This is a cute and honest novel about that difficult and thrilling first love, one that doesn't get any easier when, well, you aren't straight and areThis is a cute and honest novel about that difficult and thrilling first love, one that doesn't get any easier when, well, you aren't straight and aren't out to the rest of the world.
Leila would also prefer not to advertise her sexual preferences. All she wants is to make it through high school and then move far away, to a place where she can live out who she is in peace. But then there's Saskia. The new gorgeous girl in school who, miraculously, takes in interest in Leila. And suddenly staying under the radar isn't so easy after all.
Saskia is funny, intelligent, daring, beautiful and interesting. And she understands Leila. Understands what it's like to carry two different cultures with you. Leila is an outsider in many ways, but Saskia makes her feel included.
At the same time Leila tries to manage her friendships, and figure out who she is and what she's willing to sacrifice and dare in the name of love.
It's a really sweet story, that takes a few turns, and doesn't end exactly how I thought it would. Because romance isn't easy, and who you want and who you need might turn out to be two vastly different people.
I was moved by Farizans honesty and warmth. She handles Leila's story with grace and humour and warmth, and creates some compelling and lovable characters. I thoroughly enjoyed watching Leila fall in love, fail, succeed and find a little peace for herself. It's not perfect, but it's a lovely little universe to disappear into. And there can never be enough stories of girls falling in love with girls. ...more
Before I started reading I had no idea what it was about. Except something about a bisexual main character and magic, whI fell for this book so hard.
Before I started reading I had no idea what it was about. Except something about a bisexual main character and magic, which, honestly, was all I needed.
This book is way more than that.
Alex comes from a long line of brujas. Her mother does magic, her sisters do magic, and she herself is the most powerful witch in generations. Only problem is Alex hates her magic. So when her deathday arrives and she's supposed to accept the blessing of her ancestors, she instead tries to get rid of her magic forever.
It doesn't go well. And her whole family is sent down into Los Lagos, an in-between world of magic, shadow, and death.
She's left with Nova, a suspicious brujo boy, but the only one who knows how to find her family. Together they travel, like a modern day Dante and Vergil, down into Los Lagos. However, something, or someone, is after Alex and the power she possesses, and Los Lagos is much more than just a legend. It's a living place with its own magic, and inhabited by creatures who don't wish many well.
In some ways it's a pretty straight forward book about your regular old journey into the underworld, but it's also Alex' journey of self-discovery. She might loathe her magic and what its done, but its also the only thing she has that might ensure her survival, so in order to free her family, she has to accept the part of herself that sent them here in the first place.
It's a fucking rad book. I love the magic, and the myths and legends it's all built around, and the fact that it's latin american inspired is such a breath of fresh air.
The story itself might sound a little banal or well-worn, but the way its delivered drives it home one-hundred percent. I didn't doubt the narrative or second-guess it a single time. Alex and her struggles felt real, mostly because she acted and felt in a way that felt real. Córdova doesn't make any of the mistakes I so often see in YA. She treats her main character with a lot of respect and consideration and that was so great.
I loved Nova and Rishi, Alex best friend, as well, and their dynamic. I wish there had been more character development for Rishi, but since this is only the first in a series I forgive it. There's plenty of time.
I absolutely adored Alex' family too, but I love all kind and tender portrayals of family. The love they have for each other, and the way it was insisted upon, was fantastic. This is, very much, a story of family, of inheritance and ancestry, and of accepting the things you have been given by your blood. For good or bad. It might be a blessing or a curse, often it's both.
And I appreciated that this is magic that comes with a price. It isn't freely given, but comes at a price. How you use it will have consequences that might last longer than you expect. I like that. I like that in all my magic. Because it is a force in the world, if it exists, and using it will have to take a toll. It will have to matter in the balance of things.
Labyrinth Lost is a brilliant book that I feel instantly in love with. And the ending left me wanting so many answers. The next one can't come soon enough....more
Someday, Adam Silvera, someday you'll write me a book that doesn't punch my heart to bleeding bits, and on that day I'll send you a dollar and a hand Someday, Adam Silvera, someday you'll write me a book that doesn't punch my heart to bleeding bits, and on that day I'll send you a dollar and a hand drawn card and say thank you. For that story and for this one too.
