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Severance by Ling Ma
3.0
"But what is the difference between the fevered and us? Because I remember too, I remember perfectly. My memories replay, unprompted, on repeat."
Habits and routines are some of the most important aspects of being human; without them, whether for better or worse, society and infrastructure would collapse. We've seen a huge disruption for example when COVID started — for many it was an extremely trying time, but others see it as almost a break from the monotonous drudgery of capitalism, or at least realize how much society has succumbed to consumerism and making bread. "Severance" explores both of these aspects, where production coordinator Candace Chen learns to live in a new world where the majority suffer from a fungal infection, "Shen fever." The "fevered" are essentially harmless zombies stuck in mechanical routines until their demise.
The book switches between the past and present, showing Candace's present post-apocalyptic life trapped in a strange cult, and before the fever took over — where she was essentially stuck in a "cult" of the corporate overlords at her job with Spectra. Even when death knocks at one's door, Candace is still keen on working her job for an unthinkable amount of money, despite that kind of currency being functionally useless in the new world. As she says, "money is freedom," but what does that freedom entail when your entire worldview shatters with that philosophy's disappearance? Candace funnily becomes "fevered" in her own way, although her creativity does resurface as she becomes the renowned "NYGhost" blogger and photographer, documenting the devastating state of New York. Having no regular 9-5 job means Candace has to find herself again and create a cohesive identity without being entrenched in capitalistic norms.
Yet, her post-apocalyptic life, mirrors her previous one: both involve being stuck in a limbo, waiting for a path to unravel itself to her, sticking to what's convenient until push comes to shove and she finally has to sculpt her own desires concretely. A lot of the events happening around boil down to her own indecisiveness, and I think that's something that resonates with a lot of people because of how society operates today. We're constantly on survival mode, which eats away at our individuality and creativity, and most of all a sense of community. Similar to the plot, the language and writing style is structured in a way that includes a lot of repetition, almost boring and matter-of-fact. I think this is where it sometimes loses my interest — although intentionally written in a way that shows her stoicism, some parts felt too rambly and just like Candace, the readers do a lot of "waiting around" for something more meaningful. I had a big urge to DNF, but fortunately things do pick up halfway through.
The last part is reminiscent of the film "Dawn of the Dead" (1978), where it takes place in a mall, and besides it symbolizing the ultimate, nostalgic setting of American consumerism, it figuratively and literally traps people under the disguise of being a safe haven. That connection probably made it more interesting for me, but overall I had higher expectations for this book.
Habits and routines are some of the most important aspects of being human; without them, whether for better or worse, society and infrastructure would collapse. We've seen a huge disruption for example when COVID started — for many it was an extremely trying time, but others see it as almost a break from the monotonous drudgery of capitalism, or at least realize how much society has succumbed to consumerism and making bread. "Severance" explores both of these aspects, where production coordinator Candace Chen learns to live in a new world where the majority suffer from a fungal infection, "Shen fever." The "fevered" are essentially harmless zombies stuck in mechanical routines until their demise.
The book switches between the past and present, showing Candace's present post-apocalyptic life trapped in a strange cult, and before the fever took over — where she was essentially stuck in a "cult" of the corporate overlords at her job with Spectra. Even when death knocks at one's door, Candace is still keen on working her job for an unthinkable amount of money, despite that kind of currency being functionally useless in the new world. As she says, "money is freedom," but what does that freedom entail when your entire worldview shatters with that philosophy's disappearance? Candace funnily becomes "fevered" in her own way, although her creativity does resurface as she becomes the renowned "NYGhost" blogger and photographer, documenting the devastating state of New York. Having no regular 9-5 job means Candace has to find herself again and create a cohesive identity without being entrenched in capitalistic norms.
Yet, her post-apocalyptic life, mirrors her previous one: both involve being stuck in a limbo, waiting for a path to unravel itself to her, sticking to what's convenient until push comes to shove and she finally has to sculpt her own desires concretely. A lot of the events happening around boil down to her own indecisiveness, and I think that's something that resonates with a lot of people because of how society operates today. We're constantly on survival mode, which eats away at our individuality and creativity, and most of all a sense of community. Similar to the plot, the language and writing style is structured in a way that includes a lot of repetition, almost boring and matter-of-fact. I think this is where it sometimes loses my interest — although intentionally written in a way that shows her stoicism, some parts felt too rambly and just like Candace, the readers do a lot of "waiting around" for something more meaningful. I had a big urge to DNF, but fortunately things do pick up halfway through.
The last part is reminiscent of the film "Dawn of the Dead" (1978), where it takes place in a mall, and besides it symbolizing the ultimate, nostalgic setting of American consumerism, it figuratively and literally traps people under the disguise of being a safe haven. That connection probably made it more interesting for me, but overall I had higher expectations for this book.
Butter by Asako Yuzuki
3.5
"It took a deathly earnestness to remain faithful to her desires at all times."
When journalist Rika Machida realizes that the way to unravel serial killer Manako Kajii's tales is through her stomach, Rika finds herself in a new world of fancy, gourmet, and a variety of cuisine that confronts her own lifestyle. Kajii is accused of killing older, wealthy men, whom she always cooked for with her superb chef skills, though all of their deaths look like accidents. And Rika tries to find her motive — or maybe whether she could be innocent.
Completely immersing herself in Kajii's world, Rika's perception of life slowly starts shifting: "Until not long ago, she'd had no idea what it was she wanted to eat, but since she'd begun using her kitchen, she was becoming able to picture, albeit vaguely, the objects of her desire." Her sense of gratification is summoned as she gets closer to Kajii, and though as a "consequence," she gains weight alongside judgement from her life, Rika's relationship with food seems to be healthier — but how does that translate to her relationship with Kajii, her best friend Reiko, and her boyfriend Makoto?
Her sympathy with Kajii becomes apparent; with Japan's misogyny and beauty standards, Rika recognizes the sexist lens in which Kajii's crimes are seen: "Her appetite and her sex drive run to such extraordinary degrees that they took a toll on the lives of the people .." Instead of recognizing Kajii's capability of evil due to her personality, her acts are instead associated with a lack of femininity. Kajii acted "masculine," and is considered overweight, which is the supposed catalyst for her crimes, and a woman's moral values are therefore reduced to sexist norms. Funnily enough, this is in complete contrast to Kajii's own philosophy, since she loathes feminists and thinks that women should essentially bow down to men as their main purpose in life.
