The story of Penelope, told by Hera, which is an interesting choice. As in classical Greek mythology, Hera is full of rage and indignation but mostly helpless to actually accomplish anything. She skulks around the edges of events, a bitterly perceptive witness to the goings-on in Ithaca in Odysseus’s absence, affecting events as much as she dares while trying not to draw the attention of the more powerful gods and goddesses. The writing in this is pretty excellent, as is the characterization of the various mythological figures, but mostly this story is a frustrating series of examples of the lack of power and agency of women, even goddesses and queens.
Category: quick reaction
The Death of Vivek Oji, by Akwaeke Emezi
Emezi’s previous novel Freshwater was such an emotional slog that I put off reading this one for a while. Turns out it’s the opposite: a focused, sharp stab of a story that knows exactly where it’s going and what it wants to say. It spirals towards the central fact of Vivek’s death by flipping back and forth between accounts, tales told by various friends, family, or acquaintances. The stories, told both in present or past tense, slowly contribute to the bigger narrative until the reader is finally granted a complete picture of Vivek, the people and the emotions around him, and how everything led inexorably to his fate. Vivek belonged to a community of children born to the Nigerwives, non-Nigerian women who married Nigerian men, and it is their attitudes that help set up some of the culture clash around the concepts of gender, sexuality, and identity, and the danger of trying to live one’s truth in a community where riots and violence seem always just a breath away.
A Conspiracy of Truths, by Alexandra Rowland, read by James Langton
This book had one of the best beginnings I’ve ever read, followed by one of the slowest and most boring middles, before it ramped slowly upwards towards a pretty decent ending. This is another Thousand and One Nights type nested-stories book, except the storyteller is a crochety old man, unjustly imprisoned in a foreign country, whose only friend is his extremely sweet and naive apprentice, and whose only weapon is the vast library of stories in his brain. From his prison cell, he grasps at any bits of news of the outside world that he can get, slowly weaving them into an almost unbelievable escape plan. This book has a lot to say about stories, about the stories that we tell ourselves both individually and collectively, and how we use them to shape our lives and our fates. It’s a truly interesting framing device, but personally I got tired of the narrator pretty quickly; he’s extremely unlikeable and makes very questionable decisions, and you never get to leave his head. I did love the cast, which included a lot of extremely strong female characters (though not many of them were likeable either). There was a lot of politics and it was a bit difficult to keep track of all the players; also, some of the stories were clearly meant to convey an underlying point but that point was often lost on me. I eventually made it through (as does the storyteller, who obviously lives to tell the tale) but, like the storyteller, I also feel like I suffered unduly in the process. I recommend the audiobook; Langton does a very good grumpy old man and it’s probably thanks to his narration that I got through the boring bits of the book at all (I would likely have abandoned a print copy partway through). The oral storytelling format also works really well with the first-person narration.
Batter Royale, by Liesl Adams
Cute little graphic novel about Rose, a young Canadian waitress who loves baking but can’t afford culinary school. One day a food critic tastes her baking and invites her to a reality show baking competition; of course she jumps right in. The book is definitely for younger folk; Rose’s sweetness is always rewarded, her antagonist is cartoonishly evil, any argument she has with her partner is swiftly resolved, and it’s amusing to think of how many lawsuits would be filed against the producers of the baking competition in the real world. A generally adorable read, interspersed with cheerfully illustrated recipes. I might even try to make some of the maple-infused desserts someday.
In Bibi’s Kitchen: The Recipes and Stories of Grandmothers from the Eight African Countries That Touch the Indian Ocean, by Hawa Hassan with Julia Turshen
Each chapter of this cookbook opens with a quick rundown of the particular African country, followed by profiles of grandmothers (bibis) from that country, and those little interviews are the heart of this book. Their stories help the food come to life not just as recipes, but as parts of their lives and their cultures. My favorite question in the interviews was always “Why did you choose to make ____ to share with us?” because the answers were always so adorable: usually because it was a traditional food, but also “because it’s an easy weeknight meal and my kids love it,” or “everyone always compliments me when I make this dish for gatherings.” It adds so much more context to the recipe to imagine it as a weekday staple for a big family, or as an often-anticipated party dish. There aren’t a lot of African cookbooks out there in the Western world, much less African home cooking from specific countries, so this book definitely stands out in the genre; also, the bibi angle made it just incredibly sweet to read. I loved also that the authors found bibis to interview not just in their native countries, but also women whose journeys took them to foreign countries where they still found ways to cook the food of their people. The book is also written with a Western audience in mind; ingredient substitutions are helpfully offered in multiple places in the book, as well as very practical cooking and serving suggestions. My favorite bit in one recipe was clearly an adorable interjection by a worried bibi: a caution to be careful when handling hot things; in her country they have “kitchen hands” but Westerners should use oven mitts. Adding this to my list of books to get hardcopies of when we finally settle down.
