Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

4/5 stars

What's it about? Half of a Yellow Sun takes place in 1960s Nigeria, when the eastern part of the country seceded to form Biafra. The novel follows beautiful Olanna, academic and activist Odenigbo, their young houseboy Ugwu, Olanna’s estranged twin Kainene, and her British lover Richard. A richly told account of the ravages of civil war.

How’d I find it? Adichie’s writing talents make me interested to read anything she’s published. This particular copy was a Christmas present my husband received.

Who will enjoy this book? For similar themes, check out the short story collection Say You’re One of Them by Uwem Akpan or the film Blood Diamond.

What stood out? Adichie paints every scene painstakingly so that reading this novel is a transportive experience. Take just three sentences from a whole paragraph describing a dining table: “Master’s plate was always the most rice-strewn, as if he ate distractedly so that the grains eluded his fork. Olanna’s glass had crescent-shaped lipstick marks. Okeoma ate everything with a spoon, his fork and knife pushed aside.” And so on. This level of description bloats the novel by at least 150 pages that could have been trimmed to rev up the pace. Half of a Yellow Sun also suffers from occasional toggling between the early and late sixties, a device more successful in jarring the reader than in building anticipation.

The novel’s great success is its luxurious detail about Igbo language and culture and Nigerian politics. I enjoyed learning from the characters, so thoroughly lovable (yes, even Richard with his passive racism) that there’s always someone to root for amidst the violence and grief.

Which line made me feel something? This possible definition of hell gave me pause: “The bumpy ride lying in the backseat of the Peugeot 404 and the fierce sun that sparkled the windscreen made Ugwu wonder if he had died and this was what happened at death: an unending journey in a car.”

God Bless You, Otis Spunkmeyer by Joseph Earl Thomas

3/5 stars

What's it about? Former army medic Joseph juggles doctoral work, family demands and worries, and the workplace drama of a fast-paced Philadelphia hospital in this stream of consciousness novel that follows Joseph through one seemingly neverending shift where people in his life are constantly showing up as patients. Can someone please get Joe some lunch?

How’d I find it? I have yet to read a review of a book as sparkling as this one in Kirkus Reviews and requested a copy immediately.

Who will enjoy this book? Though Thomas showcases a style all his own, similar themes and approaches to humor can be found in Jamel Brinkley’s A Lucky Man and in Bryan Washington’s work.

What stood out? Thomas’s debut novel feels contemporary in a way so few novels do: the language, the disillusionment with military service, the way systemic racism infects who and how people are treated in our healthcare system, and the complexities of American family life. It’s all there, though God Bless You, Otis Spunkmeyer is more snapshot than investigation. I could read a whole book just about Joe’s relationship with his mother or his best friend Ray. While jarring, the dips in and out of Joseph’s present align with breaks in his train of thought and maintain the lightning pace set on the first page. The hospital setting didn’t read wholly authentic to me, but I’m a nurse in Portland, Oregon and recognize that things may work differently in Philly.

Which line made me feel something? If this gorgeous sentence doesn’t draw you in, nothing will: “Folks online always thought he was older, though I could never see what they saw, his text always sounding the way he looked as a baby, his avatar, an older black woman with white locs exemplifying the too-familiar and impossible amalgam of mother and lover most of us longed for, coaxing it out of the women in our sphere or otherwise overrepresenting our imaginations as reality, a consequence of our unfinished forebears and that necessary love, that forceful love, that elegant and deeply painful love otherwise foreclosed to us by the world.”

Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko

5/5 stars

What's it about? Tayo returns to the reservation after serving in World War II, barely surviving his battle with post-traumatic stress disorder. In connecting with his heritage and his people’s knowledge, he reconciles with the world around him and his place in it. A one-of-a-kind novel about the power of storytelling and the ignorance of human violence.

How’d I find it? I’ve long been reminded of my need to pick up Ceremony by displays at independent bookstores. Now that I’ve read it, I can affirm that it’s canon.

Who will enjoy this book? The writing is a blend of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods and Annie Proulx, visceral and visual and poetic. Those who enjoyed Layli Long Soldier’s Whereas should appreciate the themes in Ceremony.

What stood out? Leslie Marmon Silko wrote a perfect book. Ceremony is beautifully and creatively crafted, at times dreamlike and at others taut with the anticipation of loss. I loved the inclusion of Pueblo stories and descriptions of the rituals that encourage Tayo to heal. Tayo himself is a complicated character to inhabit for so many pages, and time in his mind provokes anguish that makes the novel immersive.

Which line made me feel something? “The silence was inside, in his belly; there was no longer any hurry. The ride into the mountain had branched into all directions of time. He knew then why the oldtimers could only speak of yesterday and tomorrow in terms of the present moment: the only certainty”.

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.”

Mistakes We Never Made by Hannah Brown

1/5 stars

How’d I find it? As a die-hard member of Bachelor Nation, I have been anticipating this book for months. Hannah Brown is one of the show’s most beloved Bachelorettes and gave the world some epic reality TV moments.

Why not 3 or more stars? Mistakes We Never Made was written with a ghostwriter, and when multiple minds are working on a text, I expect a certain level of mastery. I expect the protagonist to be bearable, even if obnoxiously self-deluded. I expect the two sex scenes in a romance novel to be more than a few paragraphs of missionary. I expect to be reminded only sporadically of the love interest’s signature odor of “woodsmoke and lavender.” I expect a mostly chronological story that takes place over three days to eschew chapter titles alerting the reader to the day of the week. I expect the unresolved plot points laying the ground for the next installment to be treated more elegantly.

