Claire Keegan's "Small Things Like These" is a marvel of concision, a novella that packs the emotional and thematic weight of a much larger work into
Claire Keegan's "Small Things Like These" is a marvel of concision, a novella that packs the emotional and thematic weight of a much larger work into its slender frame. It resonates with the quiet power of a Flannery O'Connor short story, where every word is meticulously chosen, and the setting itself becomes a character, imbued with a palpable sense of history and moral weight.
From the first page, Keegan immerses us in the wintry, working-class town of New Ross, Ireland, in 1985. The biting cold, the rhythmic clatter of coal delivery, the hushed anxieties of a community bound by unspoken rules – all are rendered with an immediacy that feels both intimate and universal. Keegan paints a patina of historical context, a colored glass through which we view Maurice Furlong's daily life. The lingering shadow of the Magdalene Laundries, the unspoken shame, and the quiet resilience of ordinary people are woven into the fabric of the narrative.
Like O'Connor, Keegan excels at revealing the profound within the mundane. Maurice's simple acts of kindness, his quiet observations, and his internal struggles are rendered with a stark, unflinching honesty. There's a moral gravity that permeates the narrative, a sense that even the smallest choices can have profound consequences. The setting, with its stark contrasts between the warmth of family and the chilling secrets hidden in plain sight, amplifies this moral tension.
The novella's brevity is its strength. There's no room for extraneous detail, no wasted words. Every sentence serves a purpose, building a cumulative sense of unease and emotional resonance. The narrative unfolds with a quiet intensity, drawing us deeper into Maurice's inner world and the dark undercurrents of his community.
Keegan's prose is as precise and evocative as a perfectly cut diamond. She captures the nuances of Irish speech, the subtle power dynamics of a small town, and the unspoken emotions that simmer beneath the surface. The novella is a masterclass in economy, demonstrating how much can be achieved with so little.
"Small Things Like These" is not a sprawling epic, but a tightly wound, deeply affecting exploration of conscience and compassion. It’s a gem, a small thing that leaves a lasting impression, much like a perfectly crafted O'Connor story. It is a reminder that even in the darkest of times, small acts of kindness and moral courage can illuminate the human spirit, leaving a lasting, shimmering glow....more
Samantha Harvey's "Orbital" isn't a conventional narrative driven by a rising and falling action arc. Instead, it's a meticulously crafted explorationSamantha Harvey's "Orbital" isn't a conventional narrative driven by a rising and falling action arc. Instead, it's a meticulously crafted exploration of stasis, a novel that suspends its readers in the liminal space of an orbital trajectory. Like the International Space Station, the book circles a central point – the fragile, isolated existence of astronauts and the profound, often unsettling, beauty of Earth seen from above.
Harvey's prose mirrors the very nature of an orbit: it is cyclical, introspective, and imbued with a sense of sustained distance. There is no traditional "plot" in the sense of a beginning, middle, and end. Instead, we are presented with a series of vignettes, fragmented thoughts, and sensory details that coalesce into a portrait of life in the void. Each astronaut's perspective is a point in the orbit, a moment of bated breath held in the vastness of space.
The book excels at capturing the unique psychological experience of being suspended in an orbital path. The silence, the weightlessness, the constant awareness of Earth's fragility – these elements create a sense of profound isolation and introspection. The narrative avoids the typical tropes of space thrillers, opting instead for a more contemplative and meditative approach.
The suspense in "Orbital" isn't the heart-pounding, action-packed variety. It's a more subtle, pervasive tension, a constant awareness of the precariousness of their situation. It's the bated breath held as they conduct experiments, as they gaze at the swirling blue planet below, as they navigate the intricate machinery that keeps them alive. It's the quiet fear of the unknown, the realization that they are suspended in a delicate balance, a constant orbit around the ever-present Earth.
Harvey's use of language is exquisite. The descriptions of space, the Earth, and the astronauts' inner lives are rendered with a poetic precision that elevates the novel beyond a simple science fiction narrative. The book's structure, with its shifting perspectives and fragmented narrative, reinforces the sense of an orbital path, a constant circling around the central themes of isolation, beauty, and the human condition.
"Orbital" is not a novel for those seeking a fast-paced, plot-driven experience. It is a book for those who appreciate the power of language, the beauty of introspection, and the profound sense of suspense that can be found in the quiet moments of existence. It is a novel that captures the essence of an orbit: a sustained moment of bated breath, a delicate balance between the known and the unknown, a silent, profound contemplation of the human experience...more
A friend recommended this fictionalized account of a Japanese writer's travels in Taiwan and her evolving relationship with her Taiwanese translator. A friend recommended this fictionalized account of a Japanese writer's travels in Taiwan and her evolving relationship with her Taiwanese translator. It was an engaging read, and I appreciated the creativity of the fictionalized autobiographical form and the effective use of translations.
This book contains themes of LGBTQ+ relationships, depicting adoring friendships between same-sex characters. However, there are no explicit or direct mentions of same-sex sexual relationships.
The inclusion of translator's notes provides non-intrusive commentary and introduces additional narrative voices. Kudos to the English translation for effectively continuing this layered approach. I can understand why this book won a translation prize; it brilliantly showcases the nuances of language and the fruitful connections that emerge during the translation process.
The novel is generally readable, and the vivid descriptions of food were particularly engaging and inviting from the very beginning. The narrator's voracious appetite is a delight for readers (as the Chinese saying goes, "to have a big appetite is a blessing"). However, the constant focus on food and sights eventually became repetitive and somewhat tedious. I found my interest waning halfway through as the narration began to resemble a laundry list rather than a developing narrative.
Fortunately, the plot regained momentum and broadened in scope as it explored themes of power (particularly within the context of colonialism) and the impossibility of truly equal friendship when power dynamics are imbalanced.
In retrospect, the seemingly self-centered and lengthy narration serves a purpose, foreshadowing the narrator's eventual realization of her own "blind spots" and lack of self-awareness. However, readers may need to persevere through this initial period.
Overall, I believe this would be an interesting historical novel for readers interested in life in Taiwan under Japanese colonial rule, and for those who appreciate works that foreground translation and thoughtfully utilize it as a literary device....more
Jacqueline Harpman's I Who Have Never Known Men is a haunting and unforgettable exploration of humanity in the face of extreme isolation and the unknoJacqueline Harpman's I Who Have Never Known Men is a haunting and unforgettable exploration of humanity in the face of extreme isolation and the unknown. It's a spare, terse novel befitting of the terse world it's set in: a protagonist confined within an underground cage with 39 other women, their only contact with the outside world being the silent, enigmatic guards. Harpman masterfully creates an atmosphere of suspense and mystery, and unravels that into a grand sense of senselessness and despair.
What struck me most about this novel was its profound sense of ambiguity. Harpman offers no easy answers, no pretty tying of the bow leave-home message. As readers, we're left to grapple with the same questions as the protagonist: What is the purpose of the cages? Where is this strange wolrd? What is the meaning of this? How should I live this one singular life that I have? Harpman does a good job setting up a context where the familiar and taken-for-granted is removed, and gives a somewhat blank state to ponder these foundational questions.
The novel's