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This is an important book, and its publication could not be more timely. We are more and more frequently confronted with injustice perpetuated by the very systems that promise to liberate us from it. In this book, Dybdahl illustrates the development and consequences of the infamous Brady disclosure, leading us through a series of significant Supreme Court decisions, punctuated by the development and ‘conclusion’ of the murder trial of Catherine Fuller. Being unfamiliar with this trial, I did not know any of the details, but I wasn’t surprised about the outcome—especially after realizing that it is a mess of Brady violations. Dybdahl’s book is aimed at a concerned yet public audience, so it doesn’t carry the same heft of an academic book on the subject, but it does whet the appetite enough for the interested reader to explore these issues further.

I greatly appreciated Dybdahl’s concise and clear writing style. Even when he is discussing these complex legal issues, you can glean his compassion and sense of justice for the individual(s) at the center of it all. Ultimately, we are talking about legal theory, but he reminds us to not forget how these concepts and rulings have very real consequences on the lives of those involved, whether rightly or wrongly. The book is of course biased in the sense of making a fairly binary argument—that Brady violations are a problem we must contend with—though the author does take care to address and refute the arguments of those who disagree. He could have given these a more detailed treatment, but at the very least, his own arguments are quite clear and well articulated.

The structure of the book alternates telling you sequences in the Fuller trial and consequent aftermath with steps in the progression of Supreme and appellate Court cases related to Brady and its interpretation. This with an extremely useful resource in getting, at a glance, a list of the most relevant cases for the subject matter so that I could look into them further on my own time. As a primer, which is what this book is, you can't get much better than that. A more detailed list of cases or case history would have been a useful appendix, though.

Overall, Dybdahl’s passion and enthusiasm for the subject matter make this book a rather compelling one for those interested in criminal justice reform and prosecutorial reform. Could it have been a bit less repetitive and more detailed? Yes, but that is always the case. Something of this length and aimed at a general audience will no doubt leave a reader wanting more. Yet, it occupies a space in which it is hard to find other books -- if there are similar books you know of, please do let me know.

I started reading this for a book club, but both failed to make it to the meeting and to finish this book on time, so I’m not entirely sure that counts. Then I failed to write the review for three weeks… so this is going to be extremely hazily recollected.

The book had loosely been on my radar, since I was familiar with Liu from his work in Kim’s Convenience, a genial show I enjoy putting on from time to time. The endearing thing about Kim’s Convenience is how easily it manages to capture the second-generation immigrant experience in the west, particularly for kids of Asian descent. The show is far from perfect, as Liu himself notes in later chapters, but it was at its start one of a kind—paving the way for more diversity of experience to be reflected in television. Liu’s character, Jung, is also a relatable one in that his relationship with his parents is extremely fraught and tense, a recurring point throughout the show.

This is a slightly strange concept for a memoir; the title is plural, ‘we’, and indeed the story follows Simu Liu’s parents for a third of the book, which initially seemed an odd choice. And then there’s the ‘immigrant superhero origin story’. Presumably, we take this to refer to the author, but he is quite young, and his ‘origin’ story is glossed over in some parts. The most compelling parts were where Liu describes his time in Harbin, as well as his parents’ rough upbringing under Mao and ability to persevere in spite of all of their hardships. I can understand his respect for what they did to get him to where he is today. However, as they say in writing a personal statement—you are writing about yourself, not your parents. While the first part about his parents was well-written and engaging, the parts focusing on the author’s own academic and occupational journey flipped back and forth a lot, with varying levels of detail and not as much emotional reflection.

Some portions were rather difficult for me to read, surprisingly. I’m not one to concern myself with trigger warnings, but I definitely got a greater appreciation for them while reading certain passages—notably, the ones dealing with Liu’s parents and how they treated him when he was a teenager, as well as his attitudes about his upbringing/adolescence. If you are still dealing with issues relating to immigrant parents, especially surrounding physical/mental/emotional abuse, tread lightly on this one, because it will get fairly dark at times. I didn’t think it would be an issue, but… it definitely had me tearing up at those parts and forcing me back to some dark memories of my own.

I was at times annoyed with Liu’s attitude. His writing style was intentionally humorous and light, and this was a refreshing tone for much of the book. Yet, at times, he took a self-deprecating route in a way that almost seemed kind of egotistical. I’m not entirely sure how to describe it, weeks later, but it just seemed like awkward self-aggrandizement while also trying to play his own mistakes down, in a way. I understand facing the consequences of poor decisions, or being forced away from what you want to do, but Liu kind of waved away a lot of his own efforts and swept some of his decisions under the rug. It would have been nicer to see him evaluate his thought processes from adulthood and his career a bit more, but as it is, we get a kind of brief play-by-play of the major up- and downswings of his career trajectory. All of a sudden, he’s a Marvel hero, and we see his shoddy beginnings in immortalized stock photos, but much of the middle is cursorily treated, if at all.

Moreover, we don’t really get an explanation of how his parents go from… well, disapproving of him at best to mildly tolerating his ‘passions’ and then being excited and enthusiastic about their actor son. It definitely took a lot of work on both sides, but we don’t get to see that in this book. For readers dealing with similar struggles, it doesn’t feel like it’s as much of a ‘guide’ in that regard as Liu wants it to be. On a more positive note though, I did appreciate him acknowledging how his friends and community have supported him, as well as how he came to appreciate Asian-American and Asian-Canadian actors in his journey of being more mindful about diversity in the industry.

