Small Game by Blair Braverman

2/5 stars

How’d I find it? I picked up my copy at Greedy Reads, drawn by a mention in a New York Times review of Girlfriend on Mars by Deborah Willis.

Why not 3 or more stars? A new reality TV show called Civilization gathers a group of hopefuls in a remote location so they can eke it out for six weeks to claim a cash prize. The reality television aspects are never developed or explored, main characters remain enigmatic to the end, and the anticipated reveal does not come. What might Braverman have said through Ashley, the contestant who leads with looks and charm, about the price of fame? How could the ill that befalls production have been fleshed out to illustrate the book’s themes of hubris, betrayal, greed, and perseverance? Instead, the book remains fascinated with wilderness skills and languishes with Mara, our disinterested protagonist, at its helm. A survival experiment gone awry makes for a titillating premise, one that Small Game only scratches at.

A Lucky Man by Jamel Brinkley

4/5 stars

What’s it about? Jamel Brinkley’s smartly written debut offers nine snapshots of young people grappling with sexuality, masculinity, race, and family. Set mostly in New York City and its environs, A Lucky Man confronts pain while stoking hope.

How’d I find it? I chanced upon this copy at a book sale at the Chevy Chase Neighborhood Library.

Who will enjoy this book? If you liked Edward P. Jones’ Lost in the City, which centers on DC, and Heads of the Colored People by Nafissa Thompson-Spires, pick up A Lucky Man.

What stood out? I wanted Brinkley’s characters to talk to each other, to hold each other close, to say what they mean. The brothers in “J’ouvert, 1996.” Wolf and his father. But A Lucky Man isn’t about tidy endings. These stories gesture towards beginnings, the moments that define our lives later. Brinkley possesses a delicate ear for storytelling. With rare exceptions (certain moments in “Everything the Mouth Eats” come to mind), he knows exactly when to pull back and when to feed the reader more.

Which line made me feel something? From “Infinite Happiness:” “When you boiled it down, his language had just a handful of words, and few of them made any sense. They evaporated as soon as they left his mouth. He was so confident when he said them, even though his entire store of knowledge and wisdom was suspect. It didn’t matter in the end, because of the way he made you feel.”

Waterlog by Roger Deakin

5/5 stars

What’s it about? Roger Deakin recounts his adventures swimming the waters of Britain in this enchanting diary of nature, humanity, and longing for lost places. A fervent must-read.

How’d I find it? I read an excellent review by Leanne Shapton in Harper’s and rushed out to Solid State Books to buy a copy.

Who will enjoy this book? The following works and writers found in Waterlog offer the perfect readalikes: Robert Macfarlane, who authors this edition’s afterword; Tarka the Otter by Henry Williamson; and The Peregrine by J. A. Baker. I add to these Rob Cowen’s Common Ground, one of my favorite books.

What stood out? Witty and vivid, Waterlog is a book that makes you want to breathe a little deeper and love a little harder. The “endolphins” created by wild swimming — described by Deakin as a revolt against “the official version of things” — stir in me a desire to go out and explore for myself. This book sticks with you, tunes you into yourself and your environment.

Which line made me feel something? “Striking out into the enormous expanse of cold sea, over the vast sands, I immerse myself like the fox ridding himself of his fleas. I leave my devils on the waves.”

How High We Go in the Dark by Sequoia Nagamatsu

3/5 stars

What’s it about? A plague unleashed in 2030 by melting Arctic ice threatens the existence of humans in this ambitious novel about love, human connectedness, and responsibility for our shared future. Linked stories spotlight grief in its many guises via an exciting array of plot devices (space missions and a talking pig and purgatory, among others).

How’d I find it? I periodically check on my favorite authors’ readalikes to get new book ideas, and this came up as a recommendation for David Mitchell readers. And oh boy, do I love David Mitchell books.

Who will enjoy this book? The cover likens How High We Go in the Dark to Station Eleven and Cloud Atlas, but I would recommend it more for fans of The Passage series by Justin Cronin.

What stood out? I loved Nagamatsu’s creative swings. The City of Laughter terrifies in its sugar-coated benevolent executions, and the rise of funerary megacorporations heralds a grim new order. It’s obvious in the writing that Nagamatsu wants us to feel the earnestness of his project, as he doesn’t miss a chance to slather on the sentiment. This book is emo. I would have liked to spend more time in its interesting reality (the purple pendant!) and less in each character’s impending or recent loss.

