This book provided potential areas to inquire about, but I didn't like the writing choices. It seemed more a printing of notecards than a well honed argument. I especially disliked putting so much information into footnotes (~90 pages of text ~100 pages of notes). The purpose was to provide an overview. To check the footnotes as I read would hamper that; To read without checking was to decrease its power to convince.
This is a memoir of a professional life with occasional paragraphs of family life added. Occasionally there are anecdotes that make co-workers come to life as well. Because I was interested in the medical stuff that was okay with me.
There were pandemics I had forgotten about, had never known about, and knew but learned more about. For example I learned how much work on HIV/AIDS had been going on before ACTUP made it a more public thing. The complex relationship among activists and Fauci was interesting and again, more than I had been aware of. I remembered zika and ebola, but only vaguely. And of course SARS-2-COVID. The others were new, partly because they occurred at a time I wasn't taking time for news and partly because they were more quickly contained.
Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
I was amused by a comment Rechy made about the writing of the novel: revised 12+ times to make it appear spontaneous. That reworking created a tight structure in what otherwise could be a string of episodes. Each episode has tension building, building, then resolution, as does the whole. The resolution of the whole is appropriate to the narrator, who is also the main character, the hustler. Rechy creates vivid characters, most of whom readers can care about, even readers who might not normally care about hustlers and their scores.
Symbols and themes are introduced early and carried throughout, along with the narrator's changing reflections on various encounters. (That character through line worked better, i.e., more fully, when I could remember the scene where a character had first appeared.) The wind, dust, child gazing out a window at life, cages, and death functioned in a cumulative way toward the narrator's resolution.
This multigenerational novel begins in 1963 and continues until 2014, with an undated epilogue. With war frequently in the background, the setting shifts among Palestine, Yemen, Jordan, Lebanon, and USA. These changes are mostly signaled by chapter headings: each chapter has a character named as its focus as well as its date. Flashbacks within chapters are mostly signaled clearly. There is a family tree at the beginning in case the reader has to put the book down and forgets relationships, though I didn't need it often. Everyone listed doesn't get a chapter, and gradually two become the main focus, Alia and Atef. Their development and relationship dominates the work even when they are background characters in another character's vignette. Early in the novel the reader is given two questions: What disaster did Salma read in her daughter Alia's coffee grounds? What is the burden Atef carries? Both are resolved satisfactorily. And I found resolutions of their conflicts (within and between) satisfying. The ending is stunning, innovative, believable, and well executed.
I think to say more would give away too much. I highly recommend the novel.
I'll admit that current politics with the threat of eliminating birthright citizenship prompted me to read this title. However, it is all history, albeit fascinating history. Jones does something more like a people's history, going beyond the landmark moments of the Dred Scott verdict and 13-15th Amendments to the churning of ideas in the period before the decision and amendments. She does this with a focus on Baltimore, MD, though events and decisions in other states are occasionally referenced.
She divides the concept of citizenship into its component features (including the right to travel between states, to sue, and to bear witness among others), then does a painstaking survey of court cases showing some parts claimed by/awarded to free Blacks even while others are withheld. She links rights and citizenship and clarifies that free Blacks could have rights in the states and state courts (in some states) while denied them in the country and federal courts. Each feature gets a chapter. Some get interesting stories, others get lists of examples, according to what records exist. Some of the people are mentioned once, others appear off and on through the book. Near the end we learn the fate of those we have come to recognize.
It enlarges awareness of the time and wealth of actions that contribute to changes that we tend to mark in single moments.
I will always wonder how differently I might have felt about the book had I read it in 2016. Now it is colored by some comments about cat ladies and Haitians. The first half reads more quickly than the second; negative anecdotes are more entertaining, unfortunately. The family stories remind me of my grandfather's stories where he always won every fight and got away with every prank. Selectivity at work. I wonder to what extent negative anecdotes are selected to enhance the later success. I'm not saying they didn't happen. And there are occasional glimpses of positive moments, seeming to increase as the book progresses.