It did break my little heart, although not in the beginning, which was surprising.
By the end, however, it had me in the palm of its grief-stricken, tear-soaked hand. This is not a book I'll easily forget.
Griffin has lost the love of his life. Or at least that's how it was supposed to work out. He and Theo were best friends, then they dated, then they broke up, then Theo found someone new, but he and Griffin were someday gonna get back together. No matter what, they were endgame.
Then Theo dies.
And Griffin's world implodes. Suddenly he finds himself in a pitch black hole of despair, and the one person, who might understand what he's going through is the last person on earth he wants to talk to: Theo's new boyfriend, Jackson. And yet they gravitate towards each other, because they might just be the other's best bet at healing - or at least remembering the history of Theo right. And that's all they have left. History.
It's told in in alternating chapters, some with Griffin remembering and retelling the past, when Theo and him were dating and then not dating, and some with Griffin describing the Theo-less present of grief and coping badly.
Most of the novel is adresse to Theo, as Griffin imagines he's out there listening. This doesn't make him a very reliable narrator, but he doesn't have to be. This is, after all, not really Theo's story. It's Griffin's. It's his confrontation with the past, and the ghost of Theo. Someday he might be able to leave Theo behind, but there are things that need to be said first. Secrets Griffin isn't yet ready to spill.
But the more Griffin and Jackson remember Theo, the further through grief they go, the closer to the truth they get. And it might be more than any of them can bear.
All the while Griffin isn't just struggling with grief, he's also struggling with growing OCD, and being caught in his own head. The hardest part, right after the knowledge that Theo is no longer in the world, is accepting that there are some things you can't very well do on your own. Such as move on from grief, or fight your own head. I loved the portrayal of his OCD, it was incredibly realistic (and is apparently based on Silveras own experiences), and gave a very thoughtful and nuanced look at something a lot of us have either misunderstood or simply don't get.
In the end, perhaps this might be a book about needing other people, and learning to accept what they have to give. However painful or unwelcome it might be.
And it's about love, of course. And losing love. About falling into the deep end of grief, and fighting your way back out. About accepting the past and the pain of moving on.
Because even when the person you thought you were going to spend your life with dies, there might still be enough love out there to make surviving the darkness and the pain worth it....more
En velskrevet og virkelig vel researchet episk fantasy roman, hvor plottet dog trækker ud indimellem. Den slipper heller ikke helt fri for de klassiskEn velskrevet og virkelig vel researchet episk fantasy roman, hvor plottet dog trækker ud indimellem. Den slipper heller ikke helt fri for de klassiske YA-fantasy klicheer, og det gjorde den også lidt træg at læse til tider. Men den er faktisk virkelig velformet og Malene Sølvsten har et fantastisk øje for detaljer, der gør at den verden, hun har skabt, føles ufattelig helstøbt og sammenhængende. Nogle af informationerne om den nordiske mytologi, de forskellige karakterers magiske kræfter og evner, og de forskellige verdener, der viser sig at eksistere, kunne godt have ventet til den næste bog. Så der havde været lidt mere tid til at skabe spænding og eskalere truslen mod Anne og hendes venner inden klimakset kommer og så lige så hurtigt er overstået.
Jeg er rigtig glad for, jeg endelig fik den læst, og tænker da også jeg skal læse fortsættelsen. Forhåbentlig sker der lidt mere, nu hvor Sølvsten virkelig har fået skrevet sig i gang.
"You are a weapon meant to move mountains. A mere walk can't take that out of you."
Der er fantasy, der føles bekendt, der bruger troper og ideer som d"You are a weapon meant to move mountains. A mere walk can't take that out of you."
Der er fantasy, der føles bekendt, der bruger troper og ideer som du kender og elsker. Og så er der fantasy, der bryder grænserne for, hvad fantasy kan være.
The Fifth Season tilhører den sidste kategori. Det er en svimlende, imponerende og omfattende roman, der tør berøre dybder af menneskelig modstandskraft og grusomhed på en måde, så det sætter sig i kroppen. Det er en roman, der er gennemsyret af undertrykkelse: de tre kvinder vi følger gennemlever alle en umenneskeliggørelse.