Which line made me feel something? “I saw tiny vessels breaking free of the planet, great cities floating above in rings of glass. I saw a civilization that could destroy itself before it even reached the nearest star. But I also saw a world that would be the first witness the quiet of intergalactic space and walk on the ruins of whatever remains of us.”

The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches by Matsuo Basho, translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa

4/5 stars

What's it about? This trim volume unites five travel sketches by Basho: The Records of a Weather-Exposed Skeleton, A Visit to the Kashima Shrine, The Records of a Travel-Worn Satchel, A Visit to Sarashina Village, and The Narrow Road to the Deep North. Through haiku and reflections on sights encountered, Basho revels in time on the road. Nobuyuki Yuasa’s introduction enriches the reading experience with context about the development of poetics in Japan. A vivid snapshot of the poet’s life.

How’d I find it? My spouse has been imploring me to read this book for years, especially since we spent our honeymoon in Japan. I finally acquiesced.

Who will enjoy this book? This strangely reminded me of the book by Patti Smith I just read. Thich Nhat Hanh is another readalike in tone.

What stood out? The mix of prose and poetry provides a textured account of 17th century Japan and invites you to read outside. I also appreciated the maps in the back of the book for details about Basho’s journeys throughout the country. Bursts of wit surprise throughout the sketches and make for light chuckles.

Which line made me feel something? From The Narrow Road to the Deep North: “Move, if you can hear, / Silent mound of my friend, / My wails and the answering / Roar of autumn wind.”

Year of the Monkey by Patti Smith

2/5 stars

How’d I find it? This was a purchase at Politics & Prose, one of my favorite spots to spend a few hours.

Why not 3 or more stars? Spending time with Smith’s mind is always a pleasure. Wanderlust, curiosity in others, and capacity for wonder season everything she writes, and the result is a companionable literary voice that inspires you to reread a classic or marvel at the worn seat of an idol’s chair. Year of the Monkey counts among the reactionary responses to the 2016 presidential election in the United States, an event that spawned a cohort of creative work marked by outrage and bitterness. Smith’s account of disillusionment with the world melds with her grief over those who’ve passed in a memoir that reads more like an incomplete draft, a manuscript dragged from underneath her still-editing hands to join in time the wave of anti-Trump sentiment saturating the bookshelves for hungry consumers needing answers. Year of the Monkey would not have contributed much new to the conversation, but it was a time when artists felt the urge to speak out and channel their understanding of this slice of human history.

At least, that’s what I thought this book was. Imagine my surprise to discover that Year of the Monkey was published in 2019. Without the solid footing of the context in which they were composed, Smith’s diary-like ramblings feel dated, an echo of an echo of an echo. Much like the dream states Smith tries to recapture, they fade before you wake.

Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros

1/5 stars

How’d I find it? After watching readers at Solid State Books clamor for weeks over the store’s trickle of copies, I had to see what all the fuss was about.

Why not 3 or more stars? Jaws can clench, tense, drop, and harden; they can be thrust or jutted or set. But can they tick? Seriously, I am asking. This is one of many (many) linguistic hurdles of Fourth Wing, the first installment of the highly entertaining dragon-riding series by Rebecca Yarros. I inhaled this book gleefully but required frequent breaks because (and I’m going to use Yarros’ darling ellipsis here)…the writing. Some pauses were giggle fits brought on by the narrative billboards that were characters’ names (The love interests? Xaden and Dain.) or by our protagonist’s vagina being described as her “entrance.” Others were little mind puzzles, like ticking jaws (maybe it’s part of this world’s language?) and a wild reveal that you will nevertheless see coming after 450 pages of passive-aggressive flirting and chin cupping. While I recognized some nods to empowerment and identity acceptance that felt fresh, I also noted that Yarros carefully skirts race and oppression in a book run through with classism.

In a society where remakes and products of mass appeal comprise much of our cultural diet, Fourth Wing demands nothing from the consumer, and it’s no surprise. Disappointing, yes, but no surprise. What can I say? I can’t wait to read Iron Flame.

