned an evil spirit. Not even by accident. And if those are real spells in the book, there must be a hell of a delay effect on them. There’s a few people that have overdue Avada Kedavras coming for them.

But most of the “other” reasons given are way less amusing. You can read my list here, or check out the ALA’s list of most challenged books to see reasons why books were challenged. There’s a lot to go through, so I’m only going to discuss a few here. Specifically, the ones that really grind my gears.

Think of the children! 

Books that will, somehow, damage children if they read it. This is the justification that book challengers use all the time. Some of the books whose challenges fall under this broad category are: 

Beyond Magenta: Transgender Teens Speak Out by Susan Kuklin (2015, 2019, 2021) for the effect it would have on young people
A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo by Jill Twiss (2018, 2019) – “designed to pollute the morals of its readers”
Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James (2013, 2015) – concerns that “teenagers will want to try it”
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (2020) – negative effect of slurs on students
Prince and Knight by Daniel Haack (2019) – would lead to confusion, curiosity, and gender dysphoria

Some of these are valid concerns. I wouldn’t want teenagers reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Classics like Of Mice and Men, Huckleberry Finn, and To Kill a Mockingbird have all come under fire for racial slurs and stereotyping, and those are fair criticisms. When I read Huckleberry Finn and To Kill a Mockingbird for English class in high school, my teacher addressed the issue head-on. He told the class that these books had slurs in them, and we were going to discuss the language in the book. He also made it clear that we were not to use those words outside of book discussions. Whether this had any impact on the language the students used outside of class I couldn’t say; I didn’t hear many racial slurs being thrown around before or after we read those books. But my high school was also pretty homogeneous, with White Catholic kids as far as the eye could see. In a more diverse school, I can see how books with slurs could be a problem. 

I still love To Kill a Mockingbird, though it’s important to acknowledge its failings: White savior, slurs, and false accusations of rape. When I encountered these criticisms, it forced me to re-evaluate the novel and think about it from different perspectives. Yes, it is problematic. Does that mean it belongs in a classroom? At this point, I think there’s enough literature available by people of color telling their own stories that it can be reasonably replaced with something more relevant and less patronizing to students of color. 

Does that mean it should be removed from schools or public libraries? 

My answer should be pretty obvious. I say no. With each (worthy) critique I found of Mockingbird, it made me understand the text in a new way and look at it with a more critical eye. It’s important to revisit the classics and look over what made them great, what makes them not-so-great today, and what value they still have in the modern day. Turn those not-so-great things into discussions and teachable moments, and use them as an opportunity to practice critical thinking on something that is pertinent to today’s reality. 

Most of the other cries to “think of the children” are not so well-intentioned. As you can see in the examples given here, would-be book banners fear that kids will be exposed to anything that isn’t heterosexual and cisgendered. It’s anti-LGBTQIA+ fear mongering coming from deeply misinformed individuals at best and outright bigots at worst. Reading a book where two men fall in love is not going to make anyone gay  any more than reading a book where a man and a woman fall in love will make them straight. It’s so obvious that I shouldn’t even need to say that, but here we are. That fear alone is homophobic and transphobic, as it implies that being queer or nonbinary is lesser or undesirable.

Even without that baseless fear, these “concerned parents” don’t want kids to see LGBTQIA+ content because…well, because. Because their religion tells them it’s wrong, or because the subject makes them uncomfortable, or because they’re simply afraid of stories that introduce experiences that are different from their own. 

Censoring, challenging, and banning books with LGBTQIA+ content hurts kids. It hurts queer, questioning, and nonbinary kids who need to see themselves in media, to know that they aren’t alone. For straight, cisgender kids, they can learn empathy and become allies. Many who want LGBTQIA+ books out of school libraries cite “parental rights,” saying that parents should be able to decide what books kids can and can’t read. But what a few parents want can’t speak for every parent. Parents – especially those who have LGBTQIA+ kids – may want their kids to read books that others are fighting so hard to take away. A few parents cannot and should not speak for an entire community. 

Instead of “think of the children,” let the children think for themselves. 

This book is indoctrination! 

Of the books that I looked at, there were only two books that were explicitly accused of indoctrinating their readers: The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas, and Prince and Knight by Daniel Haack and Stevie Lewis. But books are frequently challenged because they are perceived as promoting some kind of agenda, be it religious, political, or something else. The word “indoctrination” might not be in a book challenge itself, but the fear of it is there. 

Some of the books that this would apply to:

And Tango Makes Three by Peter Parnell, Justin Richardson, and Henry Cole (2012. 2014, 2017, 2019) – “promotes the homosexual agenda”
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon (2015) – atheism
The Kite Runner by Khalid Hosseini (2012, 2014, 2017) – promotes Islam; would “lead to terrorism”
Melissa by Alex Gino (2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020) – encouraged children to change their bodies with hormones
Stamped: Racism, Anti-Racism, and You by Ibram X. Kendi and Jason Reynolds (2020) – using “selective storytelling incidents” 

Sigh. 

I once knew a man who disparaged public schools and universities, saying that all they did was brainwash students. He was homeschooled in a very Christian household, but never stopped to think that what he had learned could also be considered “brainwashing.”* His education was also based on an agenda, but one created by his family rather than the state. He was still being taught what someone else deemed to be important. The things we learn when we’re young stick with us, whether or not they’re explicitly taught. 

When you pick up a book that contains information or ideas outside your realm of experience, you can analyze it critically, you can learn from it, you can forget about it, you can close yourself off and reject it. Encountering new ideas and perspectives can be challenging. I’ve certainly experienced that.  When I read How to Be Anti-Racist by Ibram X. Kendi, I found myself bristling at some of the content. I had to remind myself that I was reading this book to learn, even if it meant reading things where my knee-jerk reaction was to reject the information. 

Books with diverse perspectives are important tools to understand the world and things outside of our experiences. Opening the world up to new ideas and helping readers to think critically about new information is the opposite of indoctrination. 

By taking books away from would-be readers (who, in terms of banned books, are mostly youth), you limit the amount and type of information they can receive. If those readers can’t have access to a wide variety of material and are limited to only reading things that are “approved” by one authority or another…

Well, that is what I call indoctrination. 

To avoid controversy/Controversial issues

Beyond Magenta: Transgender Teens Speak Out by Susan Kuklin (2015, 2019, 2021) – to “ward off complaints”
Melissa by Alex Gino (2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020) – to avoid controversy
All American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brandon Kiely (2020) – “too much of a sensitive issue right now” 

Let me say this first: I get it. I’ve only had one real complaint about a book (so far) and it was a little scary. A woman was furious about a Sesame Street board book which showed the character wearing masks and social distancing. Thankfully, she didn’t make a request to remove the book from the library. I only listened to what she had to say and helped her find books for her kids (who, incidentally, were much too old for board books). It shocked me a little bit, but thankfully nothing more came of it. 

