Más allá de la aureola marrón y núbil / Lauri Garcia Duenas / 2024

Más allá de la aureola marrón y núbil / Lauri Garcia Duenas / 2024

Más allá de la aureola marrón y núbil is an afternoon and evening spent with your sweet and timeworn tia, gracious in her wisdom and resplendent in her power. “Quiero sanar pero eso implicaría estar enferma / y no lo estoy / ni lo estuve,” she says with her whole chest in the opening poem. Alexandra Regalado translates it as “I want to heal but that implies being sick / and I am not/ nor was I ever.” The bitter ex club listening to Rebeca Lane’s latest project with Audry Funk will enjoy Lauri’s curses for her betrayer, but what I love about Lauri’s approach is that rather than vengefully lashing out, she has truly found her center; her curses come from a place of conviction rather than fantasy, creating a voice that feels less like a chest-thumping bitter ex and more believable: “no hay odio ni rencor en la aureola marrón y núbil / sólo leche para mi segundo vástago” or in translation: “There is no hate or resentment in the nubile brown areola / only milk for my second child.” This collection was a hug when I needed it. 4.5/5   

Soledades / Sol Quetzalli / 2024

Soledades / Sol Quetzalli / 2024

Sol Quetzalli is a Salvadoran poet and professor of literature who I traded books with in Chiquimula. Her chapbook Soledades captures grief and absence and cages it in iron bars like a haunted loro. You can find her read from the collection during Slam Quetzal here, where she took first place with a voice trembling with emotions. Her work reminds me of Cynthia Guardado at her finest, only in Spanish. The poems here grieve the death of her mother, the rampant murders, and the loss of innocence of a dystopian Salvador drenched in blood. 4 out 5 

The Town of Babylon / Alejandro Varela / 2022

The Town of Babylon / Alejandro Varela / 2022

I read this because of the suggestion of a Salvadoran literary scholar, and I regret every second I spent with this book. Within the first pages, a queer latinx man decides to go to his 20-year high school reunion, practically ensuring I would share no common ground with a character I was ostensibly supposed to find relatable. The character shares a myriad of lukewarm political and cultural opinions of an emotionally stunted man of color with little insight to offer. One of my friend’s peers said of this book: Only a man could write a coming-of-age novel at the age of 40. I couldn’t agree more. 1/5  

Inventario de mis musas / Laura Ruiz / 2022

Inventario de mis musas / Laura Ruiz / 2022

These poems are written under the pressure of undocumented motherhood and you can feel it. Lines race to the edge of the page as poems burn through difficulties and desires. It feels reminiscent of America is in the Heart or sad girl poems. Standout poems like Spanglish manage to tie themselves up cleanly, but this is a messier, rawer collection that doesn’t have time for that nonsense. 3 out of 5. 

Poemas de la izquierda erotica / Ana Maria Rodas / 1973

Poemas de la izquierda erotica / Ana Maria Rodas / 1973

Poemas de la izquierda erotica is considered the beginning of feminist leftist literature in Guatemala. It's a spicy title, but even so, I think I’d be forgiven for expecting a little bit more leftist content or analysis here. The collection includes a mix of poems about erotic desire and agency, both of which are frequently frustrated by dishonesty, rejection, or other unbalanced gendered power dynamics. The poems have Yesika Salgado’s accessibility, line breaks, and flair for unflinching honesty ground through the political upheavals of the Central American armed conflicts of the Cold War. I found the poems thoroughly delightful, though would consider it a nascent feminist literature coming from an era when the bar for men was so low and the asks of women were respectively really damn low too. 4/5

Promise / Rachel Eliza Griffiths / 2023

Promise / Rachel Eliza Griffiths / 2023

I read Promise with To Kill a Mockingbird in my head. Both are written from the perspective of a girl in the Jim Crow South, struggling to understand the social complexities of violence as racially charged incidents embroil their hometowns. What Rachel Eliza Griffiths manages to capture, however, is infinitely more soulful, weathered, and gritty. 

Promise opens with a tricky scene where three young girls, two Black sisters and one white friend, explore one another’s vulvas in a non-sexual manner--a classic I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours--. The reader is immediately thrust into a world where the intricacies of race, gender, and queerness can be traced through their reactions. 

