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keegan_leech's reviews
48 reviews
Tender Is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica
In the penultimate chapter Marcos suggests a plan to poison the scavengers who take discarded corpses from the processing plant, and I found myself thinking with some fascination: "However his behaviour might have changed, he's still calculating and capable of incredible callousness." With hindsight, it's obvious that this isn't a defensive tactic or an example of some moral blind spot. This is who Marcos has always been. The people who make the system run smoothly (people like Marcos and Sergio the stunner) are not psychopaths or villains. They're practical ordinary people who don't relish their work, but do it anyway. So what is the value of the revulsion that Marcos does feel, or the small ways in which he does refuse to participate in this system? It is surely not meaningless that he is kind to puppies and avoids eating meat. To what extent is that undone by his continued treatment of other people as disposable property? I like that Bazterrica doesn't offer an answer to these questions. These conflicts are presented and explored in great depth and with a real clarity of purpose. But the reader isn't lead to any obvious answers. I'm certainly going to be mulling over the implications of the novel for a long time.
challenging
dark
reflective
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
Tough to talk about this one without really digging into the ending so spoiler tags ahead. Generally though, an excellent exploration of how societal systems can alienate and dehumanise not just the most obvious victims of those systems, but all who participate in them. A moral erosion that undermines all it touches and which feels (and partially because of this, becomes) inescapable to those within trapped within it. Often a difficult read, and I was glad that Bazterrica avoided didacticism in favour of treating her themes with complexity and nuance.
There are a couple of weaker spots. It is always difficult to judge this kind of thing in translation, but the prose often felt awkward, and occasional elements of the plot just felt out of place. I don't want to judge them harshly, it's certainly possible that through a different lens I would've liked them better, but I am uncertain about elements like the creepy twin children with a shared secret language or the wealthy and ageless Romanian human-hunter who drinks from a red goblet and whose ornate study is conspicuously without sunlight . They just stuck out as much more camp than the rest of the otherwise very sombre and straight-faced writing. Sure, maybe they shouldn't feel out-of-place in a novel about systematised cannibalism, and I don't necessarily think they're thematically inappropriate, but defter writing might have made them feel more natural. Also, the implication that "the government and media" have secretly manufactured a global health emergency as a cover for some authoritarian conspiracy well... after the covid pandemic it just seems kind of stupid. The book was written in 2017, so I don't think Bazterrica is some kind of "plandemic" conspiracy theorist. But an actual pandemic showed the powerful and privileged to be far more incompetent and self-interested than ruthlessly conspiratorial. Absurd theories that the covid pandemic was manufactured, rather than being some kind of dangerous truth suppressed by authoritarian overlords, only granted more leeway to a disinterested system that failed to protect the most vulnerable in society. By comparison, Bazterrica's manufactured health panic seems like shallow cartoon villainy.
Then there's the ending. Whatever the novel's flaws, I think the ending tied an absolutely perfect bow on the whole thing. An effective twist ending reframes all that came before it, and to do so well is an impressive achievement. In this case, killing Jasmine—the woman he's seemingly been treating with greater and greater humanity until this point—reframes Marcos' motivations in a way that only strengthens the themes of the novel. After all this, he still sees her as inhuman and disposable? Well of course! For months he has raped her and treated her as a human pet, unconsenting surrogate, and replacement wife. Even if he treats her better than many others would, he has not been treating her as a person. No matter his reservations about it, Marcos is still a willful participant in a system which treats humans as livestock, and he has come to see this system as the norm.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal cruelty, Animal death, Death, Physical abuse, Blood, Cannibalism, Death of parent, Murder, Pregnancy, and Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Child death, Infertility, Rape, Sexual violence, and Violence
Minor: Slavery, Suicide, and Dementia
Intermezzo by Sally Rooney
challenging
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
Sally Rooney seems to have this ability to entangle and blend together emotions like no one else. It's as though she writes "run-on feelings" which flow into one another and can't be picked apart afterwards. Individual emotional phrases might be simple, in some cases almost cliché, but in a torrent of other emotions, the overall sense is of something more complex and true-to-life.