Overall, this was a mixed bag of a book for me, and not necessarily as easy to get through as I anticipated. It had some compelling moments and interesting anecdotes regarding Liu’s rising star, but either as a memoir or a source of support for others in similar positions, I’m not sure the book is entirely successful. It would have made more sense for Liu to write this book with a little bit more weight to his experiences, or a chance to do a bit more reflection on what went well with these most recent upswings and the healing his family must have gone through. If you are curious about the discussion of Liu’s career, are a fan, or a child of immigrants, this book will probably have something for you; but if you aren’t already thinking about it, this isn’t necessarily a must-read.

‘This journey we are taking, which we have started but can never really finish, is a journey of unlearning. At every step of the way, we have rid ourselves of more certainties, we have shed another layer of our armour, to make us ready to step into the world naked and vulnerable, to feel the wind caress our skin, and open the door to wonder.’

Ever since reading Never the Wind by Francesco Dimitri, I quickly went over to my library’s website and put holds on some of his other books. I was quite curious about this one since it is one of his nonfiction works, and purports to impart some philosophical musings from Dimitri. Based on reading his fiction, I already had the sense that I would enjoy his way of thinking, so this was a natural choice. Moreover, the concept of ‘wonder’ is already one that I am fascinated by, in part from hearing about it (rather secondhand) in an academic context, but also from a personal one—who doesn’t want to capture feelings of wonder in their life? What brought this book to life were the author’s own experiences and musings woven in, alongside ‘interviews’, or perhaps conversations fits better, with people from various walks of life—pagan spiritualists, scientists, and even magicians. Dimitri demonstrates his extensive literary experience by referencing everything from Marsilio Ficino to modern pop culture, examining wonder not as some archaic artefact or remnant of childhood, but something which permeates those things and more, such that it is not wholly incompatible with a modern life. History and philosophy and myth, among other disciplines, are well-represented in this work. One of the issues hinted at by Dimitri is the oversimplification of wonder and mindfulness as something primitive or childish; far from it, he says, though these things can help too, but wonder is a complex emotion and entails complex processes that lead to it. At the same time, what triggers wonder can be something as incredible as seeing a beautiful cathedral in-person, or something as ‘ordinary’ as a teaspoon in your kitchen drawer. The book has several ‘keys’ or ideas to focus on, kind of like a concept for meditation, and accompanying exercises that reinforce those ideas and notions explored in the chapter. I haven’t tried all of them… yet, but I did see a few that I am curious about trying, and will aim to get to. Maybe this year, maybe not. But I didn’t want to make following every single exercise the goal of my reading this book; rather, I wanted to go along on Dimitri’s journey of wonder as a fly on the wall, and for that, simply reading this book was a great adventure. I’m no stranger to the power of wonder, which strikes me in random places and times, and one I’d of course like to cultivate more in my day-to-day. Dimitri pens an ode to wonder and extols its relevance in modern life. He has far from unique in doing so, but his approach is multifaceted and personalized enough to be worthwhile on its own. For instance, some of the chapters delve into politics a fair bit, which didn’t bother me too much as these discussions ultimately inform Dimitri’s overall philosophy. Once again, as in his fiction, I felt that Dimitri’s outlook on life and ideals are rather complementary to my own and resonated with me, so I find it easy to empathize. Moreover, this book prefers an expansive and all-encompassing idea of wonder, one that doesn’t shy way from the zany or unusual, whether that be street magicians or pagan witches or hugging trees—it can all inform us on how to reclaim and exercise an underutilized wonder ‘muscle’. Wonder and reality and the ‘adult life’ need not be mutually exclusive, and indeed flourishing according to Dimitri is finding a way to make all of these harmonize with each other. Surely it is a lofty goal, but one I can aspire to.Favorite quotes:※ ‘The neuroscientist Beau Lotto uses the expression “space of possibility” to indicate the space created in our brain by all the possible ways in which we can understand the world. I didn’t know that it was possible to hear foxes in a city – a fox was not in my space of possibility – so, when I heard a strange call, I could not think it was emitted by Vulpes vulpes.’※ ‘The crusade never really happened; the feast, however, went down in history.’※ ‘Writers try to write their way to better mental and spiritual health – even when we impressively fail. Even those of us who are keen on making money rarely have money as our prime motivator. We want to heal our hurts, feel things more intensely, and we want to do that together with readers – which means, other human beings. We write characters with zest and gusto because we want to have more of both, a lot more, we want all the zest and gusto we can find. The quest for pleasure is the ultimate form of wisdom.’ [Not sure I entirely agree with that last sentiment, but the bit about writing seems spot-on.]※ ‘Only what is uncertain, unclear, misty, can be awesome. Scheherazade’s stories taught Shahryar how to rejoice in ambiguity. The price of certainty is a loss of wonder and the price of wonder is a loss of certainty: stage magicians, witches, scientists, explorers, and fairy-seers all agree that there is no way out of that.’

I need to read more contemporary Japanese fiction this year. This book is a fascinating look at what happens with two people who are very attuned to each other and also paranoid about each other—though the plot and mystery are perhaps second to the book’s existential themes. I had some aspects of the book spoiled for me before going into it, so I’m not sure how much of those details were truly predictable or if my brain were just primed to read it that way. Regardless, Onda is skillful in creating a tense atmosphere in a limited setting with just a small cast of characters—primarily the two protagonists, Aki and Hiro, and the murder victim who is central to their relationship.