She wants to live the trad life, but is simultaneously seen as the complete opposite of a "perfect" housewife, and seemingly punishes men for not abiding by her standards. What I find interesting is Kajii's link to Reiko, who actually does adhere to feminist values to an extent. However, Reiko also dreams of being a stay-at-home mother, despite her experience and love for working a "regular" job. As long as one is under the claws of the patriarchy, Reiko, Kajii, and Rika are hard-pressed to feel free, whether that freedom includes being a mother or a working professional, or both. Even "well-meaning men" like Reiko's husband, Ryosuke, and Makoto, and Rika's dad, who claim to support progressive values still absolutely benefit from the patriarchy and perpetrate harmful norms, sometimes without them realizing it.
I personally adore the messaging and the themes touched in on the book throughout; the nuances that include sexuality, gender roles, and eating habits are well-thought out. But my main gripe is that every single interesting interaction that might make readers ponder a bit are immediately spelled out by the author. It just leaves no room for interpretation, and kind of assumes that the audience may not have the brain cells to grasp the messages conveyed. I do appreciate the queer tensions that are consistent, especially with Rika having that boyish charm (I wish the author leaned more into it but that forbidden love/tension is also what makes it more fascinating).
For most of the book, the food descriptions are often mouth-watering and delectable, and actually made me want to try some of the recipes, especially ones with butter. Halfway through, some of them start going over my head, and I think the last part involving a Turkey homewarming scene almost ruins it for me. It felt like it was unnecessarily becoming a Lifetime movie.
It's obvious that food to Kajii is also a kind of fetish that relates to sex, with the way she vicariously lives through Rika, and she uses that to deliberately steer Rika's life, and to the journalist, she almost seems like a god at times. But when Rika realizes Kajii's cognitive dissonance and manipulation tactics are not as mysterious and impressive as she thought they were, the readers learn that Kajii merely wants to be seen — she wants to stick to the archetypal role of a woman, but also be that rebellious outcast that redefines that archetype. The true weight that Kajii collapses under is not because of her past trauma of being bullied or shamed, it comes from wanting to be extraordinary, when she's anything but.
When journalist Rika Machida realizes that the way to unravel serial killer Manako Kajii's tales is through her stomach, Rika finds herself in a new world of fancy, gourmet, and a variety of cuisine that confronts her own lifestyle. Kajii is accused of killing older, wealthy men, whom she always cooked for with her superb chef skills, though all of their deaths look like accidents. And Rika tries to find her motive — or maybe whether she could be innocent.
Completely immersing herself in Kajii's world, Rika's perception of life slowly starts shifting: "Until not long ago, she'd had no idea what it was she wanted to eat, but since she'd begun using her kitchen, she was becoming able to picture, albeit vaguely, the objects of her desire." Her sense of gratification is summoned as she gets closer to Kajii, and though as a "consequence," she gains weight alongside judgement from her life, Rika's relationship with food seems to be healthier — but how does that translate to her relationship with Kajii, her best friend Reiko, and her boyfriend Makoto?
Her sympathy with Kajii becomes apparent; with Japan's misogyny and beauty standards, Rika recognizes the sexist lens in which Kajii's crimes are seen: "Her appetite and her sex drive run to such extraordinary degrees that they took a toll on the lives of the people .." Instead of recognizing Kajii's capability of evil due to her personality, her acts are instead associated with a lack of femininity. Kajii acted "masculine," and is considered overweight, which is the supposed catalyst for her crimes, and a woman's moral values are therefore reduced to sexist norms. Funnily enough, this is in complete contrast to Kajii's own philosophy, since she loathes feminists and thinks that women should essentially bow down to men as their main purpose in life.
She wants to live the trad life, but is simultaneously seen as the complete opposite of a "perfect" housewife, and seemingly punishes men for not abiding by her standards. What I find interesting is Kajii's link to Reiko, who actually does adhere to feminist values to an extent. However, Reiko also dreams of being a stay-at-home mother, despite her experience and love for working a "regular" job. As long as one is under the claws of the patriarchy, Reiko, Kajii, and Rika are hard-pressed to feel free, whether that freedom includes being a mother or a working professional, or both. Even "well-meaning men" like Reiko's husband, Ryosuke, and Makoto, and Rika's dad, who claim to support progressive values still absolutely benefit from the patriarchy and perpetrate harmful norms, sometimes without them realizing it.
I personally adore the messaging and the themes touched in on the book throughout; the nuances that include sexuality, gender roles, and eating habits are well-thought out. But my main gripe is that every single interesting interaction that might make readers ponder a bit are immediately spelled out by the author. It just leaves no room for interpretation, and kind of assumes that the audience may not have the brain cells to grasp the messages conveyed. I do appreciate the queer tensions that are consistent, especially with Rika having that boyish charm (I wish the author leaned more into it but that forbidden love/tension is also what makes it more fascinating).
For most of the book, the food descriptions are often mouth-watering and delectable, and actually made me want to try some of the recipes, especially ones with butter. Halfway through, some of them start going over my head, and I think the last part involving a Turkey homewarming scene almost ruins it for me. It felt like it was unnecessarily becoming a Lifetime movie.
It's obvious that food to Kajii is also a kind of fetish that relates to sex, with the way she vicariously lives through Rika, and she uses that to deliberately steer Rika's life, and to the journalist, she almost seems like a god at times. But when Rika realizes Kajii's cognitive dissonance and manipulation tactics are not as mysterious and impressive as she thought they were, the readers learn that Kajii merely wants to be seen — she wants to stick to the archetypal role of a woman, but also be that rebellious outcast that redefines that archetype. The true weight that Kajii collapses under is not because of her past trauma of being bullied or shamed, it comes from wanting to be extraordinary, when she's anything but.
Absolution: A Southern Reach Novel by Jeff VanderMeer
3.75
Absolution is an amalgamation of the elements in the existing Southern Reach trilogy, and as Vandermeer himself said in an interview, the series is a "trilogy with a doppelganger," which I think encapsulates it best.