Haven't we all at some point felt that our emotional turmoil is entirely unique to ourselves, and also that Joni Mitchell has conveniently written it down in words and turned it into a massive international hit? Rooney's writing, in my experience, evokes that same sense of experiencing something simultaneously deeply personal and infinitely relatable. I constantly vacillate when reading her work between "These feelings must be universal, surely everyone has felt this way," and "I never knew this feeling could be described, I never thought anyone else felt like this". Really, it isn't even what her characters feel that makes Rooney's writing so familiar, but the way they feel. They're bundles of a million incompatible impulses and desires, mundane and pretentious and self-destructive and transcendent all at once. (Just like me and you!)
Haven't we all at some point felt that our emotional turmoil is entirely unique to ourselves, and also that Joni Mitchell has conveniently written it down in words and turned it into a massive international hit? Rooney's writing, in my experience, evokes that same sense of experiencing something simultaneously deeply personal and infinitely relatable. I constantly vacillate when reading her work between "These feelings must be universal, surely everyone has felt this way," and "I never knew this feeling could be described, I never thought anyone else felt like this". Really, it isn't even what her characters feel that makes Rooney's writing so familiar, but the way they feel. They're bundles of a million incompatible impulses and desires, mundane and pretentious and self-destructive and transcendent all at once. (Just like me and you!)
This kind of emotional emulsification of confusing and contradictory feelings is in a broader sense how Rooney treats all human relationships. Intermezzo captures this particularly well; one passage, which might as well be the novel's thesis statement, reads:
Life, after all, has not slipped free of its netting. There is no such life, slipping free: life is itself the netting, holding people in place, making sense of things. It is not possible to tear away the constraints and simply carry on a senseless existence. People, other people, make it impossible. But without other people, there would be no life at all. Judgement, reproval, disappointment, conflict: these are the means by which people remain connected to one another.
I find that a moving sentiment, and Intermezzo expresses it far better than I ever could. So go read the book! Entangle yourself in the emotions of others, in life itself.
All the usual impact of Rooney's writing aside, this novel affected me very deeply. I don't know if it was something about myself or my life, if I was just especially receptive to it at the time I picked it up, or if this is just Rooney's best work yet and this is what everyone else must feel too. Whatever the case, it did something to me and I find it impossible to say exactly what. It seems as though the novel has burrowed into me and is rearranging some part of myself that I can't reach. It's going to stay with me a long time, I can tell.
After all my effusive praise for the novel and my own attempts to pick it apart in my head, I find it hard to say why it's felt so personally impactful. Which is not a bad experience, I think.
After all my effusive praise for the novel and my own attempts to pick it apart in my head, I find it hard to say why it's felt so personally impactful. Which is not a bad experience, I think.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Suicidal thoughts and Death of parent
Moderate: Chronic illness
Minor: Drug use and Alcohol
Jollof Rice and Other Revolutions by Omolola Ijeoma Ogunyemi
adventurous
emotional
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
This was great! An interconnected collection of short stories is a difficult thing to write, and it's rare to read even a collection of standalone stories that is consistently this good. Jollof Rice has been one of my favourite reads of the year so far. The characters are well-rounded, the writing is interesting, and the stories are fun. (That's not to say they're entirely lighthearted. The collection covers sombre themes including police brutality and religious intolerance with appropriate gravitas. Though there's a kind of infectious joy that drives the collection as a whole and makes for great reading.)
Not every story is perfect. There's a couple of lackluster ones, but no outright duds. If I had one complaint it would be that the whole thing wasn't long enough. The final story in the collection takes place after a jump in time and suffered from having to cram in a lot of exposition. A few extra stories to fill the intervening time would have given that final one some needed room to breathe. But even where there are rare lulls in the writing, the momentum of the whole collection makes them plenty interesting and worthwhile.
I'll be on the lookout for more of Ogunyemi's work, and I only hope it's as good as this collection. If this is all I get though, I'm grateful for it.
I keep going back to what an impressive feat it is to pull off a collection like this. Connected short stories come with the pressure to include work that is crucial to the narrative but not an author's best writing. And a thematic connection can quickly become boring when repeated across a dozen stories. (On the other hand, trying to broaden the focus too much can make everything less cohesive.) Ogunyemi makes the whole thing seem effortless. The stories cover so many characters, perspectives, arguably even genres that each one is something fresh and new. Characters get a lot more development than an individual story could give them; they have space to be interesting but flawed, compelling and really human. The connections between each story make the whole collection more engrossing and exciting to read. And despite the variation, the standard of quality throughout is exceptionally high. Everything feels like part of a greater whole, and yet stands up well on its own. A really remarkable book.