When it comes to books with controversial topics, I understand taking caution. As I mentioned in my last post, recently libraries have lost funding and even faced threats of violence for materials that they have on the shelf. 

Removing materials over challenges that may never happen is a form of self-censorship. I refer back to the ALA Library Bill of Rights, which states, in part:

II. Libraries should provide materials and information presenting all points of view on current and historical issues. Materials should not be proscribed or removed because of partisan or doctrinal disapproval.

III. Libraries should challenge censorship in the fulfillment of their responsibility to provide information and enlightenment.

I understand the fear of having “controversial” books on the shelves. But I’m also disappointed. Removing or restricting access to these books feels like capitulating to bullies. Granted, maybe there was a real fear of violence in these cases, but it’s frustrating to see. You can’t challenge censorship by removing materials for a “just in case” scenario.

And, finally, the most bonkers reason given to challenge or ban a book comes from Melissa by Alex Geno:

Because schools and libraries should not “put books in a child’s hand that require discussion”

Then what are schools and libraries for? 

What are books for, if not to inform and entertain? To introduce new ideas and new ways of seeing the world, even if it’s a view you’re not familiar with? To maybe even learn something new about yourself?

Schools and libraries absolutely should put books in children’s hands that require critical thinking. Books that feed curious brains and answer questions, either with facts or through the lens of fiction. This is the whole point of intellectual freedom. 

Intellectual freedom is a fundamental human right, the basis of democracy and free speech. 

And anyone who tries to abridge that freedom is a poo poo head.

*Disclaimer: This is just one example of a person I knew who was homeschooled. There are lots of good reasons to homeschool kids, and just because kids are homeschooled doesn’t mean that they’ll be closed off to new experiences.

by booksoverlookedblog

Indie Review: Hounds of Gaia

I’m a Reedsy Discovery reviewer! I received a free ARC of Hounds of Gaia by Sean Tirman for this review.

⭐⭐⭐

Home to notorious criminals fleeing justice, the asteroid Deadwood was never a safe place. But something far deadlier lurks just under the surface of the mining colony. Something brutal and merciless, that leaves only death and gore in its wake. The Contractor Foxhound doesn’t know that. She’s only here to catch a human trafficker called Fink, and get back to Earth to collect the bounty on his head. Neither does Sister Penelope, a nurturing and peace-loving woman striving to protect the forgotten children of Deadwood. Foxhound’s, Fink’s, and Penelope’s lives collide with devastating results, but the real danger is closer to them than they think.

Hounds of Gaia starts with a bang, steadily building up the horror of the tunnels underneath Deadwood. The action-packed prologue is sure to keep readers turning pages.

The worldbuilding is extremely detailed, which works well in the first few chapters of the book. It’s interesting and immersive, and makes the reader more interested in the setting. Yet as the story unfolds, the exposition becomes clunky and often unnecessary. These information dumps bring the action of the story to a shrieking halt, and sometimes repeat information that the reader already knows. It also took away some of the mystery about Foxhound’s identity. Most readers will be able to figure out where she comes from long before it’s ever revealed.

The uninterrupted action sequences themselves are excellent. Thrilling chases through seedy neighborhoods, criminals hopped up on elicit drugs, futuristic weapons, and bouts with some truly evil villains will keep readers on the edge of their seats.

While the setting is given great depth, the heroes are not. The three protagonists – Foxhound, Penelope, and a girl with no name – all suffer from thin characterization. Foxhound is a tough woman with a job to do; Penelope is a kind woman who cares deeply about the children in her care; the girl is an innocent child. Those are their character traits, and not much else. As this is the start of a series, however, there is plenty of room for character growth and development in coming books.

On the antagonist side of things, Fink and his criminal associates are utter delights whenever they appear. They revel in their villainy, which is really fun to read. Like the other characters, they aren’t fully fleshed out, but given their role in the story (and how fun they are), they don’t need to be.

Overall, Hounds of Gaia has a lot of potential for a sci-fi series. Sci-fi fans who enjoy plot-driven stories and detailed worldbuilding will enjoy this book, and the ending will keep readers curious for the next volume.

by booksoverlookedblog

Indie Review: Curse of the Terracotta Warriors

I’m a Reedsy Discovery reviewer! I received a free ARC of Curse of the Terracotta Warriors by Mark Douglas for this review.

⭐⭐⭐

When the police come to Maddie Jones’s school, she thinks they’re going to arrest her for one of her many pranks. But the truth is much worse: her archaeologist dad has been kidnapped (Or dadnapped?). Maddie is certain this has something to do with the shipment of Qin dynasty terracotta warriors that just arrived at her dad’s museum from China. With the help of her two younger brothers, Maddie will face untold dangers and unravel ancient secrets to get her dad back. And she thought climbing the rock wall in gym class was tough…

Curse of the Terracotta Warriors is an action-packed book that moves quickly. Almost every chapter ends in a cliffhanger, which keeps the reader tuning pages. Unfortunately, much of the action sequences in Part One can feel repetitive, and the novel would have benefited from tightening up the first third of the book.

Maddie is, far and away, the star of the novel. She’s bold, a natural troublemaker with a snarky personality that will instantly endear her to readers. Told from Maddie’s first-person point of view, her clear voice and colorful narration will leave readers cheering for her through the most dire situations.

There are a few writing pitfalls throughout the book. Capitalization is occasionally inconsistent, with some character’s names or the start of sentences not being capitalized while common nouns are. Another instance sees Maddie “hurtling” over an obstacle rather than “hurdling” it. These aren’t major issues, and nothing that another proofing wouldn’t fix.

The Chinese setting of Xi’an is bland and feels shallow and poorly researched. Characters refer to “Chinese letters” and the “Chinese alphabet” when it’s common knowledge that Mandarin does not have an alphabet. The characters also watch CNN in their hotel room in Xi’an and use Wi-Fi at a Starbucks to do research, despite the fact that Chinese media is heavily censored. The Chinese setting doesn’t pop enough, and these inaccuracies show through.

Even so, Curse of the Terracotta Warriors is a fun, entertaining romp with a vivacious protagonist that’s tough to put down. Its short, action-packed chapters make this a great pick for reluctant readers, and middle-grade kids who love adventures.

by booksoverlookedblog

Dec. Book Recs: The Runners-Up

First off: sorry for only one post in November. I was sick for a couple weeks, and then had family visiting for Thanksgiving. But don’t worry, I’ve still got plenty to say about banned books! But first…

I read a lot of books this year. Not including my Did Not Finishes and picture books, I’ve read 56 books this year. That’s a lot, even for me. The vast majority were books I read for these monthly recommendation lists. I really enjoyed working on them, but each list took a lot of time and effort. That’s why I didn’t have any lists for July or August – I was simply too busy. For 2024, I’m going to do mini-recommendation lists, with only one or two books a month. 

