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Book Review
Poonachi / Perumal Murugan / 2016
Poonachi tells the story of the ordinary life of an extraordinary goat capable of very large litters and delivered to a poor family by a giant. While the plot points are hardly three stuff of high drama, the novel captivates through its poignant description of Poonachi's feeling and its brutally honest and dystopic portrayal of life in rural India. This goat is literally the most human character I've read in years. 5/5
Wandering Stars / Tommy Orange / 2024
Wandering Stars in many ways feels like a strategic recoil and reaction against the commercial success of its prequel There, There. The conversations about indigenous resilience, hope, and identity definitely got a bit romantic, pitying and irksome in some corners, as readers leaned on it so heavily to attempt to understand urban Native experiences.
Wandering Stars succeeds in a few ways: 1) its portrayal of the family's aftermath: the boy who once taught himself Native dance through YouTube videos now hates the trauma associated with his Native identity and turns to drugs. The family's trauma after the mass shooting damaged not just their relationships to their Native roots but their ability to care for one another adequately. This aftermath is felt like a necessary counterpoint to the narrative catharsis of There, There. 2) There are poetic heights, especially in the wandering star metaphor, that truly soar just as high as the jawdropping debut.
The novel fails for me in that it feels too sprawling without the same narrative coherence of There, There. At times, the voice felt didactic or hamfisted about woke topics, such as Native appropriation of Black culture via hip-hop and non-binary identity. This book has a much less glamorous view of survival and points to the devastating loss and sometimes embarrassingly pitiful attempts at revival as a critical part of their characters’ Native sense of self. As someone whose indigenous heritage has been so present yet far removed, it's a bitter reflection, at once a hug and a jolt. I think Wandering Stars is a book white people will have a harder time celebrating and feeling good about, but is a crucial counterpoint. I struggled with the pessimism of Wandering Stars, which I think is more rightfully called realism, and continue to wrestle with my frustrations with it and whether I’m wrong. 3/5
Against Heaven / Kemi Alabi / 2022
Against Heaven rekindled my love for poetry and inspired me to read more poetry after months of dragging my feet on some titles. It did so by its delectable combination of pin-like precision in form (the flawless double golden shovels, oh my) and the bubbling energy of its voice. Kemi inhabits a meditative and grounded eros that cohabitates with grief in a very present mundane way. Yes, there's some healing, but it's the way scarring is healing, the way taking the time to be present and truly curious about grief can make it blossom into something deeper and soulful. 4.5/5
Golden Ax / Rio Cortez / 2022
I'm kicking myself for not reading Rio Cortez sooner and am somewhat stunned we never crossed paths as young poets of color in Utah. Golden Ax forges a rooted Black identity in Utah in a way that feels deeply familiar in the odd and only way Utah is familiar. Golden Ax is an eco-poetics that feels dramatically different than most of what I've read of Utah environmental writing. Perhaps it's in Cortez’s willingness to embrace her historic relationship to the land, to find joy and connection to it in a way that doesn't at all feel romantic of the past, present, or future, or perhaps as viscerally angry or stormy as me or most other writers of color who I’ve happened to read. Golden Ax is a Black feminist counterpoint to (slave) master narratives of Utah and nods to Brigham Young and Sun-Ra, the Broad Ax, and other historic touchpoints to elbow her way into a fully realized Utah Blackness. The poems are full-bodied, lyrical, and thoughtful in a way that made me feel like I just had an amazing dinner convo with Rio, complete with music recommendations, Utah upbringing stories, and soulful contemplation of our racial and environmental predicaments. 4/5
Helpmeet / Naben Ruthnum / 2022
What an incredible feat of feminist and disability horror. We follow a wife as she cares for her diseased and dying husband. The disease is mysterious and horrifying as it dries out portions of his body until they crumble off. Less than 20 pages deep a nose and penis crumble off so be ready for some terrifying body horror. The richly emotional narrative spins off troubling questions about gender and caretaking, love and betrayals, and the ending is such a shocking and stirring reveal that had Anushka and I debating its implications passionately. I was swept away and stunned. This is why I read horror. 5/5
Custer Died For Your Sins / Vine Deloria Jr / 1969