Alle tre er orogenes, og har evnen til at manipulere med jordens materialer, de kan forårsage jordskælv og vulkanudbrud - eller forhindre dem i at opstå. De besidder enorm magt og er af samme grund frygtet som intet andet. De ses som unaturlige, monstre, ikke-mennesker. De jages vildt, medmindre de reddes af The Fulcrum, hvor de kan oplæres og begynde at tjene befolkningen.
Damaya er heldig (eller er hun? indimellem er døden en særlig nåde) og bliver indlemmet i The Fulcrum. Her lærer hun at forstå, hvad hun er, og hvilken position det placerer hende i. Syenite gennemlever realiteten af at have gennemgået træning hos The Fulcrum. Med sine evner under kontrol udnyttes hun nu af det system, der har reddet hende fra døden, og hun indser langsomt og en smule modvilligt (hvem har lyst til at indrømme, de er blevet underkastede?), hvor umenneskeligt et system det er, og hvor let det har lært hende at frasige hendes egen værdi. Og så er der Essun. Hvis søn er blevet banket ihjel af hendes mand, for at besidde samme kræfter som Essun. En søn, myrdet for at kunne tale med jorden og bevæge selve verdens indre. Hendes hævntogt udvikler sig snart til andet og mere end blot en rejse mod forløsning, for i samme øjeblik opstår et gigantisk jordskælv, der flækker hele jorden - og verden begynder at gå under.
"'But each of us is just another weapon, to them. Just a useful monster, just a bit of new blood to add to the breeding lines.'"
Det er en af de mest ubehagelige og samtidigt mest fortrinlige romaner, jeg nogensinde har læst. Jeg var ofte nødt til at stoppe med at læse et øjeblik og blotte trække vejret. Jemisin er nådesløs i sin portrættering af umenneskeliggørelse, uretfærdighed og den vold, det er så let at udøve mod dem, vi ser som værende under os. Der er en helt ekstrem brutalitet hele vejen igennem.
Det er passende i en roman, hvor ikke kun mennesker kæmper mod mennesker, men hvor de samtidig trues af konstante apokalyptiske naturkatastrofer, såkaldte fifth seasons. Det er en sådan verden rammes af, da romanen starter. I dette apokalyptiske landskab, i en verden på kanten af ruin og udryddelse, der kæmper enkelte individer først for sig selv, og senere for at noget nyt kan opstå af asken.
Det er muligvis en brutal roman, men den er også fyldt med håb. Med troen på, at slutningen på én historie blot er starten på en ny, og at en verden i ruiner er en verden der kan genopbygges. Måske endda bedre og mere lige end før. Men først må den gamle verden forgå, og dem, vi har mistet, må hævnes.
The Fifth Season er en ufattelig roman. En af de bedste jeg nogensinde har læst. Ikke blot fordi den tør gå derud, hvor den gør, men fordi Jemisin skriver med en indlevelse, der er både empatisk og urokkelig. Hun fanger grusomheden, men også blidheden og den uendelige kærlighed, der findes i mennesket. Hun beskriver præcist og med næsten ubærlig præcision den smerte og det overgreb det er at miste sin værdi som person, at blive reduceret til at være et redskab, et våben. Jemisins karakterer besidder en realisme, det ikke altid lykkes forfattere i denne genre at gengive, og slet ikke i så høj grad som her. Den styrke disse kvinder kan finde frem, hvis de presses nok, og den uendelige kapacitet de har for forandring er beskrevet helt eminent, fordi den er blandet med smerte, frygt, tvivl og tøven.
Forandring sker heller ikke altid gennem tilgivelse eller kompromis, oftere, måske, gennem enorm ødelæggelse. Denne femte sæson er ikke skabt af naturen, den er menneskelig. Det er en ødelæggelse der her videregives, som den blevet givet til dem, der forsager den. Det er en voldshandling der opstår som reaktion på en enorm misbrug og perversion af magt. En naturlig reaktion. Jorden er muligvis vred, men det menneske, der er blevet gjort værdiløst, er vredere.
Det minder mig lidt om en sætning fra en af mine yndlingsdigtere, Richard Siken: "We have not touched the stars nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it".