The book delivers in one crucial way for Hannah’s fans by including Easter eggs from her time as the Bachelorette, like an homage to that iconic pedestal move.

I did not like this book, and Jesus still loves me.

Sharks in the Rivers by Ada Limón

4/5 stars

What's it about? U. S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón embraces the beautiful and ugly of our world in this collection about wildness and humanness. Poems of water, mouths, and wending one’s way.

How’d I find it? I read The Carrying in 2020, and it blew my socks off; I extol and weep over “Instructions on Not Giving Up” at least once a month. Sharks in the Rivers has been high on the list ever since. This copy came from the fabulous poetry section at Multnomah County Central Library.

Who will enjoy this book? Readers of Natasha Trethewey, Ross Gay, and Aimee Nezhukumatathil should like this one.

What stood out? Limón knows her voice, and the book has a cohesive quality that allows the through lines of the work to sing at just the right volume. I admire collections that manage to link all the poems without feeling repetitive or monotone. Limón excels at devastating turns in her shorter pieces, and “Crush” is a prime example.

Which line made me feel something? From “Fifteen Balls of Feathers:” “He was reading backward on the couchette / while the world went by and I was / counting the faces of sunflowers. 1,753,285 yellow fools / thinking they’re going to go on forever.”

Holly by Stephen King

2/5 stars

How’d I find it? One Tuesday last September, a customer rushed into the bookstore searching the shelves for this newly released Stephen King novel. Our copies had not yet arrived. A few months later, this most excellent cover enticed me from the shelves at Walmart, and I took it home.

Why not 3 or more stars? Holly takes place from within the firm clutches of COVID-19 tragedy and fear. It all felt forced to me and got in the way of the greater story at hand. Why did the specificities of pandemic America matter to this book? I’m not quite sure, but I am certain that the pace of the story warranted more speed, especially since the baddies are revealed from the outset. Hurry up, Holly!

Milk by Dorothea Lasky

1/5 stars

How’d I find it? I recently read Lasky’s The Shining and was interested to check out more of her work. This copy came from Multnomah County Library.

Why not 3 or more stars? I appreciated Lasky’s approach to the themes of motherhood and the limitations of the corporeal; the sensuality of her work evokes Lana Del Rey. The piece “There is no name yet” certainly deserves a read. That said, the often singsong quality to the poems and throwaway nature of their logic read as underdeveloped. The style of poetry in Milk is simply not my taste.

Two Nurses, Smoking by David Means

3/5 stars

What's it about? In these sometimes connected stories, people grapple with anguish, loss, and choices. David Means writes an earnest collection that wants us to feel something.

How’d I find it? I read in Harper's “Stopping Distance,” in which a man and woman connect through a bereavement group for parents who have lost children, and went out to pick up the book that contained it. Politics and Prose always has the goods.

Who will enjoy this book? This read strongly reminded me of The Sadness of Beautiful Things and will appeal to fans of Simon Van Booy. Dog lovers, the story “Clementine, Carmelita, Dog” will bring you to tears and make your day. Means did well to lead the collection with this stunner.

What stood out? Aside from the aforementioned Homeward Bound-esque tale, I enjoyed the two Harper’s stories best, the other being "The Red Dot,” about a local restaurateur who questions everything when he sees his ex-wife kayaking. “The Depletion Prompts” closes the collection, an interesting take on craft that offers context for the preceding stories. The book’s Achilles’ heel is forced sentiment that occasionally shouts from the page. I couldn’t always buy in.

Which line made me feel something? Means sure loves a long sentence, and this snippet from “The Red Dot” is a beaut: “We were both thinking, I’m sure, about the dangerous currents that ran all the way up the estuary, dug deep by retreating glaciers, or volcanic activity, a ridge meeting the sea so that the sea and the river battled each other twice a day, if you want to look at it that way, or, better yet, lovingly embraced each other in a mutual, moon-drawn embrace, running silently through the darkness of night and in the heat of day past all the human folly and abject sadness we create when we’re here, as it would when we were long gone—just bones and earth”.

Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler

3/5 stars

What's it about? In a violent America, Lauren Olamina knows her community exists on borrowed time, its protective walls no match for murderers, fire-crazed drug addicts, hungry dogs, and thieves. As Lauren prepares for a life outside, including managing her secret ability to feel others’ pain, she develops her own spiritual philosophy and ambitions to spread it to others. A book about the journey, survival, and found families.

How’d I find it? The legacy of Octavia Butler means this read has been on my radar for years. I picked up a copy at Powell’s.

Who will enjoy this book? Those who liked the Broken Earth trilogy by N. K. Jemisin should appreciate.

What stood out? Parable of the Sower takes the form of Lauren’s diary, which contains the reader within Lauren’s steadfast, no-nonsense worldview and obscures some of the book’s more interesting characters, like Bankole and Grayson Mora. Butler does not hold back in hammering home the bleak nature of the book’s reality; death, rape, and loss lap like waves. The ramifications of Lauren’s pain-sharing abilities don’t come through, but perhaps this plot point is more important in the next installment.

Which line made me feel something? While many of Lauren’s philosophical writings can come off as Instapoetry, the opening verse offers much to chew on: “Prodigy is, at its essence, adaptability and persistent, positive obsession. Without persistence, what remains is an enthusiasm of the moment. Without adaptability, what remains may be channeled into destructive fanaticism. Without positive obsession, there is nothing at all.”