Even though I read a lot, not every book I read made it onto the book recommendation lists. I limited myself to only 5 fiction books and 5 nonfiction books for each list. There were some great books that I really enjoyed that just didn’t make the cut. Even so, I felt like they were still worthy of sharing. So here it is: the final recommendation list of 2023: Books that Didn’t Make the Cut, but Are Still Good.

Nonfiction

Planting Stories: The Life of Librarian and Storyteller Pura Belpré / Sembrando historias: Pura Belpré: bibliotecaria y narradora de cuentos by Anika Aldamuy Denise. Illustrated by Paola Escobar

If there’s such a thing as a legendary librarian, it would be Pura Belpré. Originally from Puerto Rico, Belpré came to New York City for her sister’s wedding, and ended up staying for most of her life. She became the first Puerto Rican to be hired by the New York Public Library. There, she discovered her talent and passion for storytelling, though the library shelves lacked the stories she loved growing up in Puerto Rico. Throughout her life, Belpré wrote many children’s books based on Puerto Rican folklore, becoming one of the first Puerto Ricans to publish works in English in the U.S. Her work helped open up the library to the Latinx residents of New York City, and her stories continue to celebrate the culture she loved. Planting Stories is a picture book biography of Belpré’s life, with beautiful illustrations on each page. 

Why it didn’t make the cut: I really wanted to include something about Pura Belpré for Hispanic Heritage Month. Unfortunately, the only biography I found aimed towards adults (The Stories I Read to the Children by Laura Sánchez-González) isn’t easy to find unless you’re prepared to buy it. I found picture book biographies, but I didn’t want to showcase more than one picture book. I’d already decided on A Land of Books by Duncan Tonatiuh. His work is just so cool. I encourage everyone to learn about Pura Belpré, or at least read some Pura Belpré award winners! 

Signs of Survival: A Memoir of the Holocaust by Renee G. Hartman with Joshua M. Green

Two Jewish sisters – one hearing, one Deaf – recount their struggle to survive during World War II. During the Nazi occupation of what was Czechoslovakia, Renee was the only hearing person in her family. She had to be her family’s ears, listening for the sound of Nazi boots coming to take her family away. Renee and her younger sister, Herta, were eventually separated from their parents and shipped to Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. Using sign language to communicate, Renee and Herta had to rely on each other to survive. Presented as an oral history, both sisters recount their lives before and after the Holocaust in a tragic story of sisterhood and survival. 

Why it didn’t make the cut: I had this book as a potential pick for Disability Pride. After reading it, I realized that it didn’t fit the theme that well. It was more Renee’s story, rather than Herta’s. Regardless, their story is still powerful and important. 

And the Spirit Moved Them: The Lost Radical History of America’s First Feminists by Helen LaKelly Hunt

When did the feminist movement begin in the United States? With Susan B. Anthony and the Seneca Falls Convention in 1848? With Gloria Steinem in the 1960s? Hunt argues that the first feminist movement in the U.S. began with women like Lucretia Mott, Maria Weston Chapman, and Grace and Sarah Doughlass in the 1830s. These women railed against the patriarchal structures that treated them as unequal partners in the abolitionist movement. They bucked tradition and began their own interracial abolitionist movement, which included the Anti-Slavery Convention of American Women in 1837. Most of these women were moved to action by their Christian faith and felt “armed by God” as they denounced pro-slavery religious figures. Including photos and documents, this book is accessible to many readers who are interested in women’s history. 

Why it didn’t make the cut: It’s religious. The women being moved by their Christian faith wasn’t just a side-note, it’s a major point Hunt makes throughout the book. Towards the end, she calls for more faith-based feminism among women (of any faith, not just Christianity). There is nothing wrong with being religious, especially if your faith guides you to help others. I didn’t like how religion-focused it was, but it’s a book that many others would enjoy and even feel inspired by. 

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

In 1951, Henrietta Lacks’s cells were taken from her without her consent or knowledge. These cells continued to grow and divide long after Henrietta’s death. Her “immortal” cell line has contributed to scientific and medical discoveries for decades, from a polio vaccines to studying COVID-19, and even being sent to space. Yet Henrietta’s family never learned about the HeLa cell line until 1975. While her cells have helped so many people, her family lived in poverty and, ironically, could not afford health care. Rebecca Skloot was fascinated by Henrietta Lacks and her cells, and worked with Henrietta’s daughter, Deborah, to tell the story of Henrietta, HeLa cells, and the Lacks family today. This book is impossible to put down, and examines race, class, and ethics in medicine and science.

Why it didn’t make the cut: Even if you haven’t read this book, you’ve at least heard of it. And it is absolutely worth the hype. Though I did put some award-winners and best sellers on the lists, I wanted to highlight less well known books that are still praise-worthy and meaningful. But if you haven’t read this one yet, stop reading this and go read it. Go read it now. 

Fiction

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline 

The planet has been ravaged by climate change, which has resulted in most of the world’s population losing the ability to dream. The Indigenous people of North America can still dream, and are hunted for their bone marrow.  After French loses his parents and his brother is captured and taken to the “schools” – a parallel to the Canadian residential boarding school system – he joins a group of other Indigenous people – old and young alike – who have fled the cities to stay safe. Led by Miigwans, they travel north, living off the land and learning each other’s histories while trying to avoid becoming victims of a genocide. 

Why it didn’t make the cut: It’s a dark story. Really dark. Rape and murder are commonplace in this new world. The ending is ultimately hopeful, but it’s a long, bleak trek to reach that conclusion. The horrors the characters in this book face parallel real world atrocities committed against Indigenous Americans, most saliently with references to residential schools. It’s an important story, but a hard book to read. 

The City Beautiful by Aden Polydoros

While the rest of Chicago is marveling at the 1893 World’s Fair, Altar Rosen is working hard to earn money to bring his mother and sisters to the United States from Romania. After his best friend, Yakov, is murdered at the Fair, Altar is possessed by Yakov’s dybbuk. Unless Altar can find Yakov’s killer and bring him to justice, Yakov’s dybbuk will permanently take over Altar’s body. But there’s no justice to be found for poor Jewish immigrants, even when their bodies start piling up. Altar has no choice but to work with his old “friend” Frankie. Frankie helped Altar survive when he first arrived in America, but he has dark secrets of his own. Together, they need to track down a dangerous serial killer targeting Jewish boys all the while Altar navigates his grief and comes to understand his feelings for Frankie. A queer historical thriller, steeped in Jewish mythology. Includes content warning, glossary, and author’s note.