Det er let at skrive en voldsom roman, det er langt sværere at indgyde den med håb, kærlighed og blidhed uden at miste tyngde, uden at miste dybde. Men Jemisin formår det. Hun formår meget mere end det. Hun formår at skrive en fantasy roman, der både bryder grænserne for fantasy og samtidig formår at være i direkte samtale med vores nutidige samfund og vores historie. Jeg er i ærefrygt over hendes talent.
"'The world is what it is. Unless you destroy it and start all over again, there's no changing it.'"...more
I imagine most writers, and people who want to be writers, have lines that haunt them. Lines someone else wrote that just made you go "Oh... Shit. FucI imagine most writers, and people who want to be writers, have lines that haunt them. Lines someone else wrote that just made you go "Oh... Shit. Fuck.", because you knew you hadn't written them and would perhaps never write lines to match them.
I'm not a writer of fiction, but if I ever become one, these are the lines that will haunt me:
“He looked like the love thoughts of women. [...] He was a glance from God.”
Those are the lines I would strive, in both small and big ways, to overcome, to surmount and to honor with every word that came out of me. Those words I'd chase down and reckon with.
When I finished reading this I took a long walk, and those lines were all I thought about. It was like they had imprinted themselves onto me, in some concrete way. I don't know exactly why. Except they struck something true within me.
I don't know how anyone wrote lines like that. I don't know how she managed to write a whole book of them.
I don't know much about the period or the people that inhabit this book. But something about it felt so extremely true in its depictions of Janie's both physical and emotional life. The way Janie felt things, they way she described her inner being's relation to the outside world, it always seemed almost bordering on the magical, without, of course, being so. But the way she feels things so intensely, like there was a whole world inside of her, waiting to burst out.
And the way she welcomes her emotions, lives by them and honors them. Her life is a quest for love, real love, because this is how the spring inside of her will blossom. And the tragedy is that love is very difficult to come by, and when you have it you might very well lose it.
Hers is a life of challenges, hurdles and men, who want to rule her. Through it all Janie is, without truly faltering, her own. She feels no shame for her choices, no regret for the life she's lived or might yet still come to live.
I think that, perhaps, Janie is a very good role model in many ways. Not in the way she manages to lock down her innerself and hide it, when her husband forces her to live a life she doesn't want, but in the way she lets that innerself free again. The way she lets herself find a greater, transcendent good in love and in loving truly, because that significant someone knows you.
The way she doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks.
It's also an incredibly nuanced book when it comes to the complexities of racial inequality, internalized racism and the aftermath of slavery, colonialism, and a community that is still very much segregated. In that it's very educational, and most of all very, very poignant.
I don't necessarily think all classics are masterpieces. But this one, I feel, very much is. In any case, the words of Zora Neale Hurston, in all their steady elegance and dedication towards nuance and honesty, are words that will haunt me. ...more
Something about this book didn't sit right with me.
It's well written, it has some fine characters and Jennifer Egan shapes her novel in inventive andSomething about this book didn't sit right with me.
It's well written, it has some fine characters and Jennifer Egan shapes her novel in inventive and fairly interesting ways.
But it was like it had nothing to say. Or at least nothing to say to me. Maybe it's just that whatever it has to say I've heard before, and better, elsewhere.
I think the problem is that Egan jumps from character to character in each new chapter. The characters are always vaguely connected to one another, with the music business often being a centre point many of them have in common. Sometimes the new character is someone we've heard of before, sometimes it's someone new, who turns out to have intersected with other characters in some small, meaningful way.
It's a novel of connections, made, missed, lost and found. And of the past and present, how the reality of one and the dream of the other often mean we crash somewhere in the now. Each character helps shape and form the lives of those around them, sometimes someone we hear from later or have already heard from. We never return to them. A few times their fates are wrapped up later, in a new narrative, or it's left hanging.
And it's depressing. It's as if Egan sucks the joy out of every single characters life. It's not even that their lives are always sad or lost, although often there is a sense of something gone unfulfilled and wasted potential. No one gets the life they hoped, and none of them seem to really, truly want or like the life they've got. Even when their end is a "happy" one. It's a depressing read.