As a psychological thriller, I feel this could have been a bit more gripping. The beginning of the novel, when things are so tense and uncertain, definitely intrigued and roped me into the narrative. Some of the middle portions were more clunky, less compelling to get through. There was a slight undercurrent of repetition, especially since we get alternating perspectives from our two main characters. Perhaps this is a trend of Japanese fiction, but the tactic of liberally writing out the character’s thought processes, changes in direction and all, was both unsettling and fascinating. I think it is because I am not as used to it from western/English books, but I don’t necessarily dislike it.

It is hard to describe the characters or plot because this is really a novel best suited to going in blind. That said, the characters will surprise you and make you question your assumptions throughout the novel; their relationship is perhaps a conveniently arranged plot artifice, but is is far from the point of the book, so I will give it a pass. The plot and mystery, as mentioned above, are really just vehicles for the themes. This novel truly gets into an existentialist mode towards the middle and end of the story—particularly as it relates to the characters’ subjective experiences of the pivotal encounter in question as well as their own lives. By the end, we’ve reached a certain impasse, and it feels both like so much has happened and not enough.

All in all, a very interesting read, and one that I enjoyed for its ability to convey a lot of compelling ideas and themes, though its writing style and characterization were not as strong as I would have liked. The element of suspense promised by the blurb is a true one, though perhaps not for the reasons you might expect.

What am I doing? Why am I doing it? Is there something I could be doing that’s better? Why is it better?

Mike Schur is most famous for his work on several modern television sitcoms, of which I have seen The Office and The Good Place. The latter is what made me come to appreciate his philosophically-inclined attitude towards life, and I approached this book hoping to see more of that at play. This book is not exactly related to the show, though Schur does sprinkle in moments here and there for those who are familiar with it; so you can read this without having seen it. But I recommend watching it anyway, because it is one of those rare masterpieces of television which manages to be both entertaining and insightful… not to mention it doesn’t drag on for too many seasons like most American television. This book is a great accompaniment to the show and provides a decent philosophical introduction for both fans and non-fans alike; it promises not to be overly-expansive nor thorough, but it does manage to touch on a little bit of everything.In this book, Schur takes the reader through a somewhat chronological but mostly thematic journey through various philosophical schools that are relevant to how he developed his own understanding. Thus, this is different from your standard history of philosophy or intro philosophy text because what Schur deems highlight-worthy may not necessarily reflect the standard; for instance, T. M. Scanlon is a figure which looms heavy in this book and in Schur’s reading of moral philosophy, but he never once came up in my undergraduate courses. I have read (some) of Mill, Kant, Nietzsche, and other western canon greats before, so it was largely a rehashing and review of material for me. But I also appreciated seeing Schur’s take on these age-old questions and ideas. I also did learn things, such as the philosophical analysis of the traditional idea of ‘ubuntu’, a South African concept which relates to how an individual is part of a community. Schur clearly isn’t satisfied with staying rooted in the western canon, and though he could have broadened his scope further, I do recognize his efforts.Perhaps the biggest issue with this book is its anticipated audience—it is ostensibly preaching to the choir and assumes from the outset that you largely sympathize with Schur’s worldview and optimistic desire to be a ‘good’ person. Schur’s definition of ‘good’ includes things like being a humanitarian, being sensitive to the needs of others, holding generally positive opinions about marginalized peoples. These are apparently things that not everyone can agree on, and thus you see a lot of negative reviews of the book—particularly of its last third, where Schur really leans heavy on his politics and ideologies. If entertaining ideas different to your own and weighing what it means to be ‘good’ in a different ideology entails is a repugnant idea to you, then this book may not be suitable. On the other hand, if you hold (mostly American) liberal views and are sympathetic to the notion of humanity sticking together and prevailing over our individual selfishness in a desire to become better people, then you will find Schur’s arguments very palatable.Though this book is not a dense philosophy text, it is eminently readable and engaging, and thus I appreciate that it may broaden someone’s philosophical inclinations who may otherwise have not dared to explore these questions and themes. Schur’s philosophical bent and attitudes are sympathetic to my own, and though we only sometimes see eye-to-eye, I enjoyed how his search for being a good human being is the central tenet of his worldview. I also enjoyed his simplified and jovial rehashing of major philosophical thought, especially the more modern ones such as the French existentialists, whom I may never get around to actually reading… he deserves credit for finally helping me understanding some of their main principles. At times, his writing can be a bit cringeworthy, with awkward humor that may feel dated in a few years, but Schur’s comedic genius ultimately blends well with philosophical musings in this amateur book of moral philosophy.

I randomly found this book in a Free Little Library nearby. It referenced poetry, a typewriter, and it was a short volume, so why not? Brian Sonia-Wallace is an aimless twenty-something when he decides to embark on his ‘rent poet’ scheme; through it, he travels the country (partially by train!) and meets people from all walks of life; above all, he gets glimpses of their hearts and sincere desires and feelings. This book is one of compassion and openness, of reaching out to the stranger across the typewriter and connecting to them. The book consists of several essays, roughly chronological but not strictly. Some chapters were more captivating than others. The overarching message can become somewhat repetitive by the end—but this was an enjoyable read.

I once considered focusing in anthropology, because studying different ways of being human is a subject I can easily get lost in. Add poetry to the mix—and well, clearly this book resonated with me, in a way. Modern poetry isn’t always palatable—I don’t get the significance or depth behind random (or strategic) line breaks, repetitive metaphors, and strings of barely coherent sentences connected by a vague theme. Yet, Sonia-Wallace masters the art of turning raw feelings into words, sharp edges raised on paper and sculpted in ink. Okay, that is it for my attempt at metaphors. At one point, Sonia-Wallace is at the Mall of America in a blatant rebranding campaign, trying to attract more people to the mall—a space which has been in decline for years. Surely, one would not think ‘poetry’ for the marketing strategy—but people sob their hearts out! Word of mouth propels the poet to new heights. Clearly, there is a need for typewriter poetry.