Why it didn’t make the cut: I really liked this book, and originally planned on using it for Pride Month. But when it comes to Pride, there’s a lot to cover, and I wanted to get as much diversity as I could when it came to the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. But I loved The Darkness Outside Us even more. It destroyed me emotionally was one of my favorite books that I read all year, and I really wanted to showcase it. The City Beautiful was still a great read, and I’m excited to share it here. 

Loving vs. Virginia: A Documentary Novel of the Landmark Civil Rights Case by Patricia Hruby Powell

Based on the true story of Richard Loving and Mildred (Jeter) Loving, this is the story of two people whose love changed U.S. history for the better. Milly, who was Black, and Richard, who was White, lived in the small town of Central Point, Virginia, surrounded by family. While Black and White folks mixed freely in Central Point, the rest of the state still had strict segregation laws, including laws against interracial marriage and “miscengenation.” Milly and Richard were married in Washington D.C. in 1958. Upon returning home, they were both arrested for “cohabitating as man and wife” and faced a year of jail time unless they left Virginia. They moved to Washington D.C., but were virtually exiled from the home they loved, unable to see their families or cross state lines together. After one of their children was hit by a car (he survived, but was injured), Milly and Richard were determined to return home. Thus began the fight of their lives for their right to be married. A novel in verse, the Lovings’ story is told from both Richard and Milly’s perspective, with illustrations throughout that enhance the reading experience. The dual perspectives during their wedding is breath-taking (especially if you listen to it on audio while reading the book, like I did). Facts about Jim Crow and anti-miscegenation laws begin each chapter. 

Why it didn’t make the cut: I loved this book, and I could’ve used it for a few different themes. But every time I’d planned to use it, I discovered another book that I wanted to highlight, and Loving vs. Virginia got pushed to the backburner. This book is one of the big reasons I wanted to share “runners-up” for December! 

Dragonfly Eyes by Cao Wenxuan. Translated by Helen Wang. 

Dragonfly Eyes is a historical fiction novel that tells the story of Ah Mei and her French grandmother, Océane. Océane married into the wealthy Shanghainese Du Meixi family in the 1920s and would eventually move to Shanghai and raise her family there. Océane adores her youngest grandchild (and only granddaughter) Ah Mei. Their close bond carries both of them through the turbulent times: Japan’s invasion of China in the 1930s, famine in the 1950s, and finally the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the 1960s and 70s. An omniscient narrator describes Ah Mei and Océane’s lives with tender details amidst the historical backdrop. Ah Mei and Océane’s loving relationship is the heart of this novel, softening the harsh blows that buffet the family.

Why it didn’t make the cut: I didn’t like it. Omniscient narrators and a thin plot made it hard for me to get into this novel. The book was lovely in its own way, it but wasn’t for me.

by booksoverlookedblog

BIDP: Butterflies in November

In 2015, I took a trip to Iceland with my sister, boyfriend (now husband), and a friend. For ten days we traveled the Ring Road that encircles the country. It was an adventure unlike any other I’d been on, not only because of the beautiful and primal landscape we explored. It was also because I spent the second night of our trip in an Icelandic hospital, and got to learn about the Scandinavian health care system first hand. But that’s another story altogether.

I bring this all up because I wanted to explain how the book Butterflies in November landed in my lap. Technically, I did pick this book, just not for myself. I bought it for my sister, who re-gifted it back to me. I got this book specifically for her because it’s about an Icelandic woman making an unexpected trip around the Ring Road, and the people she meets along the way. It had been praised in reviews, and I thought it would be fun to relive our trip through a book where the protagonist takes the same route we did. My sister said that the book was “okay” – not exactly high praise – and passed it on to me.

One unusual thing about Butterflies in November is that very few characters have names, including the main character. For this review, I’ll be referring the her as “Kvenhetja,” the Icelandic word for “heroine.” At least, I think it is. Google Translate is far from perfect.

Here’s the basic plot: Kvenhetja is a linguist and freelance editor and translator. She’s been married for almost five years, but has been having an affair with one of her clients. Shortly after being dumped by both her husband and lover, she becomes the reluctant guardian of her best friend’s child. Tumi is four years old, deaf and largely mute, and Kvenhetja doesn’t have a mothering bone in her body. After Tumi picks the winning numbers for the largest lottery jackpot in Icelandic history, he and Kvenhetja set out on a  journey on the Icelandic Ring Road that encircles the entire country.

The plot isn’t anything we haven’t seen before. Someone unlucky in love who takes in a child (bonus points if they have special needs) and goes on a journey of self-discovery. The main difference between this book and stories like No Reservations, Raising Helen, and this way-too-accurate trailer for every Academy Award-winning movie ever is that it’s set in Iceland. But what really drew me into the book was how similar I was to the protagonist. Scarily so.

‘It’s as if you just don’t want to grow up, behaving like a child, even though you’re thirty-three years old, doing your weird and careless things [. . .] You’re always forgetting things, arriving the last at everything, you don’t wear a watch. And to top it all, you always seem to choose the longest route anywhere. [. . .] Words, words, words, exactly, your entire life revolves around the definition of words. Well here you go, impulsive: abrupt, hasty, headlong and impetuous. [. . .] Having a child might have changed you, smoothed your edges a bit. But still, what kind of mother would behave the way you do?’

It was bound to reach this point, the baby issue. But I’m a realist so I agree with him, I wasn’t made to be a mother, to bring up new humans, I haven’t the faintest clue about children, nor the skills required to rear them. The sight of a small child doesn’t trigger a wave of soft maternal feelings in me.

I have never felt so called out by a book before.

But in that outlining of Kvenhetja’s traits and quirks, there is one thing I am that she’s not. Impatient. I was promised a travelogue, but it took several chapters of set-up to get her and Tumi on the road. Granted, the chapters tend to be short, but it felt like forever to get to. When Kvenhetja and Tuni finally get to their journey on the Ring Road, I kept reading and waiting for…something to happen.

I’ve read some non-fiction travelogues, and they’re often a series of anecdotes as the narrator travels form Point A to Point B. This makes sense. Our lives don’t follow the structured five stages of plot (though sometimes it feels like they do). Telling a true story about your life isn’t going to be like telling a story in a novel.

Once Kvenhetja and Tumi are on the road, the story is mostly composed of anecdotes of people she and Tumi meet along the way. There are definite characters she meets, like a falconer and an Estonian men’s choir. There is a through-line to the plot, at least:  Kvenhetja is on the road to receive a prize she won, and Tumi is along for the ride.