It seems honestly as if Egan is a little bitter at the world, and wants to show us all the small tragedies that might befall us (divorce, cleptomania, cheating, joblessness, emotional breakdowns) and all the ways we might be inequipped to deal with them. Thus ending up with small, unsatisfying lives. I'm pretty sure, however, that Egan never meant it this way. But it's how it came across to me. As bitter.
The problem, as I've said, is with the constantly shifting of characters. It means we never get to take a deep look at the problems the characters face. We're just left with a shallow imprint, of a small tragedy, and none of the joy or color that these characters also experience. Another result is that, whatever Egan has to say, becomes shallow as well.
She's too focused on her overarching story of connections between people, of memories, the past and the characters in relation to that and each other, that each small story seems to lack something. Something vital. That balance of good and bad. There's too much bad, I think.
And so, I didn't really like the book. It seems too bitter, too focused on draining the joy and color out of life by focusing on the bad things, while doling out very little of the good.
This is purely subjective, and very much a result of my own taste as a reader. I understand the hype around the book, although I still think it lacks something, but it's the bitterness I can't get past. However much I want to....more
"A weak shaft of light through the blackness of hell is your voice under the rumble of exploding shells"
Tsvetaeva is overflowing with kindness and ruth"A weak shaft of light through the blackness of hell is your voice under the rumble of exploding shells"
Tsvetaeva is overflowing with kindness and ruthless beauty.
Her poetry is like being stabbed while she gently strokes your face and tells you she loves you. Not that she is violent, but she threatens it. There's an urgency, a recurring terror and a bleakness to her. And yet incredible beauty, wonder and immense love. A love that stretches out so thin and so wide you think it'll tear itself apart. But it doesn't.
You won't be the same after reading her. I wasn't. I read "Where does this tenderness come from" and the I that I was became someone else. Literature can do that, if it's done right, it dislocates us and arriving back we find we're not the same.
Emily Dickinson wrote "If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.", and that's how I felt. That's how Tsvetaeva makes me feel. She comes at me with her axe and chops and chops and chops.
She offers a portrait of Russia, of Moscow, of the artist, of herself, the inner workings of her soul and a glimpse at something grander beyond. The soul, perhaps, of the world itself.
Is this what she was trying to do? Perhaps not. But it's what she did to me.
"For love is flesh, it is a flower flooded with blood. Did you think it was just a little chat across a table?
a snatched hour and back home again the way gentlemen and ladies play at it? Either love is - A shrine?
or else a scar."
I want to reach back across generations and stroke her hair. She'll speak to me in a language I won't understand and I'll reply with even less comprehension. And yet I'll feel seen.
It saddens me greatly that I only have translations of her work, because I don't (yet?) know Russian. But for what it's worth I found this particular translation excellent.
Here is a poet who will follow me through life.
"I have no need of holes for ears, nor prophetic eyes: to your mad world there is one answer: to refuse!"...more
Vita and Virginia met in December of 1922, and not long after they begun a friendship, that turned into an intimacy - at times sexual, but most of theVita and Virginia met in December of 1922, and not long after they begun a friendship, that turned into an intimacy - at times sexual, but most of the time not - that would last until Virginia's suicide in 1941.
Their letters to each other bear witness to this intimacy. Here they share everyday events, thoughts on writing, on books (their own and others), but also a longing, a yearning, for each other.
There's a case to be made that what Vita and Virginia felt for each other transcended the normal affair one would have, and many of those affairs Vita ended up having with other women while she knew Virginia. Theirs was not a fascination only, of bodies or sexual desire, it was also a fascination with the other, as a woman, an artist and as a person in the world.
Virginia seems fascinated with Vitas self-assurance, her dominance, and her womanliness. And also, the foreword suggest, a craving for Vitas maternal instinct, as Virginia had grown up largely without a mother.
Vita, on the other hand, seems fascinated with Virginia The Writer, the Artist and the genius, as well as the childlike aspect of her. It was, at times, perhaps, a game of dominance and compliance.
At least they seem to desire something from the other, that goes beyond the physical and beyond being in love. Which might also explain why, although Vita had other affairs with other women, Virginia was never abandoned.
