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A review by desireeslibrary
Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi
4.0
4.5 stars
The way Gyasi puts words together is just absolutely *chef's kiss*. This was such a poignant and beautiful description of addiction, mental health, and the profound effect it has on families. It was so deeply ruminative and moving and made me think a lot about grief and loss. One thing that Gyasi really tackles so well in this novel is the conversation on mental health as it pertains to the Black community. She so eloquently focuses on the lack of visibility, the stigma surrounding mental health, and the overall stereotypes and misconceptions on recieving help. The ONLY criticism I have and it is truly not even a criticism, is that I really thought this novel was going to hit me harder emotionally, it did not make me cry or have quite the emotionally painful effect on me that I was hoping for (but that could also be a me problem). Overall, I LOVED this.
Some of my favorite quotes:
“If I've thought of my mother as callous, and many times I have, then it is important to remember what a callus is: the hardened tissue that forms over a wound.”
“It took me many years to realize that it’s hard to live in this world. I don’t mean the mechanics of living, because for most of us, our hearts will beat, our lungs will take in oxygen, without us doing anything at all to tell them to. For most of us, mechanically, physically, it’s harder to die than it is to live. But still we try to die. We drive too fast down winding roads, we have sex with strangers without wearing protection, we drink, we use drugs. We try to squeeze a little more life out of our lives. It’s natural to want to do that. But to be alive in the world, every day, as we are given more and more and more, as the nature of “what we can handle” changes and our methods for how we handle it change, too, that’s something of a miracle.”
“It would have been kinder to lie, but I wasn’t kind anymore. Maybe I never had been. I vaguely remember a childhood kindness, but maybe I was conflating innocence and kindness. I felt so little continuity between who I was as a young child and who I was now that it seemed pointless to even consider showing my mother something like mercy. Would have I been merciful when I was a child?”
The way Gyasi puts words together is just absolutely *chef's kiss*. This was such a poignant and beautiful description of addiction, mental health, and the profound effect it has on families. It was so deeply ruminative and moving and made me think a lot about grief and loss. One thing that Gyasi really tackles so well in this novel is the conversation on mental health as it pertains to the Black community. She so eloquently focuses on the lack of visibility, the stigma surrounding mental health, and the overall stereotypes and misconceptions on recieving help. The ONLY criticism I have and it is truly not even a criticism, is that I really thought this novel was going to hit me harder emotionally, it did not make me cry or have quite the emotionally painful effect on me that I was hoping for (but that could also be a me problem). Overall, I LOVED this.
Some of my favorite quotes:
“If I've thought of my mother as callous, and many times I have, then it is important to remember what a callus is: the hardened tissue that forms over a wound.”
“It took me many years to realize that it’s hard to live in this world. I don’t mean the mechanics of living, because for most of us, our hearts will beat, our lungs will take in oxygen, without us doing anything at all to tell them to. For most of us, mechanically, physically, it’s harder to die than it is to live. But still we try to die. We drive too fast down winding roads, we have sex with strangers without wearing protection, we drink, we use drugs. We try to squeeze a little more life out of our lives. It’s natural to want to do that. But to be alive in the world, every day, as we are given more and more and more, as the nature of “what we can handle” changes and our methods for how we handle it change, too, that’s something of a miracle.”
“It would have been kinder to lie, but I wasn’t kind anymore. Maybe I never had been. I vaguely remember a childhood kindness, but maybe I was conflating innocence and kindness. I felt so little continuity between who I was as a young child and who I was now that it seemed pointless to even consider showing my mother something like mercy. Would have I been merciful when I was a child?”