The road trip was the part of the book I was most interested in, because it was a way to re-visit my trip around the Ring Road. All the people on the road that Kvenhetja meets are helpful and friendly, something I probably would have scoffed at if I hadn’t seen the kindness of native Icelanders and tourists firsthand. Iceland is a rugged country, and being stranded on the Ring Road can be dangerous. I think that’s one of the reasons why it feels like everyone has each other’s back.

I also liked to see  things on the page that had enchanted me in real life: black sand deserts, lava fields, hot springs and one-lane bridges. These are landscapes you can get lost in, perfect for resetting your life. The novel makes a lot of use of metaphors reflecting on the Icelandic landscape and travel on the Ring Road.

The reviews promised a quirky and funny story, but most of the time I read it, I was just bored. Despite the similarities between Kvenhetja and me, as the book went on, I just didn’t like her very much. She’s impulsive and makes poor decisions that are potentially dangerous for the child in her care. Granted, Iceland is generally safer than the U.S., but I don’t think that it’s a good idea to have sex with a stranger in a lava field while a four-year-old charge is sleeping in the car. Half the time Tumi may as well not even be in the story, considering how much of the prose is devoted to Kvenhetja’s introspection.

This book also hit on one of my pet peeves when it comes to writing child characters: children who don’t act like children. I don’t mind a precocious character every now and then, and Tumi is meant to be an “introspective oddball.” I liked how he has an interest in words and could read and write a little. It helped bring Kvenhetja and Tumi connect, not just for the purposes of communication. She might not have any inkling of what to do with a child, but their shared interest in words helps build their relatiomship. But for an entire trip, Kvenhetja never had to deal with Tumi wetting his pants, throwing a tantrum, or trying to eat rocks. Tumi isn’t just introspective; he’s the most un-childlike four-year-old I think I’ve seen in fiction.

Overall, I didn’t really care for Butterflies in November. I didn’t seem to get the wry humor that reviews promised. The prose is descriptive and fantastic, but it ultimately wasn’t enough to save the thin plot.

I don’t think it was a bad book. It certainly got plenty of love from critics. It just wasn’t a good book for me. If Butterflies in November sounds like something you’d enjoy, I encourage you to check it out!

by booksoverlookedblog

BIDP: Partials by Dan Wells

Today’s edition of “Books I Didn’t Pick” is brought to you by Partials, courtesy of a holiday book exchange.

Some books are timeless: stories that ring true from generation to generation, no matter how circumstances change. Other books are timely: it’s no surprise that Hamnet: A Novel of the Plague was a New York Times best seller for weeks in 2020, even if it was set in the 1500s.

Then there’s books that I’ll call “personally timely.” These are the ones that might not have meant as much to you if you’d read them at another point in your life, but they’re meaningful now.

Partials by Dan Wells is one of those for me.

To begin, Partials is set eleven years after the devastating Partials War. The Partials are genetically engineered super-soldiers that turned on their human creators, and then vanished. Before disappearing entirely, the Partials left humanity with a parting gift: the RM virus. The virus all but annihilated the human race, and robbed humanity of its future. Every human baby born since the introduction of the virus has died, succumbing to RM within days, if not hours.

The Defense Grid, one of the last pockets of humanity, requires all women age 18 or older to become pregnant as often as possible, in the hope that one of the babies will be born with an immunity to RM.

Kira Walker is a medical intern whose father was killed by the RM Virus. When her best friend becomes pregnant, Kira will risk her life to find a cure for RM. With every other avenue of research failing to find a cure, she will attempt to do what no one else has done. To save the life of her best friend’s child, she must capture and study one of the brutal and deadly Partials.

That’s a lot to unpack, I know. I’m sure that everyone will have a different reaction to reading a story about a pandemic now than they would have pre-2020. Before COVID, I was even working on a post-apocalyptic short story which had been brought about by a plague. I liked the possibilities that pandemic fiction offered: a reset of the world that you live in, while keeping much of the world’s infrastructure intact. It also felt like a safe, remote end of the world scenario. Nuclear war and devastating natural disasters are threats that felt much more real at the time. But after three years of a pandemic that has killed millions of people, plague-related fiction isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be. COVID-19 wasn’t the end of the world by any means, but living through it has changed the way I engage with media that use a pandemic as a plot or setting element. As for my post-apocalyptic story? I haven’t touched it since 2020, and it’s unlikely that I ever will again.

Other than the fictitious pandemic, there’s something else that triggered a strong reaction in me, which wouldn’t have been as strong if I’d read Partials as a teenager. But for a thritysomething woman who’s been married for just shy of three years now, pregnancy is kind of a huge deal.

I have baggage around pregnancy/childbirth/motherhood. It’s not severe enough that I wouldn’t be able to read a book like Partials, but instead of feeling like a dystopia, the novel felt like a horror story to me. And that’s okay. Sometimes I seek out something that I know will scare me, if only out of some eerie fascination with it. The 1996 Mount Everest disaster, for instance. Horrifying, and yet I’ve read every Wikipedia page related to it, Into Thin Air by John Krakauer (and the made for TV movie), along with watching the movie Everest, and two separate documentaries on the subject. That’s what reading about pregnancy (forced or otherwise), childbirth, and infant mortality is like for me. It’s a nightmare, but when there’s a fourth wall between it and me, it’s easier for me to engage with it. It’s a safe way to interact with something you’re afraid of.

But that’s not what you’re here for, so let’s get back into the book itself.

The writing is fine. There’s nothing stellar about the prose, but it’s not bad, either. It gets the job done, which works for the breakneck pace of the plot. However, the moments with the biggest emotional impacts sometimes feel lackluster because of it.

The plot is pretty dense, and I think the novel suffers from excess. There’s so many characters and factions to keep track of, along with their relationships with one another. Several of Kira’s friends play a role in the story. Alongside Kira, there’s her boyfriend, Marcus; foster-sisters Madison, Ariel, Xochi, and Isolde; Jayden, Madison’s brother; and Madison’s husband, Haru. There are also a plethora of other characters that the audience needs to remember and keep track of: the senators that run the island, various military and medical superiors, and members of the rebel group, the Voice. These people play no small role in the story, but it’s nigh impossible to keep track of all of them.

Then there’s also the factions in the story. Kira and her multitude of friends live in the Defense Grid, on Long Island, possibly the last human city remaining on Earth. The Grid is occasionally attacked by The Voice, a group of rebels seeking to end forced pregnancy. Both the Grid and the Voice hate and fear the superhuman Partials, who have created their own society away from the Grid and the Voice. As the story goes on, we discover that the Partials have also all subdivided into factions of their own.

It’s a lot. Sometimes I felt like I needed a notebook to keep track of what was going on. With so many characters, they can’t possible get all the time they need to be fully developed. This made many of Kira’s friends an indistinct blur, and the villains largely forgettable. They’re evil, but they’re not interesting.