If you like stories like Taiye Selasi's Ghana Must Go or Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Purple Hibiscus then this is right up your alley, but I'd recommend it to anyone really. It is an absolute blast to read, and goes quickly.
Not every story is perfect. There's a couple of lackluster ones, but no outright duds. If I had one complaint it would be that the whole thing wasn't long enough. The final story in the collection takes place after a jump in time and suffered from having to cram in a lot of exposition. A few extra stories to fill the intervening time would have given that final one some needed room to breathe. But even where there are rare lulls in the writing, the momentum of the whole collection makes them plenty interesting and worthwhile.
I'll be on the lookout for more of Ogunyemi's work, and I only hope it's as good as this collection. If this is all I get though, I'm grateful for it.
I keep going back to what an impressive feat it is to pull off a collection like this. Connected short stories come with the pressure to include work that is crucial to the narrative but not an author's best writing. And a thematic connection can quickly become boring when repeated across a dozen stories. (On the other hand, trying to broaden the focus too much can make everything less cohesive.) Ogunyemi makes the whole thing seem effortless. The stories cover so many characters, perspectives, arguably even genres that each one is something fresh and new. Characters get a lot more development than an individual story could give them; they have space to be interesting but flawed, compelling and really human. The connections between each story make the whole collection more engrossing and exciting to read. And despite the variation, the standard of quality throughout is exceptionally high. Everything feels like part of a greater whole, and yet stands up well on its own. A really remarkable book.
If you like stories like Taiye Selasi's Ghana Must Go or Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Purple Hibiscus then this is right up your alley, but I'd recommend it to anyone really. It is an absolute blast to read, and goes quickly.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Child death, Racism, Xenophobia, and Police brutality
Minor: Drug abuse, Sexual content, Medical content, and Religious bigotry
Misery by Stephen King
dark
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
Overall, a flawed by surprisingly worthwhile novel that seems more relevant than ever. There's a lot to like about it, but a lot of it is also just bad. All of it is very typically Stephen King.
Let's start with what's worst about the book. Top of the list: a pervasive misogyny which is unfortunately a hallmark of King's. In the first few pages there is a very direct rape metaphor which sets a lot of the tone for the book. Annie Wilkes' attempts to revive Paul Sheldon by CPR are presented as a kind of metaphysical sexual assault (with some heavily gendered undertones about the implications of a woman raping a man). It is poorly-thought out, clunky in its execution, clearly intended to shock readers and provoke disgust towards Annie, and comes across as generally rife with misogyny. Not necessarily a deliberate misogyny; it seems instead to be a kind of obliviousness on King's part that might have been avoided by a better writer or a more careful second draft. (Annie, as one of essentially only two characters in the novel, often becomes a stand-in for women in general, but especially for a perception of women who fail to properly perform femininity by being unattractive, controlling, unstable, and insufficiently motherly or nurturing. Whether King was aware of any of this is hard to judge.)
Some of this can be waved away as the preconceptions and prejudices of point-of-view character Paul—a half-decent author who is, of course, a Stephen King-type. Except there is so much about the poor execution of the gendered dynamic between he and Annie that can be laid only at the feet of Stephen King himself. It's the glaring flaw at the heart of the book which undercuts its most interesting themes. Annie Wilkes is a less effective commentary on the nature of controlling fans and toxic parasocial relationships when she is being portrayed as something closer to a cartoon sketch labelled "women sure be crazy!" This isn't the only flaw, but it is the hardest to ignore as being a fault of Paul's. (The sections where "Africa" and mental illness are mentioned in any detail are also tactless, but more easily read as deliberate attempts to portray an author who is somewhat of a hack at the best of times.) It's also hardly the only Stephen King book with this particular flaw.
To my surprise, King seems to have put more of an effort into the ending than is usual for him. The book was perfectly poised to end with the "And then the author got bored and wrapped up this book to start another one" that I've come to expect from his books. Instead it got a tidier ending that did a little more to put a satisfying coda on its themes. That level of effort didn't seem to persist long enough for him to do any very thorough revisions, but I'll take what I can get.
That makes quite a poor basis on which to then recommend a book, and I wouldn't blame anyone for deciding that the complaints above were enough to make up their mind and skip the thing. Despite all that, I think Misery is well worth reading.