feel like this book is the Native version of Souls of Black Folk and Black Marxism, dutifully teasing out a history of indigenous resistance and spelling out elements of Native culture in a sharp and stirring voice. Chapters in, I realized Deloria was the predecessor of the gorgeous and erudite poetic sweeps taken by Tommy Orange in his novels. The Du Bois comparison comes from Delorias's historic breakdown of the indigenous plight with attention to cultural elements like Native humor (compare this to Du Bois breakdown of the blues and spiritual tradition). The Robinson comparison comes from Deloria's critical Marxist leanings and biting humor. I deeply appreciate Custer Died for Your Sins for elucidating the relationships between Black and Native movements, including the lack of enthusiasm in some Native circles for the civil rights movement: the US government doesn't follow its own laws, so many viewed the Civil Rights Movement as a lost cause, and the sense among some indigenous folx that Black people were gonna fall into an identity trap in the Black Power movement. Deloria includes a breakdown of native caricatures in pop culture and media that really provided context for the ways racism differed for Blacks and Natives. Deloria occasionally ventured into strange but fun arguments, such as his chapter on how white people were returning to tribalism via corporate culture, but by and large, Delorea provides a much needed history and perspective on where the Native leftist movement has been and where it needs to go. His critiques of the Bureau of Indian Affairs effectively changed parts of the agency in the years after publication. While not perfect, Custer Died for Your Sins did A LOT to fill in the gaps of my own miseducation. 4.5/5
Quiet Fire: A Historical Anthology of Asian American Poetry, 1892-1970 / Edited by Juliana Chang / 1996
I feel blessed to hold this book in my hands and to have encountered its voices, many of whom have faded from popular literary memory. Quiet Fire is a treasure trove of Asian American poets, including H. T. Tsiang (a fiery leftist poet who would’ve crushed any slam and who was imprisoned on Ellis Island), Carlos Bulosan (a Filipino, the earliest undocupoet I’m aware of), and Toye Suyemoto (a Japanese woman incarcerated in Topaz, Utah). Each of the voices rattled me with their imagery, the range and prowess of their styles. There is a whole generation, a canon here, with many poems left to explore. 5/5
Seeing Indians: A Study of Race, Nation, and Power in El Salvador / Virginia Tilley / 2005
I’ve known about this book for years but didn’t read it, because I read a review that said something along the lines of “this white woman gets indigenous identity wrong.” I couldn’t disagree more whole-heartedly. What Seeing Indians sets out to do is explain how the racial politics of mestizaje and indigenous rights plays out in Central America, specifically El Salvador, and how global indigenous politics further marginalize El Salvador’s indigenous groups. Rather than advocating for a particular interpretation of indigenous identity, she simply gives a lay of the land, providing crucial clarity for folks trying to understand racism in El Salvador and IndoAmerica at large. Reading Seeing Indians enabled me to see clearly the apartheid in Guatemala and the racism of Guatemala and El Salvador, whereas before I would be somewhat confused and unsure if I just simply didn’t have more historical or social context for a dynamic or work of art or situation. Seeing Indians provides many leads for a young researcher to explore in their understanding of Latin America. I whole-heartedly recommend it especially for people outside of Latin America, trying to better understand the racial politics of mestizaje. 4 /5
Vamos Patria a Caminar / Otto Rene Castillo / 1965
I’ve been searching for a book by Otto Rene Castillo for years, so I was thrilled when I found a copy of Vamos Patria a Caminar en La Teca during my trip to Guate. This collection is full of love and heartbreak poems, as well as patriotic, revolutionary leftist poetry. The love here blends and blurs nationalism and romantic love, a tradition familiar to anyone who has read the kundimans of the Phillipines (via Patrick Rosal esp). There’s very many 10/10 poems in this collection. Occasionally, the collection lapses into the typical snares of masculinist love poetry. The patriotic nationalism and idealism hasn’t aged well either, as the revolutionary potential of postcolonial nation-states has slowly faded into a dystopia in Africa, South Asia, and Latin America. Still, it’s easy to see why Otto was so beloved by the revolutionary left in Central America with these passionate, pulsating poems dreaming of a better future in Guate and TLC. 4/5
En Carne Propia / Jorge Argueta / 2017
Known best for his bilingual poetry picture books for children, Jorge Argueta is also a formidable poet and a leader, not just among US-based Salvadoran authors of his generation, but of Latino literature and US lit at large. His latest offering is a memoir version of his life, written in clear, cutting short lined verse. This book felt like a blessed opportunity to sit at an elders feet and listen to him narrate his life in broad strokes, zooming in on moments of emotional intensity. The balance of memoir, poetry, and clarity masterfully manages to create a sense of vulnerability without exposing the personal to the public. This is an incredibly adept move, especially considering the wave of tell-all sensationalism that many artists engage in these days, trying to out-bleed one another in stages and pages. I'll most cherish Argueta's descriptions of finding healing in Native ceremony for his alcoholism and his reconnecting of his Nawat roots. I hope scholars, Salvadoran literati, and Latino lit takes his work more seriously in the upcoming decades. 4/5