I came to the book after reading a critique that it reinforced stereotypes. And it it does reinforce some. There is the tough gun toting or fist fighting defense of honor; there is the welfare queen. While he gives examples of the latter from experience, not family lore, one wonders if it is the phenomenon of remembering the incidents that support one's ideas, for we have learned that statistics don't support the welfare queen image of all food stamp recipients. (In fact he admits his Mamaw doesn't.) On the other hand, his telling of the culture shock of changing from working class to upper and middle class rings true as do his comments about the limits of foster care and the effects of stress on mental health. And though he refers often to "hillbillies" as he discusses poverty (and occasionally throws in "rust belt") he seems to lose sight of common experiences of other white working class folk. He does give occasional statistics and quotations, but often gives only the author's name, and footnotes are rare. His attitudes to people on food stamps and other assistance accord with the claims in Stolen Pride, about the "pride paradox," that Appalachian folk live by a work ethic of hard work producing the American Dream, thus one is responsible for one's successes and failures in spite of external circumstances. While Vance does acknowledge forces beyond people's control, he calls it whining to note them, further reinforcing the individualism rather than breaking out of it..
While Vance is quite proud of his accomplishments, he acknowledges the help he got along the way from Mamaw, teachers, Usha, and others. So there is some limit to his individualism. He gives thoughtful comment on where government can and can't help. I hope he remembers that there are areas where it can.
I will always wonder how differently I might have felt about the book had I read it in 2016. Now it is colored by some comments about cat ladies and Haitians. The first half reads more quickly than the second; negative anecdotes are more entertaining, unfortunately. The family stories remind me of my grandfather's stories where he always won every fight and got away with every prank. Selectivity at work. I wonder to what extent negative anecdotes are selected to enhance the later success. I'm not saying they didn't happen. And there are occasional glimpses of positive moments, seeming to increase as the book progresses.
I came to the book after reading a critique that it reinforced stereotypes. And it it does reinforce some. There is the tough gun toting or fist fighting defense of honor; there is the welfare queen. While he gives examples of the latter from experience, not family lore, one wonders if it is the phenomenon of remembering the incidents that support one's ideas, for we have learned that statistics don't support the welfare queen image of all food stamp recipients. (In fact he admits his Mamaw doesn't.) On the other hand, his telling of the culture shock of changing from working class to upper and middle class rings true as do his comments about the limits of foster care and the effects of stress on mental health. And though he refers often to "hillbillies" as he discusses poverty (and occasionally throws in "rust belt") he seems to lose sight of common experiences of other white working class folk. His attitudes to people on food stamps and other assistance accord with the claims in Stolen Pride, about the "pride paradox," that Appalachian folk live by a work ethic of hard work producing the American Dream, thus one is responsible for one's successes and failures in spite of external circumstances. While Vance does acknowledge forces beyond people's control, he calls it whining to note them, further reinforcing the individualism rather than breaking out of it..
While Vance is quite proud of his accomplishments, he acknowledges the help he got along the way from Mamas, teachers, Usha, and others. So there is some limit to his individualism. He gives thoughtful comment on where government can and can't help.
Rubenstein looks first at the religious attitudes toward nature in Genesis as a basis for later uses of religion as a cover for colonization, then surveys theorists of space travel against those covers. She provides an overview of Indigenous and Afrofuturist thinkers to show that there are other ways to do space study/exploration than the exploitative, commodified way it is trending now. It is a highly readable survey and well footnoted for those wanting more.
I found the most interesting chapters those on whether rocks had rights and where she summarized futuristic visions and applied them to space exploration. Also interesting was her treatment of various creation myths. She frequently repeated this: it doesn't matter if the myth is true or not; what matters is how believing the myth makes one behave. While it sounded convincing in each context where she used it, I begin to wonder how much we can push it. I'll have to ponder.
It would be a good introduction to colonization and futurist studies, but perhaps familiar to those already in the field other than the application to space exploration. Written in 2022, it is timely now given Elon Musk's apparent influence over Trump.
If you are seriously Christian and have never pondered the religious underpinnings of colonialism, this might be upsetting, but essential to grapple with.
I enjoy fiction based on historical people, and that is what this book is. It is also interesting when I recognize area references. It seemed culturally sensitive in its presentation of Native American characters; however, I would like a Native American's opinion on that.