At its heart, the message I gained from this is not remotely earth shattering or unknown—people want to be heard and seen, and they want others to not only acknowledge their existence, but to hold them in their pain and sit with it for a while. Typewriter poems do that. Art does it. The ineffable nature of creativity layered through various media does it. Though this book is part reflection, part poetry, and part memoir, it is mainly a reminder of that humanity that threads us all together in the search for acceptance. If you are looking for an uplifting read about the power of connecting through poetry, this is the ticket.

When I finish a book, I like to let it percolate in my brain for a while—especially if it is a powerful, hard-hitting book such as this one. Unfortunately, sometimes this means that weeks go by before I end up doing the review; as such, this will be more compressed than I would have liked.

I don’t remember where I first heard of this novel; perhaps in a new release list, as the author is certainly new to me. The premise, a young boy learning to navigate his world in a new world of blindness, and the setting, southern Italy in the late 90s, both drew me to it inescapably. The author has a way with words, which is whimsical and poetic, but not too purple nor overly descriptive. It hits the balance in a way that worked perfectly for me. The characters are a key component of the novel’s heart, and though the plot may at times seem nebulous and secondary, it nevertheless has a surprisingly durable backbone. Moreover, the setting and atmosphere created in the novel are secondary to none—this novel is like walking in southern Italy in 1996 yourself, seeing all of the sights and eating the delicious food. While reading, it was an escape of utmost quality.

Our two main characters, Luca Saracino and Ada Guadalupi, are both restless children in search of adventure and exploration during their lazy summer days. Luca’s situation is complicated by the fact that he is exploring his family’s new home while also acclimating to his newfound lack of sight and a cross-country family move. Dimitri acknowledges blind contributors and collaborators at the end of the book, and Luca’s experiences consequently come off as genuine. I appreciated the effort and time he put into treating the character with respect and care. Luca and Ada are surrounded by a rich cast of secondary characters, such as their parents and other adults from the town, as well as Luca’s older brother, a disgruntled teenager on the cusp of adulthood. I got a well-defined sense of the family structure, and the petty squabbles, town gossip, and familial emotions of concern felt quite real and relatable. At times, Luca and Ada’s speech did seem scripted, somewhat beyond the level of the average twelve- or thirteen-year-old, but perhaps I was just exceptionally ignorant at that age. Luca and Ada both earned my sympathies by the end of the novel; what they go through is not a mere adventure, but also an exercise in compassion and understanding.

The plot seems a bit lackluster at first, I know—the book has been attributed as magical realism and gothic fantasy. Labels can be confusing, and I am hardly the expert on either of those categorizations, but if either of those is up your alley, then this seems like quite the exemplar. It has a slow start because of the slice-of-life feeling at the beginning, but keep reading—the pacing of the last third or so is phenomenal and ramps up quite nicely. I found myself unwilling both to tear away from the novel and to reach its conclusion. Without elaborating, the last part of the book turned this into ‘probably 4 stars’ to ‘definitely 5 stars’ for me. It was utterly captivating and moving. There is a mystery at the center of the novel—an unseen and ancient force that threatens Luca and his new friend, dredging up an old family feud—and the reader is swept along for the ride, uncertainty and all. But this is no standard mystery, so do not expect standard, cookie-cutter answers.

Best of all, this is a thematically rich novel, touching upon various conditions of human existence: forgiveness, memory, what unites as all as a species, the unknowable quality and force of nature, the meaning we make for ourselves, the nature of storytelling, family ties, and of course, that eternal idea—love. Yes, it sounds like a laundry list of common themes and tropes, but this is no superficial novel. Dimitri skillfully weaves together a lot of complex notions into the book, and sure, each is incorporated to different degrees, but whatever the recipe, its mixture hit the spot for my brain. I also forgave the novel for a couple of would-be book sins for me—first-person narrative and trite insertion of aphorisms and pithy sayings. Since the novel is framed as a recollection and memoir of sorts, the adult narrator reminiscing about his childhood summer, it makes sense and becomes palatable. I quite enjoyed this frame, and it made the first-person much more bearable. I had a library copy, and so I carefully noted each page that had a quote or line I savored.

I could wax on about how this book was a surprising gut punch to my heartstrings, or how it managed to grip me even during some personally difficult times. It is a book that challenges expectations and makes one question the nature of one’s reality. I feel like I’ve gained an insight into Francesco Dimitri’s values and philosophical outlook, and he has quickly become an author whom I am looking forward to reading further. (Spoiler alert: I am actually reading another book of his already—thanks library!) I also wondered about the fact that he wrote this novel in his second language, English, despite the setting of the book so clearly reflecting scenes from his own upbringing and his own mother tongue. I wish I could have a conversation about the art of translating wisps of thoughts and memories and feelings, especially those from childhood, but where would one even start? I technically finished this after the year had ended, but wow, what a high note on which to end/begin the year!