The best aspects of the novel are, like its worst aspects, very typically Stephen King. His writing about writing is absorbing. (I think it's no surprise that On Writing is so popular and so widely-quoted.) There's an understanding—expressed through Paul—that King isn't a genius or some kind of once-in a generation talent, but that beyond a certain point his skill matters less than the actual process of storytelling. More than anything else, the heart of the novel is a feeling that stories have a kind of inexplicable force to them that can animate and compel people beyond what reason would suggest. Paul is, even at his lowest and most pitiful, animated by the process of writing; Annie is equally compelled by stories despite (or to the point of) completely disregarding the humanity of the person telling them. This isn't because the stories are especially good, but because the process of storytelling itself is compelling. Like surfing a wave, there is a kind of precarious equilibrium which makes the whole activity thrilling, which drives the surfer forward with an energy which seems external and almost uncontrollable. In Misery, Stephen King conjures that feeling, both in his writing about writing, and in the experience of reading the novel. It is so easy despite all it's flaws to pick up Misery and just read. The novel moves quickly and sustains itself with a tension and intensity that is surprising considering how simple the premise is.
Finally, there are the other thematic elements. As I'm writing this , Chappell Roan has become just the latest face of a discussion about toxic fandom, entitlement, and celebrity culture. For all its failings, Misery as an exploration of toxic parasocial relationships and obsessive fandom is startlingly relevant. It's a shame that Annie Wilkes is so often depicted as a "crazy woman" in a way that undermines the gendered dynamics that drive so much real world harassment of public figures. It's not a perfect book, and I don't want to heap undeserved praise on King here, but it is insightful and interesting beyond anything he seems to have envisioned for it. There's even elements of the novel that could be read in the context of online "media literacy discourse" (for want of a better phrase).
There's a sense that, despite Misery being so quintessentially A Stephen King Book, King himself was never in control or even really aware of where the novel went as he wrote it. He's too shortsighted to stop his prejudices from creeping in, and couldn't have predicted how its thematic relevance would only deepen with time. It is as if (to paraphrase Misery's own description of the writing process) King simply fell into the paper in front of him and emerged to find a completed novel in its place. In the best of circumstances, reading Misery is like falling into that page yourself. I recommend the experience.
Let's start with what's worst about the book. Top of the list: a pervasive misogyny which is unfortunately a hallmark of King's. In the first few pages there is a very direct rape metaphor which sets a lot of the tone for the book. Annie Wilkes' attempts to revive Paul Sheldon by CPR are presented as a kind of metaphysical sexual assault (with some heavily gendered undertones about the implications of a woman raping a man). It is poorly-thought out, clunky in its execution, clearly intended to shock readers and provoke disgust towards Annie, and comes across as generally rife with misogyny. Not necessarily a deliberate misogyny; it seems instead to be a kind of obliviousness on King's part that might have been avoided by a better writer or a more careful second draft. (Annie, as one of essentially only two characters in the novel, often becomes a stand-in for women in general, but especially for a perception of women who fail to properly perform femininity by being unattractive, controlling, unstable, and insufficiently motherly or nurturing. Whether King was aware of any of this is hard to judge.)
Some of this can be waved away as the preconceptions and prejudices of point-of-view character Paul—a half-decent author who is, of course, a Stephen King-type. Except there is so much about the poor execution of the gendered dynamic between he and Annie that can be laid only at the feet of Stephen King himself. It's the glaring flaw at the heart of the book which undercuts its most interesting themes. Annie Wilkes is a less effective commentary on the nature of controlling fans and toxic parasocial relationships when she is being portrayed as something closer to a cartoon sketch labelled "women sure be crazy!" This isn't the only flaw, but it is the hardest to ignore as being a fault of Paul's. (The sections where "Africa" and mental illness are mentioned in any detail are also tactless, but more easily read as deliberate attempts to portray an author who is somewhat of a hack at the best of times.) It's also hardly the only Stephen King book with this particular flaw.
To my surprise, King seems to have put more of an effort into the ending than is usual for him. The book was perfectly poised to end with the "And then the author got bored and wrapped up this book to start another one" that I've come to expect from his books. Instead it got a tidier ending that did a little more to put a satisfying coda on its themes. That level of effort didn't seem to persist long enough for him to do any very thorough revisions, but I'll take what I can get.
That makes quite a poor basis on which to then recommend a book, and I wouldn't blame anyone for deciding that the complaints above were enough to make up their mind and skip the thing. Despite all that, I think Misery is well worth reading.