There’s also plenty that I do like about this book, too. It’s exciting with plot reveals that keep you guessing. While it could be overly complicated at times, the story never stagnates. I also liked the reasons why teenagers had to be the protagonists in this book.

In YA fiction, especially dystopian YA, teenagers often get put in dangerous situations that they have no business dealing with, especially if there are adults better able to handle the situation. Partials at least does a good job of addressing this. When sixteen-year-old Kira is placed in charge of research that goes well beyond her training and knowledge, she and her friends question why the senators are allowing her to do this. Their reasons are revealed later and actually make sense.

Even more than that, Kira makes a point about why it had to be teenagers and young people to make a change, and why her generation will the ones who cure R.M. Kira and her generation are called “plague babies,” born before R.M., but too young to remember remember what the world was like before the virus. The adults do remember the old world, as well as the horrific events of the Partials uprising and the spread of R.M. Most of them have given up hope that R.M. can be cured, and refuse to take the drastic measures required to guarantee the future of the human species. Billions of humans are dead, and they’re unwilling to risk any more lives on trying to a cure. They insist on doing the same thing over again, mandating pregnancy, hoping one day a child will be born with an immunity to R.M. This has not produced a single healthy baby, yet the Senate refuses to change tactics and try something new. When the adults have given up on the future of the human race, Kira realizes that only “plague babies” like her have enough will and passion to act and try to fix things.

I remember what it was like to be a kid. I remember feeling unheard, or that no one took me seriously because I was young. Thankfully, I had parents, teachers, and adults in my life who understood that children and teenagers have something worth saying. In the wake of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting, students rose up and demanded change. I observed many adults criticizing the student activists. One of the common refrains of their detractors were that they were kids, with no real-world experience and no business in telling adults what to do.

It made me think of one of my favorite high school teachers, who gave quizzes on current events and made us watch political debates as homework assignments. In 2006, he took a group of students, including me, to a Save Darfur rally in Washington, D.C. It was incredible to be there with so many like-minded people supporting a cause I cared deeply about. My teacher understood that just because we were young didn’t mean that we couldn’t be passionate about saving human lives, or civil rights, or a million other things outside of typical high school worries.

I didn’t realize how remarkable that was. At this point I’ve spent most of my career working with children and families, and I have a better understanding of how young people need to be heard. And how rare that can be.

In Partials, this is all Kira’s choice. She doesn’t have a special fate or destiny. There’s no prophecy about her. She just knows what she has to do, and she’s willing to risk everything for what she believes in.

I don’t think I’ll be reading the any of the sequels, but I liked Partials as I was reading it, even when it hit a bit too close to home.

by booksoverlookedblog

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars

First of all, thank you to everyone who read my work for Flash Fiction Month! I don’t normally post my original fiction online for various reasons, but FFM is special. I will be taking down most (if not all) of my stories after August, so please read them while you have the chance!

We now return you to your regular book rants.

This review contains spoilers for To Sleep in a Sea of Stars by Christopher Paolini. I’ve written a quick chapter summary here.

A few years ago, I re-read one of my favorite books as a teenager: Eragon, by Christopher Paolini. While my fifteen-year-old self had loved it, adult me was very aware of its flaws. I determined that Paolini was great at worldbuilding and description, but wasn’t great at writing characters. Paolini was a teenager when Eragon was published, and still wet behind the ears when it came to his craft. It’s now been twenty years since Eragon first came out (cripes, I’m old!). In my review, I wondered what a novel by a more experienced Paolini might look like today.

Well, in 2020, we got our answer. And like most things from 2020, I didn’t like it.

I think I’m in the minority in this case, though. To Sleep got good reviews overall, and there are plenty of fans online who really like this book. I generally like sci-fi, but To Sleep just wasn’t for me.

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars is Paolini’s first adult novel, and his first science-fiction book. It’s a whopping 800+ pages of space, aliens, futuristic technology…and a decent amount of fantasy elements for an otherwise “hard”* sci-fi.

Before we get into the novel, I want to talk about the physical book itself. I don’t pay a ton of attention to how books are marketed, but its pretty obvious they were trying to sell this one on Paolini’s name alone. The spine only has “PAOLINI” on it. The title isn’t on there. It’s pretty common for popular authors to have their names featured prominently on book spines, sometimes in a larger font than the title. But they all still include the title.

With that said, let’s get into what’s between the covers. I have tried to get away from nit-picking books to death, I still have included one-sentence reviews/reactions to each chapter at the bottom of this post, because they’re too much fun for me not to do.

The plot is very dense, to the point where writing a spoiler-free review is kind of impossible. I wrote a companion post for this review, with brief (and hopefully humorous) summaries of each chapter for those who haven’t read the book, or read the book but forgot some of it. Can’t blame you there – there’s a lot.

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars is a galaxy-spanning saga of alien invasion, mysterious and powerful artifacts, and high-tech space battles. Kira Navarez is a xenobiologist who travels with a crew of scientists to uncolonized planets to see if they could be made habitable. After she falls into alien ruins on a mission, a complex piece of alien technology becomes attached to her. The xeno encases her body, and is eventually responsible for the death of most of her crewmates, including her fiancé, Alan.

Then things get complicated.

The story moves quickly, and has lots of twists and turns. In an interview that’s available in some editions of the book, Paolini said that he was essentially trying to write an entire series in the span of one novel. It justifies the length, and it really does feel like he’s managed to succeed in telling an epic story from beginning to end, without needing to break it into multiple parts.

There are things that I both liked and disliked about this. First, it kept the plot moving. In my posts about Eragon, I occasionally complained about filler chapters, but I don’t think there were any here. There were times when it was hard to put the book down because I wanted to know what happened next.

On the other hand, sometimes it moved too fast. It meant that I didn’t have time to get to know or care about the characters (often before they met, or nearly met, their dooms) in the start. There was also no room to breathe, especially in the beginning. Humans, both real and fictional, need time to rest. When we only see characters in a crisis – which was the majority of the book – we see how they react to the situations they’re in, but not necessarily who they are. Too often, the characters often felt like reaction, rather than fully fleshed out people. Paolini does a better job with character development than he has in his previous novels, but sometimes it felt forced, like a chapter where Kira systematically learns the backstories of all her crewmates.

Then there was the way the plot itself was constructed. As I mentioned, there are a lot of twists and unexpected events throughout. It keeps the story unpredictable, and the reader curious about how the characters will solve the newest curveball that’s been thrown their way.