The Black Vampyre: A Legend of St. Domingo / Uriah Derick D'Arcy / 1819
I read this curious about what racial insights it might have about its era and as part of my exploration of horror. It's the first vampire story from the Americas. It's mostly a tale of racial fetishism, action-packed scandal, all at a breakneck speed. Hardly any time is spent exploring the emotional weight of the jerky narrative, which are to its credit quite saucy and eyebrow squirming. It feels bizarrely contemporary, even with its outdated language. Definitely only an interesting read for hobbyists and scholars. 1.5/5
The Dawn of Yangchen: Avatar Series / F. C. Yee / 2022
It took me about ⅓ of the book to sink into the grooves of the characters, but ultimately I really appreciated this addition to the Avatar universe for its exploration of cynicism, politics, and power, and the uselessness of the Avatar in solving the world's crises. Yangchen is forced repeatedly to coerce, get her hands dirty and confront characters who implicate her in their own cynical schemes. Her relationship to Kavik, a young scrappy criminal with dreams of securing a more stable and dignified life for his family, really quickly manages to shake away her calculating decorum and show faults in her armor. A worthy addition to the book series. 3/5
Small Things Like These / Claire Keegan / 2020
A snappy, crushing and quietly inspiring novel about a man whose frustrations with his brutal working class Irish life are put into perspective when he encounters a victimized orphan girl who reminds him of his mother. The novel details his radicalization, one can say, as he decides whether and how to best intervene. It's a cruel and difficult book about love and what it demands of us. I'll cherish it as an excellent work of realism and the meanings of bravery and heroism, all done with a sharp and vivid style that does justice to the difficult material. 4/5
Pryor Convictions and Other Life Sentences / Richard Pryor / 1995
I'm utterly confused by the doting and glowing reviews of this book online. Richard Pryor, while a comedic genius, perpetrated so much violence against women and did so little to repair his relationship to gender that I hardly feel bad for him as he describes the horrors of MS and lighting himself on fire. I literally listened thinking, ah God is trying to humble this man and make him slow tf down and elicit an ounce of empathy from his soul for the women he uses and sees as less than human, and even with all the chances he's been given he's still making jokes about pedophilia, domestic violence, and his abuses. Pryor begins with a Richard Wright-esque description of his early life in whore house, including moments of abandonment and being sexually assaulted by a local man who later reappeared in his life when he was famous and had Richard sign an autograph for his kid. In an ars poetica like moment, Pryor describes how once he slipped in shit and made people laugh and that he's been doing that his whole life. Reading this book gave me insight into its historical moment, especially in terms of how some folks may have engaged with the Black Radical Tradition, as well as the way the industry will elevate a so-called genius and pimp him for his ability to make them money, at the expense of his victims and himself. Pryor never seemed to learn the lesson, thinking the cliche and flat wisdom about humankind all being one (especially in terms of our need for pussy) and needing to bask in sunshine every once in a while is somehow profound. I'm appalled at how a man can live so much and learn so dramatically little. While the book has its moments of humor, it was hard to enjoy them when he had just finished describing firing gunshots at an intimate partner. He narrates his acts of abuse with an unabashed shame, repeatedly claiming there was nothing he could do to improve his behavior, face his drug addiction, and so forth. Utterly tragic and sickening. 1.5/5
Frontier / Can Xue / 2008 in Chinese / 2017 translated into English
Anushka and I began reading Frontier in Shantiniketan, continued it on our front porch in Chicago, and finished it over the phone while i lay sick with covid. Frontier is a book that demands to be reread, occupying a strange place between dreamlike surrealism, dystopian literature, and horror. The plot devices and narrative structure that define traditional Western fiction fall flat in describing what makes Frontier so captivating. I would frequently find myself laughing, cringing, and doubling back to track the meandering narrative. Soon, I realized trying to understand the components and logic of the plot was actually distracting me from the moment by moment magic of the story. It literally feels like you're in a dream, where the most insane and irrational possibilities are taken without doubt and the narrative pace can sink in for a while before suddenly snapping to other wild or strange possibilities. The only thing that raised my eyebrows was the treatment of a Black character in the book, who definitely is exoticized, which on one hand would be a realistic portrayal of the Black experience in China but on the other hand its impossible for the novel to treat very ethically bc all characters seem to lack an interiority. This isn't a psychological drama bc the reasoning of characters is perturbed by this dream logic. Overall, the racial awkwardness contributed to the uncanny, unsettled feeling. Because narrative matters less, the book sinks into purer emotion and sensation somehow. It's truly a marvelous strange disturbing novel that I'll twirl in my head for years in sure. Reminded me most of Red Ants by Pergentino Jose. 4.5/5