Favorite quotes:
※ ‘… I was told in great detail how I was going blind, never why. Of course, I know now there was no why. Some things happen because they do, and whatever meaning we want to find in them, we have to make it ourselves.’
※ ‘Ada hadn’t come into being on my moving South, for my benefit only. But we do that, we believe that we sit at the centre of the tale, that we are its indisputable hero, and we are so dazzled by our own brilliance that we rarely stop to consider the lives of those around us, no matter how close they are or we wish them to be.’
※ ‘In hindsight, anxiety was the price I paid for my family’s favorite sin, denial. I was more troubled than I cared to admit.’
※ ‘All I can say for myself is that we all have this thing in common, we humans, that the bigger the change, the longer we take to notice it. We react swiftly to small ripples – a promotion, a new lover – but when a tsunami comes that will upturn our life whether we like it or not, we turn our head the other way, and close our ears, as if deep change were a bore who will go away when ignored.’
※ ‘In the course of our lives, as individuals, we are hit by defeat and illness and heartbreak, and what we do is count our wounds, heal what we can, grieve what we’ve lost, and get back on our feet. The unthinkable happens; we take its measures; we adapt; we move on.’
※ ‘I came to understand that to the sighted, sight never ceases to be the only sense that truly matters.’
※ ‘When you are different, so many well-meaning people will zone in on your one difference and make of it the whole of you.’
※ ‘All stories are human to the wind, all stories equally small and endless.’
※ ‘Some people lack the humility to admit they’re wrong, and some lack the brains.’

‘I never realized how easily people could be trained to accept slavery.’

Kindred drew me in and refused to let me go, much like Dana is snatched from the comforts of her modern ‘home’ and taken back to the 1800s, serving as witness and savior to a white plantation owner who turns out to be quite important for her ancestry. I’ve read some of Butler’s Patternmaster series before this, but this book has a different style and a different vibe to it. The themes and philosophy are much stronger, the characters and plot mainly vehicles for the former. The characterization is decent though, and even though the plot remains slightly stagnant—we see the ending in the beginning, and then work from the beginning towards the dreaded conclusion—it was nevertheless quite enthralling. Read for a book club in December 2022—and to think I was almost afraid I wouldn’t finish it in time! I read nearly half the book in just one sitting.Our protagonist, Dana, is a modern black woman who aspires to be a writer while working at a temp agency. She is just about ready to start a new chapter in her life—moving together with her husband, Kevin, into a brand new home. Yet, on her 26th birthday, something unreal happens—she is transported suddenly to save the life of a certain white boy, and eventually realizes that not only is she transplanted in space, but also in time. Dana’s tenacity and strong sense of what is just were admirable qualities and I respected her, and admired her attempts to deal with the repressive nature of the time she was forced into. Her husband, Kevin, initially seems like a character of convenience to add context into Dana’s situation, but I was pleasantly surprised at how Butler weaves his actions and values into the narrative as well.The plot is not the focus of the story here, and yet the book manages to be a page-turner even so. That is partly due to the wildly unpredictable nature of how and when Dana is sent back in time, but even more to what she can’t control—the actions that happen when she is living out her days on the plantation. For Dana, the gaps in her modern life are small, but in the meanwhile she is spending perhaps months at a time living in the 1800s. It would be a challenge for anyone, but especially for a young black woman in the era of slavery. The book deals with a lot of heavy topics and cruel treatment and discrimination is not shied away from on the page. The ending did seem abrupt, but upon reflection, it makes sense—it mirrors the sense of abruptness and lack of closure that our characters find at the end themselves. At times, the plot could feel a bit sluggish, especially when we are given repeat encounters regarding the brutalities of slavery—it is tempting to want to look away, but like Dana, we must persevere through the nightmarish scenes.The themes are by far the best feature of this novel; it is a book of ideas, not just a ‘time travel adventure to preserve one’s genealogy’, but a question of family relationships, what the present owes to the past, how one’s identity is shaped by their ancestors, and whether knowing about one’s history can help one move forward. I enjoyed some commentary I read about Kindred, which discussed the notion of Dana being like a ghost—but contrary to popular convention, she is a ghost of the present haunting the past, rather than the inverse. Her modern sensibilities—and righteous indignation and rejection of the norms and attitudes concerning slavery of the 1800s—are what drive her actions and subtly influence the people she meets. I also appreciated the depth Butler provides to the relationship dynamic between Dana and Kevin. You can tell that they mutually support each other, and that their relationship is a strong one, forged by shared values and common understanding. Dana also has a complex relationship with her ancestors—a line that is founded by deceit and violence, yet one that Dana must nonetheless uphold if she is to secure her own personhood. Butler certainly does not make things easy for her characters, and we know from the start that Dana has a strong price to pay for her goal, even in spite of the suffering it takes to get there.I would recommend this book to all, but especially those who enjoy sci-fi/fantasy books that are really philosophical discussions in disguise, with the main concern being an in-depth examination into a particular idea or situation. In this case, I felt quite called out when the novel hints at the degree to which people can remain comfortably ignorant about contemporary issues, much as the people of the 1800s are to slavery—for instance, we refuse to acknowledge social ills to save face or to ease our own discomfort, like the ever-increasing tragedies of homelessness, human trafficking, etc. This is far from a perfect novel in the traditional realms of character and narration, but given that it is a novel that stays with you—and makes you think about it long after you’ve put it down—it is well worth it.

‘I was just thinking that you don’t have to forget who you were… because that’s what brought you here.’

