Bright Unbearable Reality by Anna Badkhen

3/5 stars

What's it about? Badkhen reflects on humanity, origins, and the inequities of our world in this collection that is part travelogue, part reckoning. Bright Unbearable Reality figures into the chorus of responses to the pandemic and its aftermath.

How’d I find it? One always finds something on the sale tables at Powell’s.

Who will enjoy this book? If Zadie Smith’s Intimations resonated with you, Badkhen’s thoughts might, too.

What stood out? Badkhen takes a graceful approach to mass migration, displacement, and injustice, and, while her sumptuous language doesn’t always work, it’s intoxicating to read. She pulls from across the spectrum of human creativity to enrich her subjects, like, for example, when she references the sculptures of Roni Horn in an essay set during a pilgrimage across the Sahara.

Which line made me feel something? From “Dark Matter:” “Why refuse to address head-on the two experiences that pinnacle our humanness, violence and astonishment, why find circuitous ways to describe them; why not behold and marvel at what is before us on its own terms, just as it is; what avarice within us makes us plow right through the miraculous, or past it, without pause, makes us insatiable?”

The Continuous Katherine Mortenhoe by D. G. Compton

3/5 stars

What's it about? In a future where death by disease has been eradicated, Katherine Mortenhoe learns that she has a terminal case of sensory overload. While Katherine tries to reckon with her impending death, the showrunner behind the Human Destiny program secretly captures it all with the help of one special journalist. How real is Katherine’s experience? How do we judge our lives in the context of an ugly world? A novel that asks important questions for readers in 2025.

How’d I find it? When I want to treat myself, this is what I do: I stroll into Powell’s after lunch and scan the new arrivals, then wander through the shelves of my favorite sections (poetry, mid-grade fiction, foreign language, and horror). I find something (on this particular day, The Continuous Katherine Mortenhoe) and sit myself down in the attached café for a cider and reading sesh.

Who will enjoy this book? Fans of the show UnREAL and Black Mirror should pick this one up.

What stood out? Compton did an eerie job of describing a society in which suffering is entertainment. Though written in 1974, the themes of surveillance and privacy feel timely for our present, in which we’re constantly bombarded with content and reality TV shows like The Bachelor are under scrutiny for their producing practices. Compton includes a dash of poignancy with a Citizen Kane “rosebud” moment that nods to the bigger questions of existence. The Continuous Katherine Mortenhoe may be a quieter book than The Hunger Games or Chain-Gang All-Stars, but it has something to say.

Which line made me feel something? “…she’d crawled out of antediluvian mud on the legs of curiosity, and descended from ancient trees in search of something more than survival.”

The Pornographer by John McGahern

2/5 stars

How’d I find it? The illustrious NYRB Classics Book Club strikes again!

Why not 3 or more stars? I recognize that one shouldn’t expect much pep in a book about an unwanted pregnancy and the loss of a beloved aunt, but sheesh. The Pornographer does boast some solid writing, especially when our deplorable narrator reflects macroscopically on the nature of humanity, love, and death. Those moments would add up to five pages I would happily devour; the full effect of 250 pages of misery and cringeworthy characters, however, proves too much to overcome.

Shadows of Carcosa: Tales of Cosmic Horror by Lovecraft, Chambers, Machen, Poe, and Other Masters of the Weird

5/5 stars

What's it about? This collection of top-notch stories explores atmospheric horror and the dread of the unknown. A book of veritable bangers.

How’d I find it? When I managed a bookstore at Busboys & Poets, this book always caught my eye. Now it’s mine!

Who will enjoy this book? The cryptic editor’s note at the end of the book suggests that this read is meant for the Lovecraft fans, but any horror lover would appreciate.

What stood out? Despite the fact that all the stories are written by men whose oeuvres straddle the 19th and 20 centuries, these tales showcase a diversity of style and subject, united in their pervasive creepiness. “The White People” by Arthur Machen and Ambrose Bierce’s “The Damned Thing” were absolute masterpieces. I didn’t quite understand the meaning of “cosmic horror” or why these pieces were lumped together, but fortunately the work stands alone

Which line made me feel something? This terrifying landscape description from “An Inhabitant of Carcosa” by Ambrose Bierce: “Protruded at long intervals above it, stood strangely shaped and somber-colored rocks, which seemed to have an understanding with one another and to exchange looks of uncomfortable significance, as if they had reared their heads to watch the issue of some foreseen event. A few blasted trees here and there appeared as leaders in this malevolent conspiracy of silent expectation.” Shudder.