Comprised of three parts, we're introduced to one of Central's (governmental institution that's established the Southern Reach agency) employees "Old Jim," who goes through a series of letters/diary entries, and other documents about the biologists' expedition to Area X. The first part, "Dead Town," is probably my favorite one as it's the closest to the first book in the Southern Reach series, and it covers the freakish nature of the region, transforming people in ways one couldn't even imagine: "We felt as if we were the experiment. That whoever had let loose the white rabbit was also responsible for ... this ... ghost." The feverish state of Area X and its cosmic shifts causing time warps, at worst drive people insane and deprive them of their humanity, at best kill them, hopefully quickly. The idea of "nature rebelling" and going against Central's constraints and limited scientific research is what drew me the most to "Annihilation," and this first section once again reminds the readers of the unrestrained, vast mystery that is Area X. The experiments conducted, for example, the release of Tyrant (one of the alligators), who has increasingly erratic behavior in relation to the strange rabbits' presence.
"The False Daughter," the second part is where Old Jim springs into action, he has no choice but to enter the "Forgotten Coast" (later Area X), where he meets his daughter Cass, except she's a mere doppelganger, presumably set up by Central to "test" Jim in some ways. Like the previous books, one thing Area X is good at is discombobulating your mind in such a way that makes you doubt your own truth and reality, the bright dreamy colors alarming bells instead of enticing you: "There was a falseness to the richness" — and this is further exemplified when you have a lot of (unresolved) trauma to unpack, particularly in Old Jim's case. This part almost serves as a way to process Old Jim's grief, though I can't say that I was enjoying it as much as the first section. I have similar reservations to this one as I do with "Authority" (the second installment of the series), in that it has a more mystery-detective element that feels like you're slogging through mud at times.
"The First and the Last" is the final part of the book, which is a clusterfuck, of well, a lot of fucks. Literally. From the point of view of Lowry, another Central operative, we follow Central's first expedition as he spouts expletives in almost every sentence. It's understandably tedious to read, but I start appreciating this section more as Area X consumes his being, inside and out, and we see linguistically, physically, and mentally transformed. Lowry's perspective feels less and less contrived as he becomes more unhinged: ironically, cursing incessantly is the most sane thing he can do. Similar to the third installment of the series, "Acceptance," this section concludes, yet also begins the never-ending expansion of Area X, and we get a sense of deja vu: ... the future colonizing the past, as if every moment had a permeability that could neither be denied nor controlled, like an outstretched hand with the water draining off the sides into the river."
I expected more concrete lore about Area X, maybe not wrapped in a box with a pretty bow, but it did scratch some of the itch the same way "Annihilation" did. This is probably my second favorite of the series (and I don't think "Annihilation" can ever be topped). But as a caveat, I've seen a lot of people say that this can serve as a standalone book, and I have to disagree. The previous books provide so much context and interweaving of timelines that can't be fully appreciated if you only read "Absolution." There are still so many questions to be answered even having read the entire series. But Jeff VanderMeer did an amazing job overall and this series remains a top must-read for people who love Weird Fiction.
Comprised of three parts, we're introduced to one of Central's (governmental institution that's established the Southern Reach agency) employees "Old Jim," who goes through a series of letters/diary entries, and other documents about the biologists' expedition to Area X. The first part, "Dead Town," is probably my favorite one as it's the closest to the first book in the Southern Reach series, and it covers the freakish nature of the region, transforming people in ways one couldn't even imagine: "We felt as if we were the experiment. That whoever had let loose the white rabbit was also responsible for ... this ... ghost." The feverish state of Area X and its cosmic shifts causing time warps, at worst drive people insane and deprive them of their humanity, at best kill them, hopefully quickly. The idea of "nature rebelling" and going against Central's constraints and limited scientific research is what drew me the most to "Annihilation," and this first section once again reminds the readers of the unrestrained, vast mystery that is Area X. The experiments conducted, for example, the release of Tyrant (one of the alligators), who has increasingly erratic behavior in relation to the strange rabbits' presence.
"The False Daughter," the second part is where Old Jim springs into action, he has no choice but to enter the "Forgotten Coast" (later Area X), where he meets his daughter Cass, except she's a mere doppelganger, presumably set up by Central to "test" Jim in some ways. Like the previous books, one thing Area X is good at is discombobulating your mind in such a way that makes you doubt your own truth and reality, the bright dreamy colors alarming bells instead of enticing you: "There was a falseness to the richness" — and this is further exemplified when you have a lot of (unresolved) trauma to unpack, particularly in Old Jim's case. This part almost serves as a way to process Old Jim's grief, though I can't say that I was enjoying it as much as the first section. I have similar reservations to this one as I do with "Authority" (the second installment of the series), in that it has a more mystery-detective element that feels like you're slogging through mud at times.
"The First and the Last" is the final part of the book, which is a clusterfuck, of well, a lot of fucks. Literally. From the point of view of Lowry, another Central operative, we follow Central's first expedition as he spouts expletives in almost every sentence. It's understandably tedious to read, but I start appreciating this section more as Area X consumes his being, inside and out, and we see linguistically, physically, and mentally transformed. Lowry's perspective feels less and less contrived as he becomes more unhinged: ironically, cursing incessantly is the most sane thing he can do. Similar to the third installment of the series, "Acceptance," this section concludes, yet also begins the never-ending expansion of Area X, and we get a sense of deja vu: ... the future colonizing the past, as if every moment had a permeability that could neither be denied nor controlled, like an outstretched hand with the water draining off the sides into the river."
I expected more concrete lore about Area X, maybe not wrapped in a box with a pretty bow, but it did scratch some of the itch the same way "Annihilation" did. This is probably my second favorite of the series (and I don't think "Annihilation" can ever be topped). But as a caveat, I've seen a lot of people say that this can serve as a standalone book, and I have to disagree. The previous books provide so much context and interweaving of timelines that can't be fully appreciated if you only read "Absolution." There are still so many questions to be answered even having read the entire series. But Jeff VanderMeer did an amazing job overall and this series remains a top must-read for people who love Weird Fiction.
Rouge by Mona Awad
3.0
"And if you choose the way of roses, you'll see for yourself."