This is simply a cinnamon roll of a novel, literally. Legends & Lattes is a ‘cozy fantasy’, a novel that follows a long-time battle veteran orc, Viv, as she decides to settle down and follow her heart into a passion project and the next risky venture—opening up a cafe in a new town. Building a community space and introducing people to coffee is no easy task. While I was reading this, we got hit with one of those ‘record-setting’ blizzards that seem to be happening more and more frequently, so it was the perfect read to cozy up with. And of course, it imparted all the right sorts of themes and messages that might fill one up with hope for humanity.The characters are delightful, though given the small size of the book, we don’t exactly delve into too much backstory or character development. Viv is a fearsome orc with a soft, squishy interior who just wants people to have a good time and enjoy a cup of coffee. Cal, an extremely likable grumpy hobgoblin, is a welcome addition to helping Viv’s dreams be realized. Tandri, a succubus, with a penchant for calligraphy and magic and looking for a new start, comes to fill a space in Viv’s life that she scarcely even realizes is empty. The supporting cast of characters are all as intriguing and adorable as these three, and I know I’m leaving out some favorites, but for the sake of brevity, suffice it to say that the characters are a real treat and perhaps the highlight of this novel.This is ‘low stakes’, so admittedly the plot is not that heavy nor does it try to be too clever—but rest assured, there is a plot. I’m not the type of person to enjoy books that have no plot whatsoever and tend to just meander, with the exception of those immaculate character studies that really take you into the mind of a character. This isn’t that either. The writing is simplistic and straightforward, and at times it did read a bit juvenile in a modern sense—in a way that broke me out of the comfy ambiance and into the thought that I was reading a written story. Though it is simple, the plot is enough to get you engaged with the action on the page and to become extremely invested in the fate of the characters. It is somewhat convenient at times, but the feeling was cozy and reassuring for me, rather than annoying or unbelievable. We don’t get too many pointless scenes of characters sitting about not doing anything, and I appreciated that.Baldree is really exceptional in creating the warm and inviting atmosphere of this book. You feel as if you could step into Viv’s cafe and sit down with a sweet pastry or two and a cup of coffee. Now, I’m not really a coffee drinker, with the exception of espresso drinks, and tea is more my… cup of tea. But I incidentally made some espresso while reading this, and I don’t think it is entirely unrelated. The strength of this book lies in this atmosphere, a welcome escape from whichever situation you are in—thus well suited for those cold winter nights. Before I knew it, it was over, and though I was reluctant, it came to an end as all good things must. I’m certainly looking forward to whatever Baldree manages to come up with next, all the better that it is set in the same charming world.

Maybe all ghosts were like this, a pattern of memory trapped in the fabric of the city like files on a hard-drive – slowly getting worn away as each generation of Londoners laid down the pattern of their lives.

Normally, urban fantasy is not my cup of tea. I prefer my fantasy to be more… steeped in the miraculous and unmistakably foreign. But sometimes, you get something incredible when you combine something as lived-in as the city of London and magic. This book’s cover makes a crude comparison to Harry Potter, and really, it shouldn’t. Aaronovitch has accomplished something much more interesting here—not only magic, mythology, and superstitions, but their intersection with modern London society in all of its beautifully flawed ways. I am glad I happened to chance upon this book and gave the first page a chance—that’s all it took; I was hooked after a paragraph. If you’re on the fence, really, just give it a paragraph or two—and if you aren’t hooked, then the devil may eat my hat.Some may tell you that the narration is the key to this book. I largely agree. Peter Grant, our humble narrator, is a charming and slightly sarcastic guy who is a police constable trying to work his way up into some sort of respectable career. He’s somewhat scatterbrained, mixed race, geeky in every which way, and certainly ‘wizard’ is not the first thing that comes to poor Peter’s mind when he signs up for the job. Nor ‘ghost’. And yet, on a blustery January evening, he comes across one, and the course of his life takes a sharp turn… even with all the crazy, unbelievable things going on around him, Peter maintains a kind of neutral, almost comical, picture of things. His ‘non-reaction’ to magic, if you call it that, can be criticized a bit as unrealistic; but ultimately, his laid-back attitude makes him the fun narrator he is—with just the right amount of snark. This is a character I’m eager to revisit again in upcoming volumes, if only to be treated to his delightful banter and explanation of the weird events that keep happening to him for some reason.The plot of the novel takes a fairly standard mystery route—faces are falling off of people in gruesome ways, the city is turning brutish and violent at the drop of a hat, and, for some reason, the rivers of London (naturally, they are embodied spirits) have their own feud. Luckily, Peter is there to be a liaison for all of these seemingly unrelated tasks, aided by his mysterious mentor, Thomas Nightingale—a fascinating character in his own right, but largely still a mystery—and his friend and fellow constable, Lesley May. There are two main narratives—the causation of our falling-off-faces mystery, and the feud of the rivers—and the novel kind of takes a back-and-forth momentum with them. Without saying too much more, I wish that Aaronovitch had stitched the narrative together a bit more neatly in this regard. In spite of the feeling of random events being thrown at you, though, it really is quite a lot of fun—partly because of Peter’s narration, and partly because the writing is so delightful. Aaronovitch is clearly a Londoner, for whom the city has intricate complexity and meaning. I’ve only been to London a few times, so I was largely lost by the many references to specific places and directions. Even as annoying as having to reorient myself for every paragraph of location setting was, I quite enjoyed the portrait we get of London here—a messy but vibrant city, full of spirits and humans of all shapes and motives. I may not be a Londoner, but I am an urbanite, and much of that sentiment felt familiar and cozy to me in the way that only a city can. Aaronvitch’s descriptions don’t wax on and bore the reader, but they aren’t so short either so as to be devoid of meaning. While the directions and setting of specific-to-London scenes wore me a bit thin, I can imagine how much more richness they add to the novel for someone who is a Londoner. For that alone, I can commend the author in crafting an incredibly realistic setting—something that is hard to do even in a non-fantasy novel.Since this is urban fantasy, it won’t beat you to death with the worldbuilding and thematic development of a more traditional fantasy or contemporary novels, for better or worse. I do like quite a bit of worldbuilding, so I allowed myself to be a bit disappointed that we don’t get to see more discussion of the mysterious ways magic exists in this world. There are a few fun moments with Peter’s scientifically curious mind and his attempts to rationalize magic, which I appreciated. You’re not getting much of that magic for plot convenience that we see in other fantasy novels… ahem. The narrative also had enjoyable plot twists; though I didn’t see all of them as being that shocking, some did manage to surprise me. The reasons behind them made sense and weren’t overly heavy-handed, either. There are hints to some broad themes, but given the plot we aren’t really given much room to unpack them—but among them, racism, classism, and the right to vengeance feature especially. Still, I am dying to learn more about magic and the non-human creatures of this world—and I am eagerly looking forward to the next volume for that. Moreover, I can imagine there is an important reason for why Peter Grant is at the center of all of this, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed that his background has been largely marginal in this first volume. Even though real life intervened and I didn’t quite finish this book as quickly as I would have liked, it was damned hard to put down, and most of all, it was a pretty fun time. Highly recommend to all who enjoy fantasy, vaguely police-based mysteries, supernatural themes or magic dropped into ordinary settings, and humorous-with-a-dash-of-snark narrators.Favorite quotes:※ ‘I left in a hurry before he could change his mind, but I want to make it clear that at no point did I break into a skip.’※ ‘“I’m just going to have a chat with this troll,” said Nightingale. “Sir,” I said, “I think we’re supposed to call them rough sleepers.”’※ ‘A London copper doesn’t like to intrude upon a traveller camp with anything less than a van full of bodies in riot gear – it’s considered disrespectful otherwise.’※ ‘“We don’t get to choose our family,” I said cheerfully. “Thank God we can choose our friends.”’※ ‘“I’m going to spring you,” he said. “Because we need to put an end to this fucking spiritual shit before some ACPO wallah panics and decides to bring in the Archbishop of Canterbury.”’※ ‘I’d like to say that I remembered the practice of exchanging hostages from school history classes or from stories of pre-colonial life in Sierra Leone, but the truth was that it came up while playing Dungeons and Dragons when I was 13.’