The Djinn Falls in Love & Other Stories, ed. Mahvesh Murad, Jared Shurin
There are some big names in here (Nnedi Okorafor, Neil Gaiman) and some that I love but may not be so famous (Amal El-Mohtar, Claire North, Saad Z. Hossain), but for me the standout stories were by authors I hadn’t previously encountered. “Reap” by Sami Shah is written from the viewpoint of a drone operator who is surveilling the Pakistan-Afghanistan border, and who begins to witness some freaky supernatural goings-on. It’s brilliant, combining frightening djinn behavior with the weird disconnection of war at a distance, and the feeling of being under threat by forces you can’t comprehend. I’d give second place to “The Congregation” by Kamila Shamsie, a gorgeous and spiritual piece about longing and brotherhood. Honorable mention to “Duende 2077” by Jamal Mahjoub, in which an exorcist is called to visit a haunted spaceship. Mostly a strong collection, put together in a way that started out whimsical and got really creepy towards the end.
Heart of the Sun Warrior, by Sue Lynn Tan
Perfectly decent followup to Daughter of the Moon Goddess, with the same flowery melodramatic writing style. Where the first book focused on Xingyin’s fight to prove herself a worthy warrior, this one focuses outward, on politics and her family dynamic. There are a few fight scenes, but not as many as in the first book; to make up for it, we get lots of love triangle angst and tense, layered conversations. I appreciated the main antagonist, whose backstory and motivation came together to create a true monster.
The Wonder Engine, by T. Kingfisher
Second in a duology, sequel to the excellent Clockwork Boys. This installment takes advantage of the unique strengths of the motley party to combat the seemingly unstoppable forces of giant golems, evil mobsters, and an uncaring bureaucracy; meanwhile, the party’s unique disadvantages (fraught interpersonal relationships, small numbers, lack of allies) continue to work against them. As with the first book, the addictive interplay between the characters is what draws you through the book, even as events get ever more dramatic. Really great finish with a surprising amount of angst, given the lighthearted way in which the series began, but I loved it all and wouldn’t change a thing.
Like Water for Chocolate, by Laura Esquivel
In the opening scene, main character Tita begins crying when her mother is chopping onions, and she is born on a tide of tears that, upon evaporating, leaves enough salt to fill a ten-pound sack. That is when you realize that you are reading a fairy tale, albeit one in which each chapter is centered around a specific recipe, and thus you forgive the one-dimensional wicked mother, the uncaring sister, the frankly unlikeable love interest, Tita’s questionable life choices, and the magical cooking in which every dish transmits the emotion of the cook to the diner (and there are oh so many emotions). I liked how cooking framed the story and many of the scenes were quite sweet, but in general so many of the characters’ decisions were so ridiculous and eye-rolling that it was hard for me to suspend disbelief and enjoy the story completely.
The North-West is our Mother: The Story of Louis Riel’s People, the Métis Nation, by Jean Teillet
This was incredible and eye-opening. I knew vaguely of the existence of the Métis/Michif, but knew nothing of their origins. Descended from early French/English explorers who intermarried with native women, they formed a culture, identity, and political system derived from both origins but unique to their community. After Confederacy, the Canadians began looking west; although the Métis fought desperately to preserve their lands, both in courts and on the battlefield, they were eventually driven out by deceit and by force. The government in Ottawa broke treaty promises, looked the other way when soldiers committed atrocities, derided the Métis as “half-breeds,” and refused even to recognize the Métis as an Indigenous people until as late as 1982. Teillet, a Métis who has fought for Indigenous rights in court, details the heartbreaking efforts of the Métis as they plead with the government for their lands and their lives. Educated by Catholics and raised with surnames like Riel and Dumont and Grant, they well understood the theft of land and livelihood that was happening to them, and were still powerless to stop it. A large part of the account is spent telling the story of Louis Riel, a Métis icon who led the fight for rights and freedoms. He never gave up hope that his people would be recognized as Canadians of equal status, even as the government in Ontario eventually condemned him to death. (Sidebar: apparently his execution was vehemently opposed in Quebec, where his death became a symbol of Anglophone domination.) Teillet also lets Métis women shine: I loved the stories of Marguerite Caron, who demanded to fight alongside the men, and Eleanor Laurent, who sat calmly scrubbing away evidence of her husband’s conspiracy even as soldiers tore apart her house. The story of Cindy Gladue, victim first of violence against Indigenous women, and then of the Canadian justice system, is heartbreaking. If there’s one criticism of Teillet’s book, it’s that she paints the Métis peoples in a very rosy and romantic light… but given that they were abused and maligned for most of Canadian history, it honestly seems only fair.