The best aspects of the novel are, like its worst aspects, very typically Stephen King. His writing about writing is absorbing. (I think it's no surprise that On Writing is so popular and so widely-quoted.) There's an understanding—expressed through Paul—that King isn't a genius or some kind of once-in a generation talent, but that beyond a certain point his skill matters less than the actual process of storytelling. More than anything else, the heart of the novel is a feeling that stories have a kind of inexplicable force to them that can animate and compel people beyond what reason would suggest. Paul is, even at his lowest and most pitiful, animated by the process of writing; Annie is equally compelled by stories despite (or to the point of) completely disregarding the humanity of the person telling them. This isn't because the stories are especially good, but because the process of storytelling itself is compelling. Like surfing a wave, there is a kind of precarious equilibrium which makes the whole activity thrilling, which drives the surfer forward with an energy which seems external and almost uncontrollable. In Misery, Stephen King conjures that feeling, both in his writing about writing, and in the experience of reading the novel. It is so easy despite all it's flaws to pick up Misery and just read. The novel moves quickly and sustains itself with a tension and intensity that is surprising considering how simple the premise is.
Finally, there are the other thematic elements. As I'm writing this , Chappell Roan has become just the latest face of a discussion about toxic fandom, entitlement, and celebrity culture. For all its failings, Misery as an exploration of toxic parasocial relationships and obsessive fandom is startlingly relevant. It's a shame that Annie Wilkes is so often depicted as a "crazy woman" in a way that undermines the gendered dynamics that drive so much real world harassment of public figures. It's not a perfect book, and I don't want to heap undeserved praise on King here, but it is insightful and interesting beyond anything he seems to have envisioned for it. There's even elements of the novel that could be read in the context of online "media literacy discourse" (for want of a better phrase).
There's a sense that, despite Misery being so quintessentially A Stephen King Book, King himself was never in control or even really aware of where the novel went as he wrote it. He's too shortsighted to stop his prejudices from creeping in, and couldn't have predicted how its thematic relevance would only deepen with time. It is as if (to paraphrase Misery's own description of the writing process) King simply fell into the paper in front of him and emerged to find a completed novel in its place. In the best of circumstances, reading Misery is like falling into that page yourself. I recommend the experience.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Ableism, Addiction, Drug use, Emotional abuse, Mental illness, Medical content, Car accident, Murder, Schizophrenia/Psychosis , Fire/Fire injury, Gaslighting, and Injury/Injury detail
Moderate: Alcoholism, Rape, Sexual violence, Torture, and Vomit
Minor: Racism
Planta Sapiens: Unmasking Plant Intelligence by Natalie Lawrence, Paco Calvo
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
1.25
Unfortunately, this is that most irritating of pop science books. It is vapid and thin on content.
Going into Planta Sapiens, Paco Calvo encourages readers to set aside their doubts. "What you read here will be a challenge to anyone's preconceptions. So try to let them go, begin with an open mind and follow the path the evidence is building for us", he says. I thought to myself that this would be no problem. I am not a skeptic or resistant to the ideas the book promises to present. I sought it out, and I know little about them going in. My mind is open, bring on that evidence baby!
How disappointed I was by the absolutely meagre "evidence" presented. By page count, the greatest volume Planta Sapiens is anecdotes and asides that in a better book would used occasionally to illustrate or explain some point, but there is so little to explain. It's all filler.
Ironically, I came away from the book feeling that Calvo had done a better job explaining the positions of his critics, because they are laid out briefly and straightforwardly. As for Calvo's own arguments, the material in Planta Sapiens could essentially be condensed down into an (admittedly lengthy) introduction to a better book. He is not particularly interested in describing in detail how plants grow, respond to stimuli, and interact with their environment. The book gives many examples of these, but then simply moves on. It always felt as though there were something missing. Early on, I just thought that more complex, detailed information would be presented in later chapters, that Calvo was easing the skeptics in gently, but at some point it became clear that this was the entire book.
The final chapter does offer slightly more interesting fodder. It stood out to me for presenting more challenging thoughts about what plant consciousness implies for humans. Why it is important to consider and explore the idea of plant consciousness at all, and how we should let these ideas change our actions and our outlook. Unfortunately, it was too little and came too late. That's even when we set aside that, having given so unconvincing an argument for plant consciousness over the preceding pages, Calvo is begging the question by now telling us how it should change our outlook.
If this book were condensed to the length of a magazine article, it would be a worthwhile read. A glimpse into a subject and topic that is both fascinating and likely novel to most readers. But that's all this is, a glimpse. It isn't worth 200 pages just for that.