In a world defined by aesthetics, people have come up with new ways to prolong their youth and beauty. Doing a 10 skincare step routine is the norm for many, but Mirabelle takes it to a whole other level, especially once Mother passes away. Similar to Mona Awad's "Bunny," the writing style is a great part of the character development, plot progression, and pacing; the dreamy tone Mirabelle uses perfectly encapsulates what it's like when you're that obsessed with your beauty, and shows the effects of the sophisticated, bougie societies like Rouge. But overall, it's also a apt representation of how grief operates. It's strange, chaotic, and doesn't always come in the form of the typical depression that you'd imagine.
Mirabelle and her Mother's relationship has always seemed to be a bit strained, with Mother being so consumed by how she's perceived and her porcelain doll-like beauty. While she does appear to care for her daughter, the obsession with her appearance is an attempt to fill a certain void. This emptiness is transferred to Mirabelle, even more so with Mother's passing, almost morphing into one being as a result: "Now normally, if your face was on fire, you'd scream like a witch, wouldn't you? Not me and Mother. We smile while our faces burn, we love it so. Because we know magic is happening, just like a fairy tale. Transformational." While Mirabelle's infatuation with treatments and skincare are toxically passed down from Mother, it's also a way for her to create the bond and validation she had never gotten. As her mind rids herself of her dark past and trauma, replaced with head-turning and envy inducing beauty, she becomes a shell of her former self. A shiny, dreamy and pearlescent shell, but with the host barely being present: "My face defying how many natural laws. That Glow, a most heavenly Glow. I'm mesmerized. If only Mother could see."
In theory, I love the entire premise. As a skincare enthusiast myself and knowing how going down the beauty rabbit hole can go overboard, to see this being hyperbolized, entangled with grief, with Mona Awad's gorgeous prose is mesmerizing, and the book does really immerse you into this toxic world of aesthetics. A slow-burn is fitting for this kind of register. However, my main gripe that it gets annoyingly repetitive (more so than Bunny) to the point where a lot of the stylistic choices used are a bit tedious, and just creates this stagnancy. I personally thought that all the constant questioning, like "wouldn't she / isn't it / don't you see?" was way too overbearing, especially if there are multiple questions that take up the entire page and take you out of that immersion, even though I do understand the intentions behind it. I do, however, appreciate techniques such as the word slips(e.g. Mirabelle saying sever instead of serve), as it shows the amnesia she succumbs to as she approaches the Depths. The ending is pretty satisfactory, and while I love the descriptions and the glamour of every sentence, "Bunny" just has way more to offer compared to "Rouge."
In a world defined by aesthetics, people have come up with new ways to prolong their youth and beauty. Doing a 10 skincare step routine is the norm for many, but Mirabelle takes it to a whole other level, especially once Mother passes away. Similar to Mona Awad's "Bunny," the writing style is a great part of the character development, plot progression, and pacing; the dreamy tone Mirabelle uses perfectly encapsulates what it's like when you're that obsessed with your beauty, and shows the effects of the sophisticated, bougie societies like Rouge. But overall, it's also a apt representation of how grief operates. It's strange, chaotic, and doesn't always come in the form of the typical depression that you'd imagine.
Mirabelle and her Mother's relationship has always seemed to be a bit strained, with Mother being so consumed by how she's perceived and her porcelain doll-like beauty. While she does appear to care for her daughter, the obsession with her appearance is an attempt to fill a certain void. This emptiness is transferred to Mirabelle, even more so with Mother's passing, almost morphing into one being as a result: "Now normally, if your face was on fire, you'd scream like a witch, wouldn't you? Not me and Mother. We smile while our faces burn, we love it so. Because we know magic is happening, just like a fairy tale. Transformational." While Mirabelle's infatuation with treatments and skincare are toxically passed down from Mother, it's also a way for her to create the bond and validation she had never gotten. As her mind rids herself of her dark past and trauma, replaced with head-turning and envy inducing beauty, she becomes a shell of her former self. A shiny, dreamy and pearlescent shell, but with the host barely being present: "My face defying how many natural laws. That Glow, a most heavenly Glow. I'm mesmerized. If only Mother could see."
In theory, I love the entire premise. As a skincare enthusiast myself and knowing how going down the beauty rabbit hole can go overboard, to see this being hyperbolized, entangled with grief, with Mona Awad's gorgeous prose is mesmerizing, and the book does really immerse you into this toxic world of aesthetics. A slow-burn is fitting for this kind of register. However, my main gripe that it gets annoyingly repetitive (more so than Bunny) to the point where a lot of the stylistic choices used are a bit tedious, and just creates this stagnancy. I personally thought that all the constant questioning, like "wouldn't she / isn't it / don't you see?" was way too overbearing, especially if there are multiple questions that take up the entire page and take you out of that immersion, even though I do understand the intentions behind it. I do, however, appreciate techniques such as the word slips(e.g. Mirabelle saying sever instead of serve), as it shows the amnesia she succumbs to as she approaches the Depths. The ending is pretty satisfactory, and while I love the descriptions and the glamour of every sentence, "Bunny" just has way more to offer compared to "Rouge."
The New Seoul Park Jelly Massacre by Cho Yeeun
3.75
This was such a fun whimsical ride. The New Seoul Park represents a place that is almost surreal, with crowds bustling and cheering over thrilling rides and funny characters. But when you zoom in on each individual, a lot of them have worries from their personal lives that the theme park can't even wash away for a second: from Yuji with her fighting parents, Jua with her mom who tries her best with a budget, a lonely cat, CEO Hyeongyeongin a strange cult, and a hardworking employee, Sajun, at the park who hyper fixates on every cent he earns. And the dreamy theme park where escapism is the main appeal for everyone, turns out to be a sticky nightmare.
The book follows a couple of people's perspectives as well as a cat, making it like a short story collection. What everyone has in common is the feeling of discontentment, or the lack of fulfillment in life, whether that has to do with romantic relationships, family, and/or work. The theme park is supposed to be at least a temporary solution that unites people together — and it does, but in an unexpected way that lends itself to permanence. The jelly, seemingly a refreshing and sweet snack is a deceptive vehicle that shows that there isn't a shortcut in life that instantly solves your problems. At the same time, the decisiveness of consuming a jelly, once you know the outcome of it, might provide people with some relief that, like the cat says: "It's all right. It's all going to end one day."