But it also meant that some story arcs felt pointless, or like padding, once they concluded. For me, the most aggravating instance was when Kira and her new crew are searching for something called the Staff of Blue. No one is really sure what the Staff is, but Kira knows that it’s an important weapon that will help humanity combat the invading alien race nicknamed the “Jellies.” For more than 100 pages, Kira et al. search for the Staff, travel to a remote location to finally retrieve it, and engage in a deadly battle with the Jellies (and an even scarier creature, the Seeker). They find the Staff, but it’s broken in the battle and rendered useless.

Some readers might think, “holy crap! How will our heroes save the galaxy now?!” and read on feverishly. As for me, I was so frustrated that I just put the book down and refused to open it for two days. A “holy crap!” moment should make you want to read on, but I was annoyed that so much time had been devoted to something that ultimately had very little bearing on the actual plot.

This is also probably a good time to point out another issue I had with the book: excess. It seems a bit obvious when talking about an 800+ page book. Of course not every scene has to contribute to the overall story or character growth, but there were some spots that were just unnecessary. My first gripe with this was the character Inarë. Inarë is a refugee of the intergalactic war Kira inadvertently caused, and she and Kira meet on a ship taking refugees away from the fighting. Inarë is in the book for one or two scenes, described in a large amount of detail, and has a cat. She’s pretty weird and gives Kira cryptic advice about the journey ahead of her. Anyone who’s read Eragon could tell you that she’s pretty transparently Angela from that series, morphed into some sort of space witch. This isn’t just my assumption, either. Paolini even says so in the acknowledgements at the end of the book.

[T]hose of you who are fans of the Inheritance Cycle may have noticed some references to the series in To Sleep. You weren’t imagining things. And yes, Inarë is who you think she is.

As I mentioned in my post about The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, I don’t mind callbacks to an author’s previous works if it’s something small, or if it feeds into the plot later. However, Inarë has a few pages to herself, and except for her final words to Kira popping up occasionally, she had no overall bearing on the plot. In fact, the arc words that Inarë gives Kira (“Eat the path”) could have been said by nearly anyone in her crew and still have the same effect. When I see something like this, to me it feels more like fanservice and the author patting themselves on the back.

Towards the end of the book, I also wondered if a very large part of the plot was even necessary. There’s a subspecies of Jellies that the humans have to fight against, called “nightmares,” or the Corrupted. But there was already so much going on in the book without them. Space battles, ancient alien lore, a large cast of characters and almost non-stop action, reading about the nightmares and their progenitor monster, the Maw, was just exhausting. A book only about the humans and Jellies would have been interesting enough, but for me, this was too much.

It also suffered from the same ending fatigue present in movies like Return of the King. First, Kira kills the evil overlord of the Jellies. Then, she destroys the Maw. Then, she must go and destroy seven copies of the Maw. That’s seven copies that were never mentioned prior to any of the huge space battles in the climax of the book.

Then there are the appendices, which include the science behind faster-than-light travel and ship-to-ship combat in space, a timeline that covers over 500 years, and a glossary. Of all these, it’s the glossary that sticks in my craw. I complained about excess before, but there’s also the problem of absence of information, and the glossary exemplifies both.

I might start out by saying that I didn’t know that there was a glossary in the book at first, and I only found it by accident. I don’t think that there’s anything inherently bad having a glossary included in a fiction book, especially in sci-fi and fantasy stories. At the same time I was reading To Sleep, I was also reading Mastiff, by Tamora Pierce. Like To Sleep, Mastiff also has a glossary that defines the made-up words in the book, but you can also figure out what they mean in the context of the scene.

To Sleep‘s glossary doesn’t work like that. There are times when it feels like the reader was expected to have read it before starting the book.** This is best exemplified in the case of the “ship mind.” There’s almost no context for what a ship mind actually is for the first two-thirds of the book. As I read it, I was so confused about what ship minds actually were. Were they complex AI? Human-AI hybrids? Until I accidentally found the glossary, I had no idea. It turns out that ship minds are essentially augmented human brains, removed from their bodies, that sit in sarcophagi on board their ships, overseeing all the ship’s functions. This is such a huge thing, and totally different from anything I had imagined. Props to Paolini for originality, and for my new nightmares. But I really shouldn’t have had to accidentally find a glossary or wait until the near-climax of the book to see a reference to a sarcophagus housing a human brain sitting in a nutrient bath.

To Sleep takes great care to show the reader how things like faster-than-light travel and combat in outer space are possible. At the same time, it also uses a lot of fantasy tropes. I know, I know: “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” And I can buy that when it’s something like two humans from a highly advanced technological civilization using highly advanced technology to blow up aliens and glibly referring to it as “magic.” It becomes harder for me to take when the xeno attached to Kira becomes able to do almost everything and anything. Kira first used it as a weapon and armor, but by the end of the book, she uses it heal characters with devastating wounds and build entire living space stations.

Drawing upon the Seed’s banks of encoded knowledge, she began to build the needed machines, constructing them from the atomic level up. With energy gathered from the panels, she sparked a burning sun inside herself: a fusion reactor large enough to drive the biggest UMC battleship. With energy from the artificial star, she started to manufacture antimatter–far more than the inefficient techniques of the humans or the Wranaui allowed for. The Old Ones had mastered the means of antimatter production before either species had even come into being.

p. 791

Even though this takes place after the second (sigh) major battle of the climax, it’s still quite a lot to take in.

That paragraph also shows another fantasy trope present in the novel. You probably noticed a reference to the “Old Ones.” The Old Ones were a sentient species that predate the existence of humans and the Jellies. They made the xeno that attached itself to Kira, along with the Staff of Blue, and the Great Beacons, which gave humanity a huge leap forward, technologically speaking. In other words: all that sufficiently advanced technology came from a species that was at least over 300,000 years old.

I don’t mind the “old stuff is more powerful” trope in fantasy works. It can be a bit tiresome at times, but it usually fits with the setting and the feel of the story. Ancient artifacts and mysterious ruins are part and parcel for fantasy stories. Sci-fi (especially “hard” sci-fi) is more focused on technology and what could be if any number of events or scientific discoveries occur. Sci-fi focuses on the future: how technology and/or societal changes have changed our lives, for better or for worse. A book like To Sleep should be one that dreams of humanity reaching the stars – and much more – through its own ingenuity and innovation. Relying on ancient artifacts from a vanished civilization doesn’t feel like it’s reaching out into the future. It makes it feel like all of humanity’s achievements are small, and that there’s no way they could ever create what the Old Ones have.

Throughout my review of Eragon, I had to compliment Paolini on his descriptive abilities, as well as his world building. As before, the worldbuilding is thorough, and it really does feel like he’s created a whole galaxy full of humans and aliens. The characterization could be weak at times, but the crew of the Wallfish all had distinct personalities that made them stand out. Falconi was probably my favorite character, but I had trouble getting to know who Kira was as a person.

