Solito / Javier Zamora / 2022

Solito / Javier Zamora / 2022

Solito is a memoir recounting Javier's journey to the US, without his family, as a 9-year-old. I'll write a longer review about this book later, but my biggest notes are as follows: 1) the choice to recreate the voice of his 9-year-old self and the day-by-day timeline of his trek is extremely ambitious. The line between memory and imagination must blur somewhere along the way. It's painstaking, masterful, and deeply rewarding. I'm curious what historians will make of this book and how they will use it. 2) this is a work of environmental literature and I hope folks in environmental humanities champion this book. Young Javi's mind describes flora and fauna in exquisite detail. 3) I cried on the train listening to this book at least 4 times. 4) it took me months to read, honestly bc the 9 yr old voice and repetitiveness of certain parts of the journey became a bit boring at times, as it should when you're describing waiting in a hotel room for weeks in end until you wait for the next leg of the journey. Historically, that's important to mark. 5) there's discrepancies between Unaccompanied and Solito. Specifically, Chino dies in Unaccompanied and his whereabouts are left unknown in Solito. The first and second attempt crossing are flipped in Unaccompanied. This isn't a criticism. Memory is fickle, especially early childhood trauma. I'm really curious what Javi would say about this though. 6) this is an extremely poignant ode to Patricia and Chino, the adults who cared for him along his journey. It is a gigantic testament to the lengths humans will go to love and protect one another in the face of the worst the world has to offer (the soulless US immigration system). 7) this is the pettiest, most hilarious moment in the book for me: in his second attempt crossing, a journey that likely left dozens of migrants and a coyote dead in the desert, when his unit is separated from the group when Javi is delirious and potentially going to die of thirst, he says something to the effect, I am so thirsty I would even drink Mexican horchata. I bust out laughing on the train. That's how much Salvis hate Mexican horchata. We'll use one of the most heartrending moments of our magnum opus memoir to throw shade, and it'll be completely honest. Hats off, Javi. Peace be with you. 5/5

Somewhere We Are Human / edited by Reyna Grande / 2022

Somewhere We Are Human / edited by Reyna Grande / 2022

This is the undocumented anthology we've needed for years. Exquisitely curated, it features the voices of undocumented migrants across Latin America, Asia, and Africa and from a range of intersecting identities. It's delightfully queer forward. While I knew my friend Mariella Mendoza was featured in this collection writing urgently about their connection to Native communities and land defense work, I was stunned to find Azul Uribe's story. Azul was a Mormon in Cedar City who was persecuted by her own congregation and ultimately deported. I cried on the train when I read her story because it was too close to home. I lived in Cedar City. I can only imagine it 20 years ago, how much worse its racism must have been, how callous and inhuman it was when I knew it. Azul could've been my neighbor, my hermana if she wasn't stolen from her home. Other compelling essays include Yosimar Reyes' depiction of his undocumented community, the essay of an undocumented lawyer reflecting on the limitations of the legal system in providing viable avenues of resistance for undocumented movements. I especially was moved by and cried on the train again when I read Reyna Grande's essay about the generational distances created between families by migration. I can see the distance in worlds of understanding between my mother, my sister, and my niece all too well. The only essay that felt almost out of place was the essay by the decorated soldier, who managed to hold onto some sense of idealism about the USA despite the injustices in his own narrative. His inclusion makes sense, however, to cover a range of the undocumented experience in to demonstrate that even military excellence will not save you from the dehumanization of the system. 5/5

Autoboygraphy / Christina Lauren / 2017

Autoboygraphy / Christina Lauren / 2017

I’m not typically a great fan of romances, especially ones set in Provo where the love interest is the queer son of a LDS bishop, but two-thirds or so of the way through I wept. Lauren does an excellent job portraying the electric playfulness and full-hearted commitment of young love, as well as all the ways families, religion, and culture can make something so simple so painfully complicated. This story follows a bisexual teen from liberal family as he breaks his heart against the culture of his sort-of boyfriend. While the book does include an annoying amount of passages contextualizing Provo/Mormon culture, the passages do also serve as touch points to understand how our protagonist reads the situation. It’s extremely even-handed in its portrayal, which means narrow-minded ideological Mormons will be pissed by it. Overall, a way better read than it has the right to be. 4/5

Mis Zapatos y Yo / Rene Colato Laínez / 2019

Mis Zapatos y Yo by Rene Colato Laínez (2019)

A truly remarkable children’s book that manages to tell the difficult story of the perilous journey crossing undocumented across two borders into the United States with a voice and details that are real and accessible for children, without being traumatic. The illustrations are marvelous and actively distracted Nathan as he read. After we were finished, he wanted to return to his favorite illustrations and tell me what he liked about them. The Spanish translation included plenty of onomatopoeias that both Nathan and Baby Chino liked comparing to the English. A precious read. 5/5