I thoroughly enjoyed the book, while certain stories might feel a bit same-ish, the part with the CEO and the cat really tied things together. The bizarre and surreal aspect particularly kicks in the second half of the book, where devil worshipping and the perspective of a Jelly enters the narrative; the end indeed feels like everyone "dance[s] with the devil." It ends up being a much more heartfelt book than expected, and for people who aren't usually into body-horror, this one is quite "mild."
The book follows a couple of people's perspectives as well as a cat, making it like a short story collection. What everyone has in common is the feeling of discontentment, or the lack of fulfillment in life, whether that has to do with romantic relationships, family, and/or work. The theme park is supposed to be at least a temporary solution that unites people together — and it does, but in an unexpected way that lends itself to permanence. The jelly, seemingly a refreshing and sweet snack is a deceptive vehicle that shows that there isn't a shortcut in life that instantly solves your problems. At the same time, the decisiveness of consuming a jelly, once you know the outcome of it, might provide people with some relief that, like the cat says: "It's all right. It's all going to end one day."
I thoroughly enjoyed the book, while certain stories might feel a bit same-ish, the part with the CEO and the cat really tied things together. The bizarre and surreal aspect particularly kicks in the second half of the book, where devil worshipping and the perspective of a Jelly enters the narrative; the end indeed feels like everyone "dance[s] with the devil." It ends up being a much more heartfelt book than expected, and for people who aren't usually into body-horror, this one is quite "mild."
Cannibals by Shinya Tanaka
3.5
"The smell was awful, and, what was worse, it meant home and his father."
A visceral and harrowing tale of the cycle of serial violence, the book follows Toma, a teenager who lives with his abusive father Madoka, and his father's girlfriend, Kotoko. Toma's birth mother lives, Jink0, in a fish shop, having separated from the father a long time ago, and lost her hand during the war. The book starts with a description of Toma's neighborhood, surroundings, and the riverbank nearby: the setting is filthy, with the stench of the sewage inundating the bodies of water — This is not ideal for Toma or anyone, yet, like his home life, it's something he's grown accustomed to.
As we're introduced to Madoka, we learn how unabashedly sadistic he is, and it's the reason why Jinko left — the patriarchal society allows him to continue his wicked deeds, not because they actively condone them, but because it doesn't seem to be their business. Kotoko becomes the father's new outlet of rage, and Toma, who acknowledges his father's abuse and doesn't want to be his doppelganger, fights the urge to let out his toxic masculinity on his girlfriend, Chigusa. The turmoil and highs and lows of Toma's emotions are directly reflected in the surroundings: the diminishing water of the riverbank, the unappealing unagi that somehow converges with Toma's anger and sex drive, the skinny red dog that incessantly barks at everything, and the large striped cat that looks like it has eaten the fish shop.
What I appreciate about this book in particular, is the characterization of the women; they're not typically meek, however they're not a heroine either — they're women living in a sexist society, adapting but enacting their agency at the same time. Jinko's prosthetic hand, which got made at Madoka's request, initially seems helpful. However, it seems that this emotionally and physically weighs her down: it's better to be struggling on your own than to have an extra hand that dictates what kinds of struggles you have.
The content in relation to the title is unexpected and more so metaphorical; its interpretation is more so that certain selfish people consume others' soul with their own depravity, attempting to take the victims' essence and power. Toma does succumb to his dark thoughts, and it becomes a question of how much of his dad's personality is in his genes — or is all his behavior within his control every time? One might have an urge due to one's upbringing, but as his surroundings, which he thinks will "remain unchanged," he will have to make a choice to trudge through the mud and lead his life anew. This novella asks the hard questions through details that are even harder to stomach. I understand that this is not everyone and that some might think this is too graphic, but I think the themes and plot are well executed. I think this could have been a bit longer and some of the character development could have been stronger, but its short and foul stench have been unquestionably made.
A visceral and harrowing tale of the cycle of serial violence, the book follows Toma, a teenager who lives with his abusive father Madoka, and his father's girlfriend, Kotoko. Toma's birth mother lives, Jink0, in a fish shop, having separated from the father a long time ago, and lost her hand during the war. The book starts with a description of Toma's neighborhood, surroundings, and the riverbank nearby: the setting is filthy, with the stench of the sewage inundating the bodies of water — This is not ideal for Toma or anyone, yet, like his home life, it's something he's grown accustomed to.
As we're introduced to Madoka, we learn how unabashedly sadistic he is, and it's the reason why Jinko left — the patriarchal society allows him to continue his wicked deeds, not because they actively condone them, but because it doesn't seem to be their business. Kotoko becomes the father's new outlet of rage, and Toma, who acknowledges his father's abuse and doesn't want to be his doppelganger, fights the urge to let out his toxic masculinity on his girlfriend, Chigusa. The turmoil and highs and lows of Toma's emotions are directly reflected in the surroundings: the diminishing water of the riverbank, the unappealing unagi that somehow converges with Toma's anger and sex drive, the skinny red dog that incessantly barks at everything, and the large striped cat that looks like it has eaten the fish shop.
What I appreciate about this book in particular, is the characterization of the women; they're not typically meek, however they're not a heroine either — they're women living in a sexist society, adapting but enacting their agency at the same time. Jinko's prosthetic hand, which got made at Madoka's request, initially seems helpful. However, it seems that this emotionally and physically weighs her down: it's better to be struggling on your own than to have an extra hand that dictates what kinds of struggles you have.
The content in relation to the title is unexpected and more so metaphorical; its interpretation is more so that certain selfish people consume others' soul with their own depravity, attempting to take the victims' essence and power. Toma does succumb to his dark thoughts, and it becomes a question of how much of his dad's personality is in his genes — or is all his behavior within his control every time? One might have an urge due to one's upbringing, but as his surroundings, which he thinks will "remain unchanged," he will have to make a choice to trudge through the mud and lead his life anew. This novella asks the hard questions through details that are even harder to stomach. I understand that this is not everyone and that some might think this is too graphic, but I think the themes and plot are well executed. I think this could have been a bit longer and some of the character development could have been stronger, but its short and foul stench have been unquestionably made.