Going into Planta Sapiens, Paco Calvo encourages readers to set aside their doubts. "What you read here will be a challenge to anyone's preconceptions. So try to let them go, begin with an open mind and follow the path the evidence is building for us", he says. I thought to myself that this would be no problem. I am not a skeptic or resistant to the ideas the book promises to present. I sought it out, and I know little about them going in. My mind is open, bring on that evidence baby!
How disappointed I was by the absolutely meagre "evidence" presented. By page count, the greatest volume Planta Sapiens is anecdotes and asides that in a better book would used occasionally to illustrate or explain some point, but there is so little to explain. It's all filler.
Ironically, I came away from the book feeling that Calvo had done a better job explaining the positions of his critics, because they are laid out briefly and straightforwardly. As for Calvo's own arguments, the material in Planta Sapiens could essentially be condensed down into an (admittedly lengthy) introduction to a better book. He is not particularly interested in describing in detail how plants grow, respond to stimuli, and interact with their environment. The book gives many examples of these, but then simply moves on. It always felt as though there were something missing. Early on, I just thought that more complex, detailed information would be presented in later chapters, that Calvo was easing the skeptics in gently, but at some point it became clear that this was the entire book.
The final chapter does offer slightly more interesting fodder. It stood out to me for presenting more challenging thoughts about what plant consciousness implies for humans. Why it is important to consider and explore the idea of plant consciousness at all, and how we should let these ideas change our actions and our outlook. Unfortunately, it was too little and came too late. That's even when we set aside that, having given so unconvincing an argument for plant consciousness over the preceding pages, Calvo is begging the question by now telling us how it should change our outlook.
If this book were condensed to the length of a magazine article, it would be a worthwhile read. A glimpse into a subject and topic that is both fascinating and likely novel to most readers. But that's all this is, a glimpse. It isn't worth 200 pages just for that.
Strangers I Know by Claudia Durastanti
emotional
informative
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
What a fascinating book. A quote from the afterword:
"Genre, in the end is just a game of possibilities and clues; it takes only a little misstep to slip out of a novel, to fall into an autobiography and resurface again in an essay, all in the short span of a sentence."
The whole book feels like exactly that. I didn't realise going in just how much of this "novel" was actually memoir, though I suspected that much of it was drawn from life. And so much of it is drawn from elsewhere. At times I felt like I was reading an academic essay on literature or philosophy, before the book slipped into what felt like fable, memoir, or idle train-of-thought. Even the references felt anarchic and eclectic. Durastanti makes reference to everything from Nautilus magazine to Beverly Hills, 90210. Bob Dylan is mentioned, and so is the controversy over his 2016 Nobel prize win.
The closest comparison I could make (very favourably) was to the writing of Patti Smith. Especially her memoirs, which can also seem at once like impossibly normal banal diary entries, bizarre modern fables, and literary musings. It's fitting that Smith too is mentioned in the book.
It's such a strange, wonderful experiment that I can't help but love it (how could I dislike any book that includes a list of influences strange enough to encompass Ursula Le Guin, Leonard Cohen, Luc Besson's Léon, and Remedy Entertainment's Max Payne). I'm sure the oddness of the novel will put some off, but if you too love experimental writing, you couldn't hope for anything better.
Oh and thematically it is an absolute tour de force. I gather Durastanti was very disappointed at the novel's (necessary) change in title in translation, but Strangers I Know is a wonderful promise of exactly what's to come in the book. Love, language, communication and community, the bizarre and horrible and wonderful experience of trying to understand another.
I'll definitely be rereading this in future, and maybe next time I will follow the original plan for the novel, and read it out of order, picking sections as I'm drawn to them.
The whole book feels like exactly that. I didn't realise going in just how much of this "novel" was actually memoir, though I suspected that much of it was drawn from life. And so much of it is drawn from elsewhere. At times I felt like I was reading an academic essay on literature or philosophy, before the book slipped into what felt like fable, memoir, or idle train-of-thought. Even the references felt anarchic and eclectic. Durastanti makes reference to everything from Nautilus magazine to Beverly Hills, 90210. Bob Dylan is mentioned, and so is the controversy over his 2016 Nobel prize win.
The closest comparison I could make (very favourably) was to the writing of Patti Smith. Especially her memoirs, which can also seem at once like impossibly normal banal diary entries, bizarre modern fables, and literary musings. It's fitting that Smith too is mentioned in the book.