Their letters showcase the intelligence, wit and humour of both, as well as their literary prowess. Virginia especially seems to be able to peer through the letters and into Vitas inner thoughts. Their letters are always a delight, and often moving, touching and simply beautiful:
"I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite desperate human way. [...] It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan't make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this - But oh my dear, I can't be clever and stand-offish with you: i love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don't love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don't really resent it."
But these letters also show us a deep love and appreciation of the other. They marked and formed each other in a myriad of ways. And Virginia ends up writing Orlando a story about Vita. Vita who seemed, all her life, to struggle with the fact of being woman, which meant she could never inherit her family's estate, Knole, which instead went to her uncle. In Orlando Virginia "rights" that wrong, by making Orlando first a man and then a woman, thereby giving Vita in fiction, what she could not gain in real life.
Vita, more so than Virginia, seemed to struggle with sexuality and gender. Both of them seemed to exist outside of what was the norm, but especially Vita. Vita, whose bisexuality was far from accepted by society, and who felt the shame of being a woman in that her inheritance had been taken from her. This struggle between the "feminine" and "masculine" might have obscured the real Vita, the one that could have gotten to the depths of Virginia. Both Vita and her husband, Harold Nicholson, had affairs with both men and women, and didn't seem to mind much when the other found someone new. Harold, at one point, writes to Virginia:
"I am glad that Vita has come under an influence so stimulating and so sane... You need never worry about my having any feelings except a longing that Vita's life should be as rich and sincere as possible. I loathe jealousy as I loathe all forms of disease."
Their love was progressive, as, I think, was the love between Virginia and Vita. It seemed to transcend whatever got between them, be it other women or disagreements. Theirs seems to be a deep, devoted love. Many of their letters bear the mark of their longing, sometimes physical, sometimes just a longing of the mind of the other.
As much as they were fascinated with particular aspects of the other - The Woman, The Artist, The Genius - they also simply loved each other deeply and seemed to need each other in a very human way.
Their letters are some of my favorite things in the world. A great argument for keeping the epistolary tradition alive. ...more
I'd just finished reading this and was sitting in my bed, pondering the story, when I picked up my phone and opened twitter. First thing I saw was theI'd just finished reading this and was sitting in my bed, pondering the story, when I picked up my phone and opened twitter. First thing I saw was the name Till, which seemed so familiar until I realized I'd read it in the book I'd just finished.
That I should've just read a book that included the murder, on the day that it was revealed he'd been innocent (what we already knew, but now it's confirmed), seems to me extraordinary. And pure coincidence.
... And yet. It's not for nothing Morrison included this. And it's not for nothing she includes it in a narrative of history, violence and race. Even though it's written twenty years later and she could've just made something up. She didn't. Because this was a murder that changed something in America, and it changes something in the narrative too. Because fiction doesn't exist in a vacuum. Morrison is very, very well aware of this.
Song of Solomon is the story of Macon Dead or Milkman, who, quite without knowing it, suffocates under the history of his parents and his family. His personality, his life and his future suffocates, because it never has a chance to bloom outside the shadow of the past.
It's Milkman's journey towards realization; knowing that what he's been told won't be enough, he's gotta go out there and discover for himself. Real, true knowledge has to be earned, it has to be fought for and won. Milkman knows a lot, and has realized very little. This is true for many of us. We act cruelly, or pathetically, we act in sympathy, apathy or empathy, because we don't know better. To know better we have to go out there and do things, see things and think about them, and act on them consciously.
Knowing too little of history breeds hate and prejudice, while the full history gives clarity and insight. But you also have to decide which narrative to believe, which world to place yourself in; one of fighting and giving or one of taking and staying passive?
It's also the story of lineage, and of coming to know who you are from where and who you come from. It isn't until Milkman unwittingly finds himself in the footsteps of Solomon, that he realizes who he is - or at least who he has been, and who he might yet still become.
It's too full a narrative to put into words. Morrison draws intricate circles around you, with her words, her characters, her story, her setting and subtle designs.
The story she tells, as I first clumsily wanted to point out, reaches into the past and the present and binds the two together. Doesn't matter if it's forty years since it was published. It's still relevant. Still poignant, still very much alive....more