The Ungrateful Refugee by Dina Nayeri
3.75
"Writing then, is a repatriation for me, my way toward home."
A super enlightening read on Dina Nayeri's as well as others' experiences of being a refugee, this memoir shows the bitter truth of what it's like to navigate through systems that are actively working against you, and Nayeri is "one of the lucky ones." Despite the provoking and straightforward title, Nayeri's identity is more complex and everchanging, having finally embraced both her American and Iranian upbringing, although eventually feeling a bit alienated toward the latter as she settles into the US with time: "Our story was a sacred thread woven into my identity."
Refugees, particularly people of colour are often seen by Westerners as "taking advantage of the system." There are a set of particular reasons that are viewed as justified in order to seek asylum in western countries, you have to be desperate, eternally grateful, and bow down to every government's whims and desires: ".. if you are born in the Third World and you dare to make a move before you are shattered, your dreams are suspicious." In the US, this superiority is manifested as America being the magical land of dreams realised if you work hard enough, and in Europe, your "story" has to be "purely factual," no emotions and no theatrics are allowed, but at the same time, if you repeat the same stories told by others over and over, the government still raises their eyebrows at you. As an asylum officer in Ter Apel says, they're not looking for reasons to accept a refugee — they're vehemently looking for any loophole, inconsistency, flaw to reject them. Asylum seekers aren't treated as people, and each case to be accepted must be "special" —they must be "specifically targeted:" .. a public pillage isn't about you. You're not a dissident, just an ordinary rape victim."
To be a refugee is to be a storyteller or a writer, and I love how Nayeri overlaps the technical aspects of that with the stories she tells about herself and others. However, this is of course, unfair, as different cultures and languages will have different expressions of one's stories, and Western governments tend to project their own interpretations of happenings that they can't really fathom. One story that stands out to me is Kanbiz Roustayi's, who did everything right, followed the rules, worked hard, and after 9 years of living in the Netherlands, his asylum application got rejected and he set himself on fire. The "waiting" period is what kills people's drive; with no clear purpose, future, no skills being consistently honed, especially as they are much more likely to be exploited and violated: "When you have no rights, everyone has power over you."
Sometimes, I did think that the interweaving of Nayeri's experiences along with others' was a bit confusing too follow; there wasn't a specific structure or narrative set, and other refugee's stories were incorporated in a bit sporadically. But I do feel that this was deliberately done, in a way that mimics Nayeri's conflict with her identity, and struggles to assimilate while standing out just enough to be extraordinary. At some point, Nayeri notices that she starts questioning some refugees' stories the way some people have questioned hers: "Do I really believe [their story]?" Nayeri does acknowledge her privilege and admits the biases she harbors, and she does show her "ungratefulness."
Ultimately, there is no right or wrong way to be a refugee, and you can do everything right while still being stuck in the system for years — it's simply sheer luck that you weren't born in a wartorn country, or to wealthy parents. And Nayeri's memoir is a good reminder of that, told in a mosaic of emotions.
A super enlightening read on Dina Nayeri's as well as others' experiences of being a refugee, this memoir shows the bitter truth of what it's like to navigate through systems that are actively working against you, and Nayeri is "one of the lucky ones." Despite the provoking and straightforward title, Nayeri's identity is more complex and everchanging, having finally embraced both her American and Iranian upbringing, although eventually feeling a bit alienated toward the latter as she settles into the US with time: "Our story was a sacred thread woven into my identity."
Refugees, particularly people of colour are often seen by Westerners as "taking advantage of the system." There are a set of particular reasons that are viewed as justified in order to seek asylum in western countries, you have to be desperate, eternally grateful, and bow down to every government's whims and desires: ".. if you are born in the Third World and you dare to make a move before you are shattered, your dreams are suspicious." In the US, this superiority is manifested as America being the magical land of dreams realised if you work hard enough, and in Europe, your "story" has to be "purely factual," no emotions and no theatrics are allowed, but at the same time, if you repeat the same stories told by others over and over, the government still raises their eyebrows at you. As an asylum officer in Ter Apel says, they're not looking for reasons to accept a refugee — they're vehemently looking for any loophole, inconsistency, flaw to reject them. Asylum seekers aren't treated as people, and each case to be accepted must be "special" —they must be "specifically targeted:" .. a public pillage isn't about you. You're not a dissident, just an ordinary rape victim."
To be a refugee is to be a storyteller or a writer, and I love how Nayeri overlaps the technical aspects of that with the stories she tells about herself and others. However, this is of course, unfair, as different cultures and languages will have different expressions of one's stories, and Western governments tend to project their own interpretations of happenings that they can't really fathom. One story that stands out to me is Kanbiz Roustayi's, who did everything right, followed the rules, worked hard, and after 9 years of living in the Netherlands, his asylum application got rejected and he set himself on fire. The "waiting" period is what kills people's drive; with no clear purpose, future, no skills being consistently honed, especially as they are much more likely to be exploited and violated: "When you have no rights, everyone has power over you."
Sometimes, I did think that the interweaving of Nayeri's experiences along with others' was a bit confusing too follow; there wasn't a specific structure or narrative set, and other refugee's stories were incorporated in a bit sporadically. But I do feel that this was deliberately done, in a way that mimics Nayeri's conflict with her identity, and struggles to assimilate while standing out just enough to be extraordinary. At some point, Nayeri notices that she starts questioning some refugees' stories the way some people have questioned hers: "Do I really believe [their story]?" Nayeri does acknowledge her privilege and admits the biases she harbors, and she does show her "ungratefulness."
Ultimately, there is no right or wrong way to be a refugee, and you can do everything right while still being stuck in the system for years — it's simply sheer luck that you weren't born in a wartorn country, or to wealthy parents. And Nayeri's memoir is a good reminder of that, told in a mosaic of emotions.
Check & Mate by Ali Hazelwood
1.5
"There are two types of players: the artists and the warriors."
I didn't necessarily have high expectations for a YA romance book and just kind of wanted a bit of fun, especially with the chess aspect. But this was so cringe-worthy with the constant pop culture references — the first page is already chock full of it and even though this was released in 2023 it feels like it's on the cusp of aging poorly. It's a typical case of a millennial writing about gen z stuff — and nothing wrong with that of course, but I promise you can still make a book relatable and a fun read if you don't mention TikTok every other page.