It's such a strange, wonderful experiment that I can't help but love it (how could I dislike any book that includes a list of influences strange enough to encompass Ursula Le Guin, Leonard Cohen, Luc Besson's Léon, and Remedy Entertainment's Max Payne). I'm sure the oddness of the novel will put some off, but if you too love experimental writing, you couldn't hope for anything better.
Oh and thematically it is an absolute tour de force. I gather Durastanti was very disappointed at the novel's (necessary) change in title in translation, but Strangers I Know is a wonderful promise of exactly what's to come in the book. Love, language, communication and community, the bizarre and horrible and wonderful experience of trying to understand another.
I'll definitely be rereading this in future, and maybe next time I will follow the original plan for the novel, and read it out of order, picking sections as I'm drawn to them.
Content Warnings
Minor: Ableism, Addiction, Alcoholism, Suicidal thoughts, Kidnapping, Death of parent, Gaslighting, and Classism
Abolishing Surveillance: Digital Media Activism and State Repression by Chris Robé
challenging
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
3.75
Not quite what it promises on the tin, but very interesting nonetheless. A more accurate title might be Four Case Studies in Digital Media Activism. Surveillance and state repression certainly feature (the latter more prominently than the former) but it is the differences of context and approach in the various examples of digital activism that are the real focus of the book.
Robé takes almost a film critic's approach to his subject. He often approaches activist video with an eye towards its cinematic technique, and explicitly draws on Third Cinema to comment on, for example, copwatching videos filmed on the streets by activists with smartphones. It's a fascinating approach that prioritises the practicalities of digital media activism. Which messages does a particular framing amplify, which does it undercut, when are activists forced to use particular methods, when can they alter their approach, and how does digital media activism complicate interactions between activists and the state? These are the kinds of questions at the centre of the book. They make for an especially unique perspective on activism in the modern day.
Despite the broad range of activist causes and approaches that Robé discusses in his case studies, his tight focus on video in particular and the further tightening in on the cinematic techniques of activist video make for a very close look at the book's chosen topics. I would have appreciated a broader view (or perhaps, as I suggested earlier, my expectations would simply have been more appropriate with a change as simple as a different title).
The book was well-written though, barring a few moments where I felt like Robé was re-treading ground that had already been covered. A great deal of research has gone into the four case studies covered, and Robé's subjects are always treated with an intimacy and depth that must have taken many hours of exaustive interviews and context-building research. For this quality of the writing alone, I feel the book will have a broader appeal than it's focus on activist video might otherwise give it. But for those involved in modern activism (and particularly digital activism), it will be an invaluable read.
Robé takes almost a film critic's approach to his subject. He often approaches activist video with an eye towards its cinematic technique, and explicitly draws on Third Cinema to comment on, for example, copwatching videos filmed on the streets by activists with smartphones. It's a fascinating approach that prioritises the practicalities of digital media activism. Which messages does a particular framing amplify, which does it undercut, when are activists forced to use particular methods, when can they alter their approach, and how does digital media activism complicate interactions between activists and the state? These are the kinds of questions at the centre of the book. They make for an especially unique perspective on activism in the modern day.
Despite the broad range of activist causes and approaches that Robé discusses in his case studies, his tight focus on video in particular and the further tightening in on the cinematic techniques of activist video make for a very close look at the book's chosen topics. I would have appreciated a broader view (or perhaps, as I suggested earlier, my expectations would simply have been more appropriate with a change as simple as a different title).
The book was well-written though, barring a few moments where I felt like Robé was re-treading ground that had already been covered. A great deal of research has gone into the four case studies covered, and Robé's subjects are always treated with an intimacy and depth that must have taken many hours of exaustive interviews and context-building research. For this quality of the writing alone, I feel the book will have a broader appeal than it's focus on activist video might otherwise give it. But for those involved in modern activism (and particularly digital activism), it will be an invaluable read.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal cruelty, Animal death, Racism, and Police brutality
I found the chapter on animal rights activism to be the most graphic. Repeated descriptions of animal cruelty which include quite sensory details (sounds, smells, and other emotive details). Other chapters deal with police brutality and racism, without much graphic detail. Though descriptions of some incidents, like the murder of George Floyd, are more graphic.