Real Queer America / Samantha Allen / 2019

Real Queer America / Samantha Allen / 2019

This memoir is a trans woman’s love letter to queer America, living in the red states, starting with Provo and traveling to Texas, then Bloomington, and ending in Atlanta. Allen writes with a chip on her shoulder, casting shade at queer communities in big liberal cities like San Francisco and New York and defending us rural and red state queers with a zeal that might romanticize our communities a tad too much and poke at any wounds you may carry as these red states literally outlaw our bodies. Her story is very much worth telling and her arguments, whether completely convincing or not, expand queer-normative narratives of the LGBTQ+ community and challenge us to be more inclusive of whose stories we tell. As anyone living in a so-called third world or developing nation will tell you, there’s more to our communities than the traumas we have to shoulder and there is beauty in communities, even or perhaps especially when forged by the fire of a shared need for survival and understanding. One of my biggest frustrations with this book, however, is how incredibly white it is. I don’t believe a person of color could have written this book and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t have taken people to Bloomington. Even so, it was nice to see Utah and Indiana reflected through Allen’s mirrors, places I danced in and people I hugged are included in this book. Their documentation and celebration is deeply meaningful, even through Allen’s rainbow-colored glasses, pun intended. This book made me weep a couple of times and shared the stories of LGBTQ+ activists in some of the most precarious states, including an interesting come-up story for Troy Williams and plenty of cogent legal and logical defenses for LGBTQ+ communities. It helps that Allen is a journalist that literally writes on LGBTQ+ legislation all the time. 4/5

Once We Were Warriors / Alan Duff / 1990

Once We Were Warriors / Alan Duff / 1990

Oof. What a harrowingly dark, moving, and hopeful book. Duff narrates the story of a Heke family, who lives on Pine Block, a housing project. The narrative follows the perspectives of Beth (an abused mother), Jake (a violent and drunken father), and their children, damningly observing the way governmental policies, cultural genocide, and anti-Native, anti-Black racism crushes the families in its way. This book is not for the tender hearted: you will read a scene with sexual violence and a suicide, among other just blisteringly heart-breaking scenes of characters succumbing to violence or drugs or shitty behaviors, frankly because there aren’t any other good options for them. Each character Duff portrays is so much bigger than their circumstances, yet painfully conscribed by it. And yet, the ending, while far from cheery, is so goddam hopeful. I want this book to be at the center on some conversations about abolition and recovery. I want people to read of Beth’s recovery story. While some critics might find conservative elements in Duff’s criticisms of certain elements of Maori culture, this Richard Wright-esque clear-eyed condemnation is a necessary voice, even in its harshness, even as Wright’s was. 4.8/5

After The Revolution / Robert Evans / 2022

After The Revolution / Robert Evans / 2022

I’m a longtime fan of Behind the Bastards Podcast host Robert Evans. While I generally respect his podcast and use it to sharpen my historical understanding and build my spiritual toughness, I wasn’t sure if I could trust him as a novelist. I started listening to After the Revolution on a whim while I was at the airport after avoiding it for a couple of years. I was immediately gripped by the novel. It’s a smart-paced war drama situated in a fractured post-United States, featuring a cyborg nation (Rolling Fuck), civil war torn Texas, a crazy fascist Christian state, and a remnant of the United States called the Federation. After the Revolution follows three characters, each of whom have a deep connection to Robert Evans’ personal history. First, there’s a teenage girl and Christian zealot who runs away from home to join a fascist Christian nation’s army; here Evans is clearly channeling his youthful, religiously devout, conservative past. Next, there’s a fixer in Texas territory, helping a war journalist safely navigate a warzone; Evans himself was once a war journalist and you can hear him processing his sense of guilt and struggle with the ethics of war journalism through his empathy and voicing of the fixer character. Lastly, there’s a drug-addled cyborg with a dark past; here, Evans is clearly channeling his own experiences with a range of drugs; the dude literally has a book on all the different drugs he has tried. All these characters struggle to navigate a complicated war, make heartrending decisions, watch loved ones die, and most importantly, wrestle with the ethics of war. It’s a difficult novel to write effectively, but Evans is character driven and rarely lets his pen stray too far into unwieldy philosophical territory. I was constantly itching to return to this book and neglected others I was supposed to be reading for it. Evans’ vision of the future is as playful as it is prophetic. With characters like SkullFucker Mike, it’s nice to know Evans’ isn’t taking himself too seriously, while delivering some seriously fascinating and insightful visions of what our country may very well become. 4.5/5