An African in Greenland by Tété-Michel Kpomassie, translated by James Kirkup

3/5 stars

What's it about? Togolese teen Kpomassie is promised to a cult after being healed from a dangerous encounter with a snake. While convalescing, he reads a book about Greenland, and, through charm and determination, finally arrives at the destination of his dreams after an eight-year journey. An endearing travelogue from a gifted storyteller.

How’d I find it? Of course, I found this one in the travel section at the ever reliable Solid State Books.

Who will enjoy this book? The Patrick Leigh Fermor fans will enjoy the journey with Kpomassie. It’s a story almost too incredible to be believed.

What stood out? An African in Greenland contains so much to admire: a snapshot of life in the 1960s for a young African, the unsparing descriptions of culture, and Kpomassie’s wholehearted embrace of the Greenlander way. He’s a surefooted travel guide whose curiosity anchors this book.

Which line made me feel something? The anthropological tidbits in An African in Greenland are utterly fascinating. Take the following sentences on the symbolism of the python for Kpomassie’s people: “He links heaven and earth: the golden patches scattered over his black skin recall the stars that sparkle in the sky at night. He is the image on earth of the rainbow that hangs in the air during a shower of rain. His movements resemble the flow of watercourses.”

Fire by George R. Stewart

5/5 stars

What's it about? A lightning strike in the Sierra Nevada creates the wildfire known as Spitcat, which rages over eleven days in this outstanding nail-biter of a nature novel. Through intricate portraits of the firefighters, animal inhabitants, and the forest itself, Stewart crafts a luxurious landscape in which readers will become heartbreakingly invested.

How’d I find it? Fire was the August 2024 selection of the NYRB Classics Book Club, which you absolutely need in your life.

Who will enjoy this book? Fans of The Overstory by Richard Powers or Tarka the Otter by Henry Williamson will not be able to put Fire down.

What stood out? This read utterly enchanted me. Chapters open with a philosophical or historical treatment of fire, including the glorious line “Lightning is the true Prometheus,” before zooming into the happenings of one of the book’s characters, including the Spitcat herself. I couldn’t get enough of John Bartley, the ranger who loves the trees as family, and Judith, the plucky young lookout who first sees smoke. Originally published in 1948, the book suffers from some racist and sexist language, its only weakness.

Which line made me feel something? Stewart’s writing blew my socks off. Take, for example: “Now a fire is more like a shape-shifting monster, stretching out long and encircling arms before it. Now a fire is like a nation, growing weak for a while, and then springing up with a new vigor, as millions of flamelets within it die, or as new flamelets blaze up. But—man or monster or nation—like them all, the fire is the thing-in-itself. It begins, and is, and ends; it is born, and lives, and dies.”

The Singularity by Dino Buzzati

4/5 stars

What's it about? In this slim tale of horror, Ermanno Ismani accepts a government appointment to a top-secret research facility, so secret that no one seems to know where it is and what the scientists actually do there. When Ermanno and his wife Elisa arrive and realize the truth, it may be too late to save themselves.

How’d I find it? After seeing this incredible cover (drawn by the author himself), I signed up for the NYRB Classics Book Club. Hurray for book mail!

Who will enjoy this book? If you agreed with my review of The Invention of Morel or loved that “Be Right Back” episode of Black Mirror, you’ll enjoy The Singularity.

What stood out? This great little story feels modern, speaking to the uncertainties around artificial intelligence with which we’re currently grappling. The reveal of the research project delivers a shock, and Buzzati mounts the horror and tragedy with each page. I found that the narrative style lacked cohesion, but the plotting of this tale means I won’t forget it soon.

Which line made me feel something? From a long monologue by the mad, sad Endriade, lead scientist of military zone 36: “No spending limit, understand? Billions, tossed there in front of me like pebbles, as much as I liked. The old dream. But now…Now I was completely uninterested. That’s how we men are, wretched flesh.”

P. S. My curating skills must be improving, because I’m finding so many 4-star books this summer.

Walkabout by James Vance Marshall

4/5 stars

What's it about? Thirteen-year-old Mary and her little brother Peter are the only survivors of a plane crash in the Australian Outback. Before the elements can overtake the unseasoned American children, they meet an Aboriginal boy completing a rite of passage. A smart novel that challenges prejudice and notions of civilization.

How’d I find it? I will read anything put out by New York Review Books, and I found this title at the ever reliable Powell’s.

Who will enjoy this book? Those who appreciated the classic Picnic at Hanging Rock or its film adaptation will like Walkabout. A close readalike is The Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell, as Walkabout also happens to be an all-ages book.

What stood out? Rich descriptions of nature round out the simple story and create the feel of a journey as our characters seek water, shelter, and food. The book’s brevity—125 pages—serves it well, as Walkabout can be gobbled up in one sitting to allow the reader days (or weeks) to digest its heavier themes of intolerance and miscommunication. Culture and experience distance Mary from the stranger they meet; his nudity and dark skin offend her, and the boy interprets her horror as a bad omen.

Which line made me feel something? I won’t soon forget this terrifying forest: “But around them, choking them to death, coiled the dodders - the predatory vines, sucking the nutriment out of their roots, gripping the trees with tentacles like tightening tourniquets. And intertwined with the dodders were the jikkas: headless, tail-less, rootless, vegetable snakes; growing on and on, from either end, wrapping their vampire arms around anything they touched.”

The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares

4/5 stars

What's it about? Such a cunning little tale that it would be criminal to reveal much. Suffice it to say that a fugitive exiles himself to an island where all is not as it seems. Marvelously executed and funny to boot.

How’d I find it? Thank you, Powell’s! Your generous supply of the outstanding NYRB imprint never disappoints.

Who will enjoy this book? Fans of Ted Chiang, The Portrait of Dorian Gray, or the film Infinity Pool will revel in this novella.

What stood out? Bizarre and tragic, romantic and creepy, The Invention of Morel builds via fantastic turns that gratify the playful mind. Bioy writes a solid tease and knows when to leave the details murky. I felt that the epistolary format didn’t serve the plot, but this is a small gripe.

Which line made me feel something? Hilarious: “We are suspicious of a stranger who tells us his life story, who tells us spontaneously that he has been captured, sentenced to life imprisonment, and that we are his reason for living. We are afraid that he is merely tricking us into buying a fountain pen or a bottle with a miniature sailing vessel inside.”

When We Cease to Understand the World by Benjamín Labatut, translated by Adrian Nathan West

5/5 STARS

What’s it about? Though When We Cease to Understand the World defies easy description, think of it as a treatise about the responsibility of discovery and the cost of our species’ relentless pursuit of knowledge. Labatut takes on this theme through accounts of Fritz Haber, Karl Schwarzschild, Werner Heisenberg, Erwin Schrödinger, and other luminaries as they redefined their disciplines, be it quantum physics or mathematics. Running through the book is an undercurrent of dread as scientific breakthroughs inevitably become tools of war.

How’d I find it? Shout out to Enoch Pratt Free Library for always having the hot titles available. I strolled in to pick up a hold and there this was, waiting.

Who will enjoy this book? When We Cease to Understand the World felt like a book by Milan Kundera, one of my all-time most beloved authors. Labatut’s blend of fiction and history, use of humor, and the slipperiness of madness and obsession hearken back to the Czech master. Fans of Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer will also enjoy.

What stood out? Hot damn, this is a good one. Labatut picks apart the insularity of academic research by visiting great minds at work in the battlefields of World War I or at a sanatorium among convalescing patients, settings that highlight the loneliness and mania of genius. The blurry line between fact and fiction keeps the reader unsettled, uncertain — thoroughly effective in a book that feels like a warning.

Which line made me feel something? From the section “Prussian Blue:” “An ingredient in Dippel’s elixir would eventually produce the blue that shines not only in Van Gogh’s Starry Night and in the waters of Hokusai’s Great Wave, but also on the uniforms of the infantryman of the Prussian army, as though something in the colour’s chemical structure invoked violence: a fault, a shadow, an existential stain passed down from those experiments in which the alchemist dismembered living animals to create it”