Poverty in South Africa: Past and Present by Colin Bundy
informative
fast-paced
5.0
From what I've read of them, I really like these Jacana pocket books. Excellent, easily-digestible history and politics books that nonetheless manage to cover a very broad scope. In this case, not just a very broad history of poverty in South Africa, but a look at how particular political and economic decisions have shaped the landscape of poverty today, and what that means for our political future.
I would love to see a post-COVID, updated version of this book. I get the feeling that the Ramaphosa presidency and the pandemic would provide a lot of additional material for an update. Until I find that update though, this is a bite-sized must-read for anyone interested in the modern political and economic landscape of SA.
I would love to see a post-COVID, updated version of this book. I get the feeling that the Ramaphosa presidency and the pandemic would provide a lot of additional material for an update. Until I find that update though, this is a bite-sized must-read for anyone interested in the modern political and economic landscape of SA.
The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate by Peter Wohlleben
informative
lighthearted
reflective
medium-paced
2.5
I found this a little disconnected and disappointing. It was interesting enough, but felt as though the chapters could have been shuffled and presented in any order. Perhaps it would have been more enjoyable to read if presented as a collection of essays, but as far as books go, there is certainly much more compelling writing on the topic available.
October: The Story of the Russian Revolution by China Miéville
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
reflective
tense
medium-paced
5.0
An absolute standout work of historical writing. Miéville has the most remarkable ability to communicate both the minutiae and the milestones of history with the same thrilling enthusiasm.
The introduction to the book is a perfect example. It sweeps through the entire history of St Petersburg, and with it all of Russia. Miéville covers hundreds of years all without losing sight of small details. Characters and political factions who will remain relevant all the way to the glossary are introduced and developed with a eye to both their personal characters and motivations, and the role they'll play in the grand narrative of history. Amusing anecdotes, small milestones, digressions into historical minutiae all build together into the beginnings of a narrative that, by the time the first chapter arrives, already feels primed to explode in a dozen different directions at once. There are so many moving parts, characters and groups and political ideologies, all jostling to be heard above the din of history and Miéville does an excellent job of giving them all their moment.
The sheer number of things going on, and characters involved can sometimes make for a very dense narrative. I recommend making frequent use of the glossary of important characters and, where that doesn't suffice, using the index or outside sources to frequently remind yourself of who all the important parties are. However, the breathless emotional undercurrent which drives the book makes it infectiously readable. It is very easy to feel engrossed in even seemingly banal details of bureaucratic hair-splitting, letter-writing, and endless committees and proclamations.
This is a (very well narrated) story of one of the most interesting moments in political history, and any writer would be hard-pressed to explore it with the nuance and infectious vitality that Miéville brings to its events. October is a must-read for anyone even vaguely interested not just in the October revolution, but in the chaotic and lively workings of history and politics in general.
The introduction to the book is a perfect example. It sweeps through the entire history of St Petersburg, and with it all of Russia. Miéville covers hundreds of years all without losing sight of small details. Characters and political factions who will remain relevant all the way to the glossary are introduced and developed with a eye to both their personal characters and motivations, and the role they'll play in the grand narrative of history. Amusing anecdotes, small milestones, digressions into historical minutiae all build together into the beginnings of a narrative that, by the time the first chapter arrives, already feels primed to explode in a dozen different directions at once. There are so many moving parts, characters and groups and political ideologies, all jostling to be heard above the din of history and Miéville does an excellent job of giving them all their moment.
The sheer number of things going on, and characters involved can sometimes make for a very dense narrative. I recommend making frequent use of the glossary of important characters and, where that doesn't suffice, using the index or outside sources to frequently remind yourself of who all the important parties are. However, the breathless emotional undercurrent which drives the book makes it infectiously readable. It is very easy to feel engrossed in even seemingly banal details of bureaucratic hair-splitting, letter-writing, and endless committees and proclamations.
This is a (very well narrated) story of one of the most interesting moments in political history, and any writer would be hard-pressed to explore it with the nuance and infectious vitality that Miéville brings to its events. October is a must-read for anyone even vaguely interested not just in the October revolution, but in the chaotic and lively workings of history and politics in general.
Content Warnings
Minor: Genocide, Suicide, Violence, Antisemitism, Religious bigotry, Murder, War, and Classism
It feels wrong to tag this with "classism" but I guess it's accurate?
It's a revolution that took place in the midst of war and famine. There are no gory details, but plenty of the expected violence, suffering, and death is mentioned.