My Kitchen Table / Pilar Pobil / 2007

My Kitchen Table / Pilar Pobil / 2007

This book is horribly marketed as a coffee table book of an old woman's charming stories and paintings. Its cover, while a good painting by Pilar, is too pedestrian for such an energetic, catty book about aristocratic life in the turmoil of the Spanish Civil War and fascist Spain, as well as the bougiest Mormon circles of Salt Lake City. There are moments when I was heartbroken for girl Pilar, breaking out into laughter at her pettiness, and then forgivingly embarrassed for some of the classist attitudes in the book. Pilar is genuinely so charming I don't mind the white upper class perspective no amounts of self awareness and education can entirely undo, even when it's positively socially flawed for today's era, which happens occasionally but not too unforgivably. The book is marked by truly monumental encounters with historic figures, as well as feminist determination necessary for any independent woman of this era. It was such a pleasure to read. 4.5/5

When Chickenheads Come to Roost / Joan Morgan / 1999

When Chickenheads Come to Roost / Joan Morgan / 1999

The book that made hip-hop feminism a thing that came out in 1999. Hip-hop has changed a lot and some of this book is outdated. There’s some really troubling views about abortion rights and Morgan’s homegirls give her terrible advice about relationships. That said, it was a fascinating dip into the cultural milieu at the time and the conversations some Black women were having about the cultural. The focus on romance surprised me some, but offered meaningful insights. Much more memoir than music critic, but I can see why this book mattered so much. Lots of intergenerational and gendered trauma unpacked here. 2.5/5

Choir boy / Tarrell Alvin McCraney / 2012

Choir boy / Tarrell Alvin McCraney / 2012

From the creator of Moonlight and equally as touching of a work on queer Black boyhood. Includes a great conversation on Black cultural mythos and the value of African ancestors contributions even if they weren't superhuman. Made me fall in love with theatre again.. 5/5

Carmilla / Sheridan Le Fanu / 1872

Carmilla / Sheridan Le Fanu / 1872

Glad I finally got around to this book, recommended by @screamqueersbookclub and avaliable @undertheumbrellabookstore . Sold to me as a lesbian vampire book that inspired Dracula, I was delighted in the 19th century vernacular and the spooky isolated village as the setting. Vampires always have this seductive pull that makes for particularly good tension. The tone is what makes this book, even with an excellent plot involving obscure family histories, some exorcists and gold old fashioned stakes. 4.5/5

Brown Girl Chromatography / Anuradha Bhowmik / 2022

Brown Girl Chromatography / Anuradha Bhowmik / 2022

Anuradha digs deep into some truly frightening childhood traumas on this one and lays them flat. She probes the way she defined and sometimes defended, sometimes degraded her Bengali girlhood. This collection of poems has an obsession with identity with frequent repetitions of brown and bengali to add specificity in the experience, even if not necessarily the image. Some might critique that as essentialist but for someone from such a marginalized background being loud is necessary sometimes. The poems were deft and skilled in form and raw in content. For a collection named after makeup, it's really vulnerable and transparent. This feels like a difficult collection to write and I'm proud of Anuradha (she my friend) for her work here and excited for what's next.

The Runaway Restaurant / Tessa Yang / 2022

The Runaway Restaurant / Tessa Yang / 2022

This collection is sold as speculative fiction about searching for homes or being displaced. That is true and given the range of subject matter--shipwrecked princesses, cosmetic cyborg experimentation, the search for a runaway teen--i didn't expect the stories to cohere so singularly, especially as I read them intermittently on my kindle, on the bus, waiting in a doctor's office. I often found myself with the same wordless feeling that felt so familiar to me. After some living and reading, I realized it was the same feeling I get when I feel painfully in my brown queerness. A parentless pair of siblings who steal to survive; teens with X-men-like powers incarcerated with some of the powers eventually eradicated. It's queer, even when it's not. Tessa perhaps isn't the type to market herself as a primarily queer author, but there's something undeniably queer for me about these stories in their out of placeness. By nailing this feeling, it made me feel less alone and a little shocked that Tessa knew about my little private interior feeling (of course she did, she's a smarty pants). I truly hope The Runaway Restaurant finds its audience of weirdos and wordies and more.

