America is in the Heart / Carlos Bulosan / 1943

America is in the Heart / Carlos Bulosan / 1943

Written at breakneck speed, Bulosan narrates his life of poverty in the Philippines, his migration to the US, and his life of poverty and discrimination throughout the West. The narrator writes as if being chased in a way that reminds me Stephen Crane or Charles Dickens’ realism, except that in Bulosan this realism doesn’t feel voyeuristic. It’s actually lived and vomited from his gut. The voice reads not like a sensationalist journalist account of poverty, but of an aspiring young author who hasn’t found distance from his own pain because he never had stability to fully process. Even so, what Bulosan manages to capture with softness and tenderness is incredible. The amount of violence and cruelty intrinsic to Asian and immigrant life in this time period are crushing to read, whether Bulosan in narrating the misogynistic marital rituals of his hometown or describing racial terror he sometimes failed to flee with his comrades. 

America is in the Heart also narrates one generation’s communist dreams and it was insightful to hear how consciousness grew in Bulosan and the ways it was subsequently crushed by state actors. Throughout the years, I’ve realized that so much of the canon of color’s literary tradition is left-wing in a way that isn’t talked about in academia and unknown in many radical literary spaces. I prize this communist literature, including Bulosan, as part of a tradition that has been repressed in the US, as part of a tradition that I identify with. 

America is in the Heart ends with a romantic love letter to America. Bulosan, for some reason, could never abandon its promise. It read to me as Stockholm Syndrome, as a Sunken Costs fallacy, but I imagine that fans of the American Dream will find a flag to wave in its closing paragraphs. The closing paragraphs. hits the same ache as “My Man” by Billie Holiday for me. I mourn Bulosan’s tragic and stupid love for a country that will never love him back. I wish him a better dream. 4.8/5 

The Qu’ran: A Biography / Bruce Lawrence / 2017

The Qu’ran: A Biography / Bruce Lawrence / 2017

I wanted to read the Qu’ran to better understand my Islamic clients and students. I asked Ameena for an English translation she’d recommend and she pointed me here instead. This is not a translation of the Qur’an, but rather a history of Islam, covering the story of Muhammad, the tension in Islam between mystic and non-mystic traditions, and Islam’s transformations as it traveled East and into Black communities. I especially appreciated Lawrence’s attention to philosophical debates in Islam, especially in India, and his analysis of Bin Laden’s interpretations of the Qu’ran and the Nation of Islam’s. This is a solid introduction to a complex tradition and it’s given me great directions to go for further studies. 5/5 as the book accomplishes its modest goals handedly.

Equatorial / Soleil David / 2024

Equatorial / Soleil David / 2024

I read this book feverish during parent-teacher conferences in between sessions with teachers. Soleil’s voice is simultaneously impressive and the opposite of ostentatious. She captures the fury of monsoons in a delicate voice. There’s a way her rhythm washes over me that I haven’t quite figured out. Masterful poems like “Last Transit of Venus…”, a golden shovel flipping a classic Margaret Atwood poem, take me several reads to sink into its absolute splash of longing. I would reread and reread without any regrets. 3.5/5  

No Bad Parts: Healing Trauma and Restoring Wholeness with Internal Family Systems Model / Richard Schwartz / 2021

No Bad Parts: Healing Trauma and Restoring Wholeness with Internal Family Systems Model / Richard Schwartz / 2021

No Bad Parts is a potentially revolutionary work of psychology and philosophy. No Bad Parts,  written by the founder of Internal Family Systems, is in some ways a manifesto for IFS, outlining its core theory of self, methodology, and findings. The basic idea is to apply the tools of family therapy to the internal world of parts within us. Schwartz believes in the plasticity and positive potential of each part inside of us, including those who have taken on toxic roles for misguided reasons. 

I will begin with my qualms: I am at once seduced and skeptical of IFS’s nonviolent approach. His belief that you can only transform toxic parts through love and compassion is an implicitly nonviolent approach to conflict internally and he sees the same systems dynamic play out in the level of geopolitics. I am enticed by the idea that the only way to heal the traumatized parts inside us--including those that are responsible for acts of violence or have other taboo desires--is to treat them with love and compassion. Schwartz claims to have successfully healed incarcerated pedophiles whose protective parts were caught in a toxic cycle of violence in misguided attempts to protect a victimized part. It’s difficult to know how much faith to put in the IFS approach in these extreme circumstances without a huge data set, which I’m not sure even exists yet. On the political level, I’m simply unsure whether nonviolence is a viable strategy against bad faith violent actors. 

In Schwartz’s desire to spread his findings far and wide, he’s dipped into corporate psychology and even boasts of consulting with McKinsey and Company, a well-known ruling class consulting group with their hands in a number of ethically dubious, if not outright unethical situations. Both of my biggest criticisms come from a lack of political clarity on Schwartz’s end. Schwartz himself admits IFS was held back from his own slow pace in addressing engaging racism, which he manages to do admirably in meditations and transcripts where he explores a client’s internal racist parts. I am looking for IFS reading that engages trans issues and marxist thought at this point. 

Onto the positive, IFS’s philosophy of the mind resonates deeply with me, providing more satisfying answers than the bits of psychoanalysis and Buddhism I have engaged with. Schwartz ultimately arrived at believing there is a russian stacking dolls of selves within us if we keep digging. They blend and unblend kinda like the gems in Steven’s Universe. He has also found that when--after a lot of IFS therapy--people begin to identify the self they most identify with, they find someone with clarity, compassion, courage, confidence, calm, connectedness, curiosity, and creativity. This definition of the self feels revolutionary in that it is helpful, useful, and scientifically documented--at least with IFS therapy clients. Although I wonder what really makes this self any different than a particularly well-put-together protector or manager, I do dig that IFS practice would seek to bolster these seven characteristics and if this self is a manager/protector, seek to prioritize its stewardship of the soul. Where I deviate from IFS and more likely connect with more indigenous and Buddhist thought is that I’m not sure if my inner personalities always manifest as humans. I got at least one blue dragon swimming around in there. 

In discussing IFS philosophy with Anushka, we went back and forth between psychoanalytic ways of understanding the mind, as opposed to IFS. Interestingly enough, we landed on a metaphor of the self having wave-particular duality like light. The metaphor goes like this: if you treat the interior world as a wave, like psychoanalytic, you can follow that logic successfully to understand and treat yourself; on the other hand, if you treat the elements like atomized particles, like IFS, you can follow that logic successfully to understand and treat yourself. I mention this not because its particularly insightful, but because Schwartz used the same metaphor to discuss Self energy and our connection to a higher universal self. Here is perhaps where the book got its most woo-woo with segways into quantum physics and so forth. Despite the toe in perhaps magical scientific thinking, I do think Schwartz spoke with enough hedging and humility to not spoil my trust of his scientific mind. The mind is an inherently subjective field of study, so I don’t think we can reasonably expect folks to be strictly scientific when exploring topics of curiosity that we don’t have clear answers to yet. I am curious what a more scientifically studied mind would make of this chapter. 

I especially recommend the embodiment chapter for helping me understand better how my selves can press buttons in my body, triggering somatic symptoms and drives, depending on my stewardship of their needs. 
Despite whatever wrinkles I identify, I find IFS so powerful a tool I can’t help but give this a 5/5. 

Poonachi / Perumal Murugan / 2016

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 / 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 / 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.