I think the romance had absolutely no build up, nor did Nolan and Mallory had chemistry that felt like their attraction to each other and 'romance issues' were earned in any way. It was rife with clichés about miscommunication that were too manufactured for the sake of having a conflict in the plot.
I also think it's kind of wild for Mallory to actually checkmate the world champion of chess — she actually had to announce it for Nolan to realise he lost and he was completely taken aback (as opposed to him resigning like pro chess players usually do when they're in a losing position). A laughably unbelievable scene. Mallory initially is so insecure and has too many "idk what I'm doing" moments after a huge hiatus but keeps winning — there's no build up practice, or steady progression of becoming better. It just feels like her natural talent completely overrides persistence, confidence, and mental fortitude, which doesn't feel deserved at all considering her huge break from the game.
You can tell that the author at least scratched the surface of the chess world: there's the big dogs of the past, sexism still being very present in the sport, the current impact it has online, and the way chess players obsess over their moves. When it comes to the actual games in the book, I think the author never went so in-depth where you can actually truly scrutinize the moves and determine whether they're that "good" or "bad" besides the basic terminology thrown around (which is not the point anyway, and that's fine for a YA book that is not necessarily targeted at chess players). It just seems that Hazelwood looked at iconic games and copied some of them (which she did confirm at the end). But I feel like that this book is so influenced by external factors, including other media like The Queen's Gambit that it doesn't have a life of its own.
Also fuck Sabrina, she was such a little shit.
I didn't necessarily have high expectations for a YA romance book and just kind of wanted a bit of fun, especially with the chess aspect. But this was so cringe-worthy with the constant pop culture references — the first page is already chock full of it and even though this was released in 2023 it feels like it's on the cusp of aging poorly. It's a typical case of a millennial writing about gen z stuff — and nothing wrong with that of course, but I promise you can still make a book relatable and a fun read if you don't mention TikTok every other page.
I think the romance had absolutely no build up, nor did Nolan and Mallory had chemistry that felt like their attraction to each other and 'romance issues' were earned in any way. It was rife with clichés about miscommunication that were too manufactured for the sake of having a conflict in the plot.
I also think it's kind of wild for Mallory to actually checkmate the world champion of chess — she actually had to announce it for Nolan to realise he lost and he was completely taken aback (as opposed to him resigning like pro chess players usually do when they're in a losing position). A laughably unbelievable scene. Mallory initially is so insecure and has too many "idk what I'm doing" moments after a huge hiatus but keeps winning — there's no build up practice, or steady progression of becoming better. It just feels like her natural talent completely overrides persistence, confidence, and mental fortitude, which doesn't feel deserved at all considering her huge break from the game.
You can tell that the author at least scratched the surface of the chess world: there's the big dogs of the past, sexism still being very present in the sport, the current impact it has online, and the way chess players obsess over their moves. When it comes to the actual games in the book, I think the author never went so in-depth where you can actually truly scrutinize the moves and determine whether they're that "good" or "bad" besides the basic terminology thrown around (which is not the point anyway, and that's fine for a YA book that is not necessarily targeted at chess players). It just seems that Hazelwood looked at iconic games and copied some of them (which she did confirm at the end). But I feel like that this book is so influenced by external factors, including other media like The Queen's Gambit that it doesn't have a life of its own.
Also fuck Sabrina, she was such a little shit.
The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice
3.25
"Maybe I was not the exotic outcast that I imagined, but merely the dim magnification of every human soul."
Regardless of the plot, Anne Rice's prose is absolutely mesmerizing and is somehow able to make an ancient, theatre vampire turned rock star into a polemic that somehow resonates with the average person in today's age. But, unlike "Interview with the Vampire," I wasn't really as enthralled with the storyline, especially in the second half. I love the idea of a vampire revealing themselves — a completely blasphemous thing to do for vampires, who are usually solitary — by way of hiding in plain sight. But the story quickly delves into Lestat's past, and while I didn't think it was going to be the main focus at first, I did get invested in it, up to a point.
Lestat, always trying to be righteous and altruistic, eventually pursues his dream of performing at the theatre, alongside his best friend and nihilistic, depressed lover Nicki, a violinist. Their relationship is the most intriguing aspect of this book, since it covers their dissonance that simultaneously sublimates into attraction and love. Rice always has a great appreciation for art, whether journalism, or the theatre, or music, and it shows in the character's conveying their emotions through the medium: "Was [Nicki] deliberately creating these long, pure liquid notes to say that beauty meant nothing because it came from the despair inside him, and it had nothing to do with the despair finally, because the despair wasn't beautiful, and beauty then was a horrid irony?"
Even with Lestat's new "Dark Gift" and vices, he still wishes for his mortal loved ones to triumph in life, and even with his attempt at becoming a villain, he's still an optimistic, light, completely anathema to Nicki: ".. And in exact proportion to the light coming out of you, there was the darkness in me! Every exuberance piercing me and creating its exact proportion of darkness and despair!" Lestat's positivity is jarring to Nicki, especially as Lestat ironically uses his Satanic-like powers for good. It's a good portrayal of someone who struggles to define their identity in their world, and staying with a loved one who's depressed and ready to let the world obliterate him any time.
Lestat's arrival at the new generation of humanity and his joining the rock band is a testament to his love for humanity, and the importance of wanting to leave a legacy behind "I revealed myself. I did the very opposite of deceiving. I wanted somehow in making manifest the monstrosity of myself to be joined with my fellow humans again." Despite always being a part of the underworld due to his very being, Lestat will always want to find a connection with other humans — he's genuinely Not Like Other Vampires™. Unfortunately, the book almost lost me as soon as it introduced me to other vampires, the cult, and even Marius. I was so invested in his and Nicki's relationship, and even the rock band, that it felt like the book just grabbed me by the throat and threatened me to care about the other, "new" characters. And for that, I'm giving it between 3 and 3.5 stars.