addiction is a sweet, dark room / amanda corbin / 2024
With a voice as clear and gentle as a sun shower, addiction is a sweet dark room artfully guides the reader through a young woman’s coming-of-age, as well as her struggle overcoming alcoholism. Here, we do not get a gritty performance of degradation that voyeuristic readers demand from writers of addiction. Rather, corbin provides a surefooted rhythm, whose careful pace reads in part as a guard against former missteps. We get a clear-eyed diction that—like all the best poetry—will stretch your vocabulary, mostly by showing you the hidden pockets inside of even familiar phrases. While Hemingway encouraged aspirants to write drunk, corbin has crafted a soulfulness within an aesthetic of sobriety, and it is in these sober reflections where the collection sings at its best: as in “longevity,” where the speaker and her grandmother share a moment of light within the darkness of addiction, or “welcome wagon,” where the drama of the early days of the pandemic loses its punch when compared to what corbin has already survived. addiction is a sweet dark room is a testament that recovery, even in its smallness, its lack of glamour, and its imperfections, is worth it.
Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity / Julia Serrano / 2007
A sweeping overview of trans feminism from a time before queer language had ossified into the shape of the contemporary LGBTQ+ lexicon, Whipping Girl is a memoir and manifesto by writer who first found their celebrity in the poetry slam circuits. Serrano’s style is blunt, thorough, and thoughtful, utilizing personal experience as well as providing insights on queer theory and sexuality research hitherto unspoken. Whipping Girl would function as an excellent introductory text to trans feminism for an undergraduate classroom. It clarified my understanding of myself again. 3/5
The Devil’s Highway: A True Story / Luis Alberto Urrea / 2004
The Devil’s Highway is a Latino classic that launched an already well established poet and novelist into literary stardom. Written in vivid language that mixes the scientifically specific, journalistic, and vulgarly hyperrealistic, The Devil’s Highway’s tone is reminiscent of Charles Bowden. I mean this in a good way in that it is attention-grabbing, as well as the bad way in that it indulges in a very masculine vulgarity and includes racist hangovers, such as the use of the word “illegal” throughout the text. Urrea of all people should know better than to use such dehumanizing language. At one point, Urrea snickers with migrants who hear the word “Chicago” and hear “I piss shit” in Spanish. Urrea mostly manages to balance the range of perspectives he includes in The Devil’s Highway in a way that probably leaves people across the political spectrum feeling discomfited at different moments. This feels like Urrea’s attempt to look at the border issue with a depoliticized objectivity. It succeeds in what it set out to do just fine, but is disappointing coming from a Latino literary star, as a greater political clarity and savvy is urgent. (2.5/5)
Revólver/ Josué Andrés Moz / 2024
Moz outdid himself here, his words cutting with broken hearted clarity into the political turmoil of Bukele’s Salvador. Written in a language just as rich and calculated as his early work, Moz’s articulation of his griefs and passions find subjects worthy of its dramatic flair. With criticisms to the political buffoonery of some of his peers, as well as heartfelt poems about unfulfilled desire, Moz butts his head against the worst of our era and gives it a deserving language. 4/5
Indian Conquistadors: Indigenous Allies in the Conquest of Mesoamerica / eds, Laura E. Matthews & Michael R. Odjik / 2012
A necessary volume of essays on the history of indigenous conquest especially in Mexico and Central America, I recommend this book to anyone interested in better understanding mestizaje and indigenous and Latino identity in the Americas. Banished are the white supremacist myths of Cortes and the Spanish defeating the Mexica on their own, as well as progressives’ lingering romantic flattening of Native Americans as purely vanquished and victimized. I first encountered this book in grad school and I’m glad I returned to it. While the chapters got more redundant and less interesting as Matthews and Odjik’s arguments became more and more solidified, they remained fascinating in their particularity and the underlying mysteries. 4/5