An exciting novella-length ‘prose poem’ by Srikanth Reddy, Underworld Lit is a delightful mix of ramblings adjacent to academia, underworld mythology, and the spaces between family and mortality. I was drawn to this book by the frequent interruptions of ‘quizzes’, which were presumably provided by the main character, a literary professor, to his students. The narrative is told as a mix of the professor’s story and that of the ‘weird or strange’ Chinese text that he is translating, a surreal adventure that happens to a certain time-and-space-traveling administrative functionary named Chen.

It is safe to say that this is unlike anything else I have read. And yet it managed to charm and hook me completely into finishing it over the course of two afternoons. The characters and the plot aren’t necessarily that strong; since it’s a poem, there is a lot more in the way of atmosphere and ambiance than there is in character development or narrative progression. At its core, its an examination of the feelings that surround you when something akin to the events in the book happen—that is to say, the nature of mortality, grief, and struggling to find your place, with a dash of cosmic justice in for good measure.

I am glad I was able to get this with interlibrary loan. I don’t think the experience of reading the ebook provides quite the same experience, because of the nature of the mixed materials involved. There were several images of an old French translation or the original Chinese text displayed alongside the standard English accompaniment (not necessarily its translation). I am impressed by how much I was able to get the sense of dread and reluctant acceptance that one finds so often in academia and those who are suffused with it. Moreover, the elements of underworld mythology were at the same time familiar and excitingly new—I did not know much about (indigenous) American underworld stories, for example. This is one of those books that is a rare mix of all the right things that appeal to me as an individual, so I can’t say if this will work for everyone—but if any of the aspects of the blurb call to you, give it a try.

Jane Harper is an author new to me, but The Survivors was a decent read to get me through a few rough days. The book revolves around Kieran, a new father coming back to his hometown with his girlfriend and their infant daughter. There is a great trauma and tragedy that haunts this town from Kieran’s past. Though the writing style could have used some finer editing and sharpening, the characters and narrative piqued my interest through the end of the novel. The mystery and suspense is gradually built up over the course of the book and while it isn’t a particularly twisty novel, it is one that kept me reading to find out the end.

The narrative is fairly simple, and not much happens other than the main mystery, which is inevitably tied to events that happened in the town’s and protagonist’s past. We get snippets from the past interweaved with the modern timeline, which was confusing and jerky at times. Harper’s style also tends to be a bit too… descriptive? I’m not sure how to describe it, but it is way too wordy and tends to meander on occasion. Something interesting might happen, and then there will be a few pages of something unrelated or a random thought Kieran has, which may or may not be related. Maybe that was a way to foreshadow, but I didn’t find it effective.

The characters manage to be interesting, even though they could have been developed a bit further. I don’t really get why there is a baby in the story—every now and then, we get the characters interacting with her and remembering that she exists, but I don’t really get ‘parent’ vibes from the main couple. Many of the locals also were one-dimensional, though they played important roles in the plot. I didn’t really get a sense of who Mia was, for example, aside from her being a sidelined careerist. Kieran is perhaps the most interesting since we got to see his inner thoughts and perspective the most. One aspect I enjoyed was the way that certain characters can be grey, and how the characters’ perceptions of each other might be colored by time or their closeness.