Promise is a coming-of-age story of these three girls as their dreams collide against the barriers erected by a society that hates women. As such, Griffiths doesn’t sidestep the humanity of any of them. This is particularly impressive in the case of the white girl Ruby, who eventually lashes out with slurs and worse as her friendship with the two sisters devolves. The reader witnesses how Ruby’s unstable family life damaged her sense of self and the way white society and teachers preyed on her vulnerabilities. Ruby’s class background and shattered home is in stark contrast to the Kindred sisters’, who come from a strong Black family with an educated father. Griffiths narrates the process of Ruby slowly accepting the racial bribe through her class ascendency, rising from her ragged clothes to clothes purchased with stolen money to ribbons gifted to her by her predatory female teacher and mentor. Griffiths narrates--through the Black sisters at times--how Ruby was essentially bought and purchased, commodified by her white teachers and family, in painful detail. This close attention to Ruby is one of the novel’s greatest strengths, an immeasurable act of love to what easily could have been a cliched villainous character and an act that illuminated how gender, race, and class collide to hurt and manipulate people like Ruby. 

The story of the Kindreds, on the other hand, tells a story Black folks tell often: the story of what it meant to survive in the Jim Crow south. It’s a difficult story to tell for a variety of reasons: the intergenerational trauma, the politics behind any telling, the cliches of the genre. Griffiths somehow managed to tell it in a way that felt fresh to me. She puts the reader alongside Ezra and Cinthy, the two young Black sisters, as they resist and stumble their way through their racist school system and society and watch an emerging civil rights movement brew from afar. I especially cherish the dialogue between older generations and these two young girls as elders tried to guide them through a survival that did not compromise their dignity but would keep them safe from racial violence and terror. The sisters and their family survive and lose a lot. In the process, readers have the gift of witnessing the power of Black love, how it can even survive and nourish a family after a death. I love Promise for its willingness to show some elders’ sloppiness through survival and healing, as the last quarter of the novel introduces a vulgar grandmother who is called in to help during a time of crisis. The attention to the grandmother’s story, as well as Ruby’s for that matter, help Promise not fall into the traps of respectability politics. Ezra, in particular, is forced to engage with her own biases and learn to respect--with boundaries--a more rugged part of her literal history. 

Promise is so fully wrought and so magnificently intimate that I loved it against my will. I admit, I picked up the book out of loyalty to Rachel Eliza Griffiths and wasn’t sure if I needed another story from within this particular era of Black history. It quieted and instructed me, even when like Ezra and Cinthy, I wanted to rebel against it. So reader, sit your ass down and study it. Rachel has an important story to tell. 5/5

Dialect of Distant Harbors / Dipika Mukherjee / 2022

Dialect of Distant Harbors / Dipika Mukherjee / 2022

Despite a pen trained in craft, Mukherjee’s writing fails to find its rhythm in this collection. I had Anushka read a couple of poems to make sure I wasn’t just untrained in picking up the rhythms of a more Indian English, and she couldn’t make it through them. While Mukherjee picks complex material, she doesn’t have enough of a vision to say anything too profound about them in this collection. I read on despite Anushka’s suggestion that my time was better spent elsewhere. 1.5/5 

Everything for Everyone: An Oral History of the New York Commune, 2052-2072 / Eman Abdelhadi and M E O'Brien / 2023

Everything for Everyone: An Oral History of the New York Commune, 2052-2072 / Eman Abdelhadi and M E O'Brien / 2023

In Everything for Everyone, the authors take an ambitious and promising premise and fumble it. The novel frames itself as an oral history project of an era in human history where crucial aspects of capitalism finally collapse and critical advancements to communism finally occur. The subjects of the interview are selected to provide a window into how particular aspects of this new world came to be or were experienced by someone who lived them. 

As someone unread in many utopian novels, perhaps my eye is simply too critical of genre staples or a larger conversation happening. However, the conversations contained in the book irked me just as much as they managed to tickle my brain in an exciting direction. Take, for example, the interview with a scientist who worked on rehabilitating environments devastated by climate change. In the conversation, there is a mention of biotech, which refers to genetically engineered fauna and animals designed to restore balance to an ecosystem. What a lovely can of worms! What a great opportunity to explore the challenges of this Sci-Fi technology through a conversation, right? Wrong. They sidestep biotech in the interview, leaving me head-scratching about the missed opportunity and whether the authors are tempted by the idea of biotech, which to me at least feels obviously dangerous in key ways. 