I know I can focus too much on the negative, but I actually really did like the aliens in this book. In fiction, it’s common to have sentient, non-human races look and act quite…human. The Jellies only resembled humans in that some of them were bipedal. They’re sea-based creatures inspired by octopi, complete with tentacles that can change color. The Jellies are genderless and have a hive mind, which has been used to control them. They communicate using smells, called nearscent. They have vastly different lifecycles than humans, from birth to death. In short, they’re an alien species that feels refreshingly alien. While the book sometimes felt like it was bloated, the story moved fast, and changed in ways I didn’t predict.

Overall, I did like some of To Sleep – but not enough to pick up the next book in the series, Fractal Noise.

*The quotation marks aren’t meant to be pejorative. I don’t like the terms “hard” and “soft” to describe sci-fi, but I’m using it in this post because it’s easily understandable. Read more on the debate between “hard” and “soft” sci-fi at Tor.com
**Not recommended. This was how I accidentally spoiled what the Staff of Blue was for myself.

If you want more nit-picking, read on for (mostly) one-sentence chapter reviews. Lots of spoilers follow.

  • Chapter 1: A chapter centered around a romantic relationship, and I’m not at all convinced Paolini can write romance.
  • Chapter 2: I’m really trying to avoid comparing this book to Mass Effect, but let me have this chapter.
  • Chapter 3: Paolini’s love affair with thesauri continues, though isn’t as prevalent here than his Eragon books.
  • Chapter 4: I didn’t know enough about any of these characters, even Alan, to be sad when they died.
  • Chapter 5: Kira’s character is still made up of her reactions to things, rather than actual personality, but I’m finally getting into this book.
  • Chapter 6: Okay, I’ll admit it, I’m enjoying this.
  • Chapter 7: So far I’m not liking Kira, but I am excited for the the pew-pew space battles I’ve been waiting for.
  • Chapter 8: I understand that Kira is scared, but give us a moment to feel SOMETHING about what it’s like to be flung out in space.
  • Chapter 9: Really didn’t need a paragraph dedicated to a woman inspecting her vagina, thanks.
  • Chapter 10: Kira is just kind of numb, which is disappointing, because I was hoping to get some fantastic descriptions of space flight, but instead I just get blah.
  • Chapter 11: So…are ship’s minds humans or AI or what?
  • Chapter 12: I think Inare is supposed to be an interesting character, but she’s just a clone of Angela from Eragon, complete with cat.
  • Chapter 13: Another instance that had the possibility of being heartbreaking, except Kira is just worried about…who will find her attractive after all the trauma she’s gone through. #MenWritingWomen
  • Chapter 14: The Soft Blade is responsible for the death of Kira’s fiancé and crewmates, but Kira never seems conflicted about her gratitude towards it for keeping her alive.
  • Chapter 15: Sparrow jumping into action to save a kid is heroic, but I don’t know enough about any of these characters to care if they live or die.
  • Chapter 16: It’s clear that Hwa-Jung takes her job seriously and knows the risks of their current situation, so she should not be arguing with the captain about repairing the ship pronto.
  • Chapter 17: Paolini forgot about his love affair with the thesaurus and has begun a love affair with parentheses.
  • Chapter 18: I think the Entropists are pretty cool so far, but their shared dialogue is really annoying.
  • Chapter 19: I don’t know what a construct is any more than I know what a ship’s mind is.
  • Chapter 20: According to the characters, Kira can do no wrong, even after she’s done a lot of wrong.
  • Chapter 21: Kira was a biologist long before she was part of this story; she should be pissed that the Wallfish crew effectively destroyed an entire planet’s ecosystem, not amused.
  • Chapter 22: It just really seems like a bad idea to me to routinely send every member on a spaceship into cyro.
  • Chapter 23: Kira’s grief over the death of her fiance was barely present to begin with, but now it’s just been hand-waved away.
  • Chapter 24: Why the hell is anyone letting a teenager go on a potentially dangerous alien planet, when there are actual space marines who are much better equipped and qualified to do this mission?
  • Chapter 25: All right, I’m here for planetary exploration!
  • Chapter 26: And now the Entropists are doing actual magic.
  • Chapter 27: One thing that bugs me: there’s never any room to breathe in this book, and the action points are all the same. Solved something? Jellies attack! Go to a new planet? Another attack!
  • Chapter 28: This is just trippy.
  • Chapter 29: If the nightmares were created from the Jellies only about six months before, why are the nightmare ships so much better than the Jelly ships?
  • Chapter 30: Falconi’s advice to a shattered Kira: stop feeling guilty about this intergalactic war that you started. And Kira just…does. No struggle to get over it, no lingering guilt. Owning it and trying to fix it is far more heroic than going, “I broke everything and I don’t feel bad about it.”
  • Chapter 31: This is frustrating and Kira is frustrating.
  • Chapter 32: Kira and co. have every reason to dislike the UMC, but the UMC also has every reason to arrest and quarantine them.
  • Chapter 33: So…the Soft Blade can just be used to make vehicles now? And grow to ridiculous sizes?
  • Chapter 34: Can’t say I didn’t see Gregorovitch going off the deep end coming, but for awhile I thought it would be a lot build of about his mental state for nothing.
  • Chapter 35: This is the first time the reader gets a clear indication of what a ship mind actually is, without looking in the glossary.
  • Chapter 36: I like the Jellies/Wranuai as a species, though I’ve never been a fan of “hive minds” when it comes to fictional species.
  • Chapter 37: And now the Soft Blade can fix neural damage, because of course it can. Sex between Kira and Falconi wasn’t unexpected, but it was unintentionally funny for me to read.
  • Chapter 38: Got one big evil alien you need to destroy? That’s not enough, let’s add ANOTHER final boss to the mix!
  • Chapter 39: Ctein is…kind of cool, actually.
  • Chapter 40: The fight between Ctein and Kira is ridiculous and cinematic, and I liked it for that. Embracing the enormity of fighting a huge monster in outer space.
  • Chapter 41: I would like Kira’s unconventional defeat of the Maw via forgiveness much better if the theme of forgiveness or compassion was anywhere else in the book.
  • Chapter 42: This chapter is so cool that I can ignore how annoyed I am that Kira is basically a god now for a little bit.
  • Chapter 43: This book could have ended twice already, but now Kira has to save the day from seven other big bads that were never mentioned before. If you really wanted a third villain to show (again) that Kira is all-powerful, why not have her face off against the deadly and nigh-indestructible Seeker, who got loose ages ago?
  • Chapter 44: All powerful Kira is uninteresting and it ruins her character development.
  • Chapter 45: Fucking WHAT?! You tack on one final problem for God Kira to solve and it doesn’t even end? No actual conclusion about the seven extras Maws? It just ENDS?!