Jaw tick count: 11

Counterweight by Djuna, translated by Anton Hur

1/5 stars

How’d I find it? A face-out at Solid State Books that I couldn’t resist.

Why not 3 or more stars? The all-powerful LK Group colonizes the island of Patusan for the establishment of Earth’s first space elevator. Mac, an investigator in LK’s External Affairs department, discovers a plot that could threaten the LK Group and his own identity. While this sounds like the start of a promising mystery, the most interesting plot turns are given in dialogue between characters, and the space elevator makes only a brief appearance. Alas, my favorite thing about Counterweight is its incredible cover.

They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us by Hanif Abdurraqib

4/5 stars

What's it about? In this collection of essays, Hanif Abdurraqib examines how music and performance influence and are influenced by culture, race, and coming-of-age experiences, an opportunity for reflections on the author’s own upbringing in Columbus, Ohio. Probing, eloquent, and personally generous.

How’d I find it? Ever since I read this poem by Abdurraqib, I’ve been collecting everything he puts out. This copy was purchased at Solid State Books.

Who will enjoy this book? Fans of Jia Tolentino’s Trick Mirror, Hilton Als’ White Girls, and Roxane Gay’s writing should like They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us.

What stood out? Abdurraqib hinges his social meditations on a variety of artists —Chance the Rapper, Carly Rae Jepsen, and Fall Out Boy, to name a few —that allows him to scan an impressive breadth of subject matter, and he meets the challenge handsomely in beautifully crafted and passionate pieces. Abdurraqib’s mastery as a poet can be both a blessing and a curse in a dense book of short essays like this; his stylistic flourishes get sometimes tired during a longer reading session.

Which line made me feel something? “If you believe that it rained in Ohio on the night Allen Iverson hit Michael Jordan with a mean crossover, you will also believe that I know this by the sound that lingered in the air after my small cheering, the way rain can sometimes sound like an echo of applause if it hits a roof hard enough. You will also believe that I know this by the way an unexpected puddle can slow down a basketball’s dribble on blacktop, especially if the basketball is losing some of its traction, some of the grip that it had in its younger days.”

Biography of X by Catherine Lacey

5/5 stars

What's it about? In response to a flawed biography of her late wife, grief-wracked C. M. Lucca aims to set the record straight by investigating the secrets of her spouse, the enigmatic artist of many faces known to her as X. Do we need to know someone to love them? How does one reconcile their lived experiences with others’ truths? And do they matter? A form-defying novel that elegantly scratches at lofty questions.

How’d I find it? I stopped in at Kramers after pouring rain interrupted a walk and lo!

Who will enjoy this book? Percival Everett readers might like Lacey’s playfulness with form and sampling of media, as Biography of X is a veritable bird’s nest built from scraps of other artists’ work and interviews. Fans of A Handmaid’s Tale will be interested in the Gilead-esque Southern Territory of Lucca’s America. Looking for a read-alike? The closest in my repertoire is Delphine de Vigan’s Nothing Holds Back the Night, far less ambitious but equally beautiful.

What stood out? I respect writers who just go for it, who push their creativity into new and risky territory. Lacey does so much with Biography of X. Yes, it’s a love story, a biography, a widow’s lament, and a satire of the contemporary art scene, which would have been task enough. But Lacey also layers in a historical account of an America fractured into literal pieces by its politics, the perfect landscape for the book’s questions to marinate. The endnotes are a treasure trove, offering a peek into Lacey’s process. They reveal X as an amalgamation of Susan Sontag, Kathy Acker, and David Bowie, among other personalities, and a disparaging review of one of X’s books as an actual review of a novel of Lacey’s (“more depressing than The Bell Jar” — I laughed out loud).

Which line made me feel something? From the chapter “Sante Fe”: “I felt all our years together mounting up in me, full of things, full of words, positively saturated with sentences spoken that were meant to vanish immediately, or sentences spoken that were meant to stand forever, words we gave each other to explain ourselves, words that were misunderstood, words we stole, images we held in private, moments made significant to one and not the other or to the other and not the one, two realities pressed against each other, stupid impossible human points of view, views of nothing, conflicting views, incomplete views, impossible to reconcile, impossible to forget.”