The Hate You Give / Angie Thomas / 2017

The Hate You Give / Angie Thomas / 2017

Banned in Utah, this is a gripping story of the realities of police brutality and crime in the hood. Written in a sometimes painfully sophomoric way, it's shortcomings are familiar to anyone versed in YA. Where it fails in craft, it makes up for in content, perfect for sparking nuanced conversations about race, violence and policing. That said, I hate how much it insists Tupac is still relevant. It comes off as a preachy old head. Why not connect Pac's legacy to that of a worthy new generation rapper. The conversations it opens are more complex than those of the movie. This book is great for its target audience. 3/5

When She Woke, She Was An Open Field / Hilary Brown / 2017

When She Woke, She Was An Open Field / Hilary Brown / 2017

There's a surprising amount of 5/5 poems in this short chapbook by a disabled poet with ties to Utah. These short pugilistic poems will knock you out with one stanza by bearing testimony to the sometimes agonizing experience of disability. There's a blurb by Natalie Diaz and having met this poet, I'd add their presence carries a gravitas as sharp and heavy as their verse.

4/5

Hood Feminism / Mikki Kendall / 2020

Hood Feminism / Mikki Kendall / 2020

Published during the Trump era, this is great introductory text to Black Feminism for our era. Sprawling through eating disorders, gun violence, education and universal healthcare, she makes sure to cover it all with sometimes biting and always unflinching honesty. Great balance of memoir and research. Lower rating mostly bc I feel like I only learned one thing from this book: there's an unfortunate alliance between pro birth activists and some parts of the disabled movement bc pro-choice folks too frequently sympathize with the genocidal arguments of terminating disabled fetuses. 3/5

Red Ants / Jose Pergentino / 2012

Red Ants / Jose Pergentino / 2012

Sold as Zapotec folklore written in a magical realist style but that's only one side of the story and I'm frankly it feels a little too easy to square it away another piece of Latin American magical realism. I suspect this book would find so much more of its audience if it was sold as horror because these impressionistic takes are truly horrifying and haunting. Pergentino frequently drops his readers into scenes without context, leaving us to feel around his words like feeling the the shape of a dark room with your hands. He explores the perspective of an active shooter, characters plagued by nightmares, and more in image heavy writing that reads like poetry even in English. 4/5

The Inhabited Woman / Gioconda Belli / 1988

The Inhabited Woman / Gioconda Belli / 1988

One of the best racist novels I've read. This is the absolutely gripping story of an upper class Nicaraguan woman who is somewhat abruptly radicalized by leftist guerillas. It's deeply relatable and feminist in the way many upper class women who were the first professional generation in their society is feminist. The issue is there's a side story about a famous female indigenous warrior whose spirit inhabits this white woman's mind as she radicalizes. This premise was so troubling and intriguing I decided to read the book. It's predictably messy with the native woman becoming a bit too connected during the white woman's best sex and acts of violence. Of course, when the protagonist pulls the trigger against an fascist general, it is the native warrior whooping within the white woman who pulls the trigger. That said, the native woman's story felt well researched. This book would be useful in talking about the appropriation of native struggles in revolutionary movements in Latin America. Reminded me of Roque Dalton's intro of Broken Spears. 4/5

Temporada de huracanes / Fernanda Melchor / 2017

Temporada de huracanes / Fernanda Melchor / 2017

A novel so propulsive it's nauseating. This horror begins with the bloated body of a so called bruja showing up dead on the bank of river. The novel traces perspectives of characters around her: a sexually abused 13 year old runaway who she gives abortive medicine; two of the young men connected to her death, who engage in a frenzy of drugs, taboo sex, and petty crimes driven by poverty; the sister of one of these young men, who snitched them out. The rhythm is dangerously enchanting, the language vulgar and geniously encapsulates the idiom of Mexico, and the effect is dazzling and disgusting. It's a hard book to get through, as any book with sexual violence and torture scenes should be. A stunning work of horror and the social realities of Mexico's underbelly. I recommend it to anyone interested in horror, shifting perspectives, Mexican lit, Latin American lit, queer lit, and witchcraft. 4.5/5

100 Years of Solitude / Gabriel Garcia Marquez / 1967

100 Years of Solitude / Gabriel Garcia Marquez / 1967

This book has been on my reading list for a long time and I'm grateful Josh finally challenged me to read it, as he believed the short story collection I'm working on is in conversation with it. Sweeping and dizzying in scope, this is a multigenerational story that feels like two or so short story collections jammed into the shape of a novel. Following a linear plot was impossible in the audiobooj version, so instead, as I listened, I found myself immersed in a strange, sexual and violent world built around me. It was deeply enjoyable, though it featured a disturbing amount of taboo intra-familial relationships. This book captures a panorama of Latin American sensibility and psychology perhaps without the revolutionary politic and romanticism of Eduardo Galeano. The book felt cyclical and inevitable in some of its dramas. It sat back and enjoyed the ride despite not being able to keep straight the narrative pieces and familial relationships while on the audio book, which did limit my experience. I recommend a hard copy if you're considering reading it. I recommend it to all fiction lovers, those interested in Latin American lit, and a particularly juicy read. 4.5/5