At other times, Everything for Everyone just reads as naive. Take, for example, the chapter on the liberation of Palestine that centers on nonviolent action. The book was written and published before the Hamas attack on 10/7/23, so I can’t blame the authors too much, but I felt my trust in the authors dwindle repeatedly after similarly naive moves. Take, for example, the interview about birth work. In the commune, family structure dissolved and communal care arrangements for children were figured out. Technology had advanced to the point that AMAB people could carry a child, and supposedly many were rushing to experience that. While I’m sure some men would take on the burden, the starry eyed way this portion is narrated just felt silly. 

Maybe I’m a pessimist but the chapters I valued the most were the most traumatized and dark. There’s an interview with a Native American veteran who describes fighting in a nuclear war against Iran. There’s another with a survivor of a far-right Christian cult state compound. The characters and the situations felt truer. Even then though, the narratives skips through some of the most interesting parts: the veteran is so traumatized he can’t narrate coherently and the survivor of the cult is so traumatized they skip the most exciting bits of the escape. 

Everything for Everyone may be a cooler book to discuss than to read, but even so, I’m mostly just left with disappointment at how cool this book could’ve been in sturdier hands. 2.5/5. 

Entre los brazos de la neblina / Mariela Tax / 2023

Entre los brazos de la neblina / Mariela Tax / 2023

These plainspoken poems thread the realities of one contemporary Maya woman. The poems narrate cultural connection and loss, clap back against racism, linger on haunting mountainous landscapes, and cut through the fog with a clear sweet light in her voice. I found many 5/5 poems in this collection with my favorites being the punchier, longer poems like “la evolucion de mis pasos.” 3 / 5

Casa / Efraín Caravantes / 2021

Casa / Efraín Caravantes / 2021

This short collection will slink through your consciousness with the meditative deftness of The Four Quartets. It’s wild to see Efra capture that energy in a taut and delicate Spanish whose surprising turns open up pockets in your mind and soul. The untitled poems all flow into one another, each one like a wave in a bigger ocean, and like an ocean, there’s a peace I find spending time with these poems and the way their beauty transforms massages the bitterness out of grief.   5/5 

La Hacienda / Isabel Cañas / 2022

La Hacienda / Isabel Cañas / 2022

Complete with a spiteful upper caste sister-in-laws, a spooky house, and an unrequited relationship with a hot priest, The Hacienda offers a robust package when it comes to historical horror. Readers will find the history of the Mexican revolution and its racial politics seamlessly knitted into the drama of Beatriz’s marriage to Don Rodolfo Solórzano, her lifesaver turned nightmare. The mystery of what plagues the house is skillfully wrought, and the only real qualm I have with the novel is that it teased vampires without really ever delivering. Cañas skillfully flips between the perspectives of a mestizo priest and curandero and Beatriz, our upper-class protagonist, who must navigate colonial patriarchy and race politics to save herself and her family from poverty. The writing feels only one strike away from literary fiction, as opposed to genre fiction. 4 out 5. 

Jawbone / Monica Ojeda / 2018

Jawbone / Monica Ojeda / 2018

A deliciously skin crawling novel about the terror of teenage private school girls. A teacher is slowly driven to madness by two separate gaggles of girls, then gets her vengeance on one after being manipulated by a teenage mastermind. I have no issue spoiling this because the way it goes down is so majestically crafted. This novel is equally philosophical as it is psychological. There’s also an indelible global south feel to this horror that is just so much more refreshing and real. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of this read. 5/5 

Peces en mi boca / Elena Salamanca / 2011

Peces en mi boca / Elena Salamanca / 2011

I’ve been a longtime fan of Elena’s work, so I was thrilled when Marcos Valerio Reyes Cisfuentes gifted me her first book in Guatemala this summer. Peces en mi boca is an explosive series of feminist poems, exploring desire and agency in ways that are equally fiery and fun. I will forever cherish the young, feisty voice in this collection. 5/5 

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