What I really enjoyed in this novel, and what made it so compelling, was its themes of trauma and how a community heals as well as keeps secrets. What may seem harmless on the surface might not be in reality, and a town might go to some crazy lengths to keep its reputation. Kieran repeatedly has to struggle with his conception of his deceased older brother, whom he and his family idolized. The book jacket calls this book ‘atmospheric’, and I think it is, at least in part. I have never been to Australia or stayed longterm in a tiny seaside town (with all those secrets), but I got a hint of what it must be like in this novel. The backbiting, neighborly concern, the newcomer disrupting the status quo… it’s all there.

The mystery is a slow buildup for sure. Try the first 50 pages or so, because it isn’t that gripping in the beginning—and the writing style makes it seem even more clunky than it needs to be. The ending isn’t a shocking twist, but it’s not really the surprise (or lack thereof) that made it enjoyable for me—rather, it was the satisfaction of seeing the various pieces of the puzzle come together and seeing the overall picture. For a quick mystery book, it fits the bill—but based on the writing style, I’m not sure I’ll give Harper another chance unless the blurb is especially intriguing.

I was rather surprised that more people aren’t talking about this book, but whether that’s on the publishers or the public, I cannot say. I only heard of this from stumbling on a publicity event where Chelsea Manning was promoting the book in conversation with another. It was really cool to see her in person and also get to hear her talk about some of the experiences from the book, which she said isn’t really a memoir as such. It’s more of an expose on the defining events from her early life and what led her to where she is today—and importantly the events she is most famous for. During the leaks of the war logs, I was too young and politically inept to really concern myself with the details, though her name was vaguely familiar. This book doesn’t presume you know anything about what happened, but it does give Manning a chance to defend her actions and explain her philosophy of transparency.

There are two major running themes here: that of abuse and poverty and what Manning has overcome to be in her current position, including having to fight for her identity, and the value and emphasis placed on government transparency above all (even such a highly noble cause as pacifism). Both may be preaching to the choir a bit, judging on some of the questions asked at the event’s Q&A session and some of the reviews on here. If you believe Manning leaked state secrets or caused irreparable harm to the country… then there isn’t a great compromise with Manning’s account, which categorically denies that this is the case. I’m much more sympathetic to her view, so it was easy for me to sympathize with her plight and confirm her philosophy.

The government should be more transparent, and Manning’s actions informed war policy for a lot of people in my generation and beyond in an invaluable way. That’s all I’ll say of my personal view on the matter. As for the book itself, it reads easily and captivated me. The start reads like a thriller, with Manning finding the single last Barnes & Noble cafe that is open and has wifi during an intense snowstorm on. The rest is perhaps less dramatized for effect but no less compelling. I was immediately drawn into her story of growing up in a rural, conservative town surrounded by family members who did not understand her or were downright violent towards her. Her zealousness for ensuring government transparency, and to make sure the truth prevails above all, was laudable. I’m not an activist and I don’t think it’s in my blood, but she even made me feel invigorated to try and participate in direct action.

Whether you agree with Manning’s decision or not, or even are skeptical, I think most people can agree that her conditions while imprisoned were condemnable. Before even having a chance to face trial, she was put in solitary confinement for almost a year, and then again later. Such a process is dehumanizing and, for Manning, almost fatal. Her experiences in the military also made it quite clear that its driven less by patriotism and more by a desire for upwards mobility by many of the downtrodden in the US who see no other recourse to improve their situation. It made me feel angry that the military’s legal processes were so horrific but also so incompetent in so many ways—especially when it came to matters of technological security. The security ‘measures’ on some of these things were truly laughable. I can only admire Manning for her curiosity and grit that served her well in being a great intelligence analyst as well as a great activist with the interests of the public at heart. This book is a great exploratory look at some of the ways even military and government officials can get basic things like computer security so wrong, and what needs fixing in this bureaucratic systems.

My only gripe with this book is mainly that the writing style felt a bit… repetitive at times. Manning’s style is succinct and to the point, perhaps a reflection of that military training. But it sometimes felt like I was reading her cover letter rather than her memoir: ‘my job consisted of…’ and similar. I would have also liked to see Manning engage more with the descriptions of her life—she does open up about her emotional responses in a few moments, but it would have been even better to see not only a description of her early life but more detail in her reflections on it.

I really hope more people hear about this book! There aren’t that many reviews on Goodreads, and I haven’t seen this in public book stands. Most people I’m acquainted with know who Chelsea Manning is, but their exposure to her was largely curated by the media. This book is not merely a memoir, but a chance for Manning to tell her story and provide greater context for her actions—as well as an introductory note in understanding who she is as a person. For that alone, I think all who are interested in security or politics or even just curious about her philosophy should read this. I doubt my review will reach that many people, but even if it nudges you towards this book a tiny bit, I think it’ll be worth it.

This is my first full-length Junji Ito read, as I’ve only looked at his short works before. As a standalone, this has a somewhat odd narrative, but the visuals and cosmic horror are top notch—creating a perfect atmosphere for that feeling of slightly unsettled in your own skin. The main downside is that the plot had a lot of conveniences and was overall a bit strange, with odd pacing throughout. There is also a rather large cast of characters that pulls the story in a few different directions, which can be jarring.

Still, the central concept of the ‘alien’ planet that comes to threaten earth raises a lot of interesting philosophical and more physical questions—like who gets to survive a catastrophic event, and what qualities are needed to survive in such circumstances. I wanted some more depth from this, but it was a relatively short work, so I wasn’t too surprised in that regard.

The visuals, in classic Junji Ito style, are the best part of this. Every perspective on the planet of Remina is stunning and terrifying at the same time. The cosmic scenes and faces of horror are spot on. It’s just a pity that the characters and plot drag behind, but given the quality of the art and the fact that it was a quick read, it was still enjoyable.