Regardless of the plot, Anne Rice's prose is absolutely mesmerizing and is somehow able to make an ancient, theatre vampire turned rock star into a polemic that somehow resonates with the average person in today's age. But, unlike "Interview with the Vampire," I wasn't really as enthralled with the storyline, especially in the second half. I love the idea of a vampire revealing themselves — a completely blasphemous thing to do for vampires, who are usually solitary — by way of hiding in plain sight. But the story quickly delves into Lestat's past, and while I didn't think it was going to be the main focus at first, I did get invested in it, up to a point.
Lestat, always trying to be righteous and altruistic, eventually pursues his dream of performing at the theatre, alongside his best friend and nihilistic, depressed lover Nicki, a violinist. Their relationship is the most intriguing aspect of this book, since it covers their dissonance that simultaneously sublimates into attraction and love. Rice always has a great appreciation for art, whether journalism, or the theatre, or music, and it shows in the character's conveying their emotions through the medium: "Was [Nicki] deliberately creating these long, pure liquid notes to say that beauty meant nothing because it came from the despair inside him, and it had nothing to do with the despair finally, because the despair wasn't beautiful, and beauty then was a horrid irony?"
Even with Lestat's new "Dark Gift" and vices, he still wishes for his mortal loved ones to triumph in life, and even with his attempt at becoming a villain, he's still an optimistic, light, completely anathema to Nicki: ".. And in exact proportion to the light coming out of you, there was the darkness in me! Every exuberance piercing me and creating its exact proportion of darkness and despair!" Lestat's positivity is jarring to Nicki, especially as Lestat ironically uses his Satanic-like powers for good. It's a good portrayal of someone who struggles to define their identity in their world, and staying with a loved one who's depressed and ready to let the world obliterate him any time.
Lestat's arrival at the new generation of humanity and his joining the rock band is a testament to his love for humanity, and the importance of wanting to leave a legacy behind "I revealed myself. I did the very opposite of deceiving. I wanted somehow in making manifest the monstrosity of myself to be joined with my fellow humans again." Despite always being a part of the underworld due to his very being, Lestat will always want to find a connection with other humans — he's genuinely Not Like Other Vampires™. Unfortunately, the book almost lost me as soon as it introduced me to other vampires, the cult, and even Marius. I was so invested in his and Nicki's relationship, and even the rock band, that it felt like the book just grabbed me by the throat and threatened me to care about the other, "new" characters. And for that, I'm giving it between 3 and 3.5 stars.
Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace
2.0
"Destiny has no beeper; destiny always leans trenchcoated out of an alley with some sort of 'psst' that you usually can't even hear because you're in such a rush to or from something important you've tried to engineer."
Finally finished this after 2 months and while I don't regret reading the book, I'm glad to be done with this beast. Infinite Jest is purposely chaotic and incoherent, full of absurd humor, irony and tragedy. Covering a few intertwining plots, the book follows the students at the Enfield Tennis Academy, residents at a rehab program near it, the Incandenza family, and of course, the titular "samizdat" or cartridge that causes its watches to become so addicted to it to they don't want to do anything else in their life.
Underneath the haphazard structure and endless run-on lines, there are several profound thematic connections in regard to drugs and addiction, mental health issues, existential crises and the dark sides of technology and consumerism. But while I admit that there are bits and pieces that resonate with me deeply, the book failed to engage with me on a bigger picture. It's overall more tedious than enlightening, and 1000+ pages of it almost cloud the most interesting passages of it. You can't get any more meta than an encyclopedic novel with hundreds of footnotes, but only the narratives of the Incandenza family sort of stuck with me.
I see the humor in certain passages and I don't think I was able to fully appreciate a lot of aspects about it — although one darkly tragic part that I found funny was Hal thinking something in the microwave smelled delicious, during that one incident. The parts regarding technology and the nature of videocalling, the use of filters (masks) were so prescient and mindblowing to read, especially post-covid times: ".. but it turned out that consumers' instinctively skewed self-perception, plus vanity-related stress, meant that they began preferring and then outright demanding videophone masks that were really quite a lot better-looking than they were themselves in person."
Ultimately, a lot of the struggles the characters deal with boil down to obsession, and while a lot of them feel lonely, some of them really aren't: "It's what we all have in common, this aloneness .. The suffering unites us.". In some characters that translates into an addiction, others suicide or a kind of depression where your own mind becomes a prison: ".. most Substance-addicted people are also addicted to thinking, meaning they have a compulsive and unhealthy relationship with their thinking."
I didn't enjoy around 70% of the book, but the parts I did were quite memorable.
Finally finished this after 2 months and while I don't regret reading the book, I'm glad to be done with this beast. Infinite Jest is purposely chaotic and incoherent, full of absurd humor, irony and tragedy. Covering a few intertwining plots, the book follows the students at the Enfield Tennis Academy, residents at a rehab program near it, the Incandenza family, and of course, the titular "samizdat" or cartridge that causes its watches to become so addicted to it to they don't want to do anything else in their life.
Underneath the haphazard structure and endless run-on lines, there are several profound thematic connections in regard to drugs and addiction, mental health issues, existential crises and the dark sides of technology and consumerism. But while I admit that there are bits and pieces that resonate with me deeply, the book failed to engage with me on a bigger picture. It's overall more tedious than enlightening, and 1000+ pages of it almost cloud the most interesting passages of it. You can't get any more meta than an encyclopedic novel with hundreds of footnotes, but only the narratives of the Incandenza family sort of stuck with me.
I see the humor in certain passages and I don't think I was able to fully appreciate a lot of aspects about it — although one darkly tragic part that I found funny was Hal thinking something in the microwave smelled delicious, during that one incident. The parts regarding technology and the nature of videocalling, the use of filters (masks) were so prescient and mindblowing to read, especially post-covid times: ".. but it turned out that consumers' instinctively skewed self-perception, plus vanity-related stress, meant that they began preferring and then outright demanding videophone masks that were really quite a lot better-looking than they were themselves in person."
Ultimately, a lot of the struggles the characters deal with boil down to obsession, and while a lot of them feel lonely, some of them really aren't: "It's what we all have in common, this aloneness .. The suffering unites us.". In some characters that translates into an addiction, others suicide or a kind of depression where your own mind becomes a prison: ".. most Substance-addicted people are also addicted to thinking, meaning they have a compulsive and unhealthy relationship with their thinking."
I didn't enjoy around 70% of the book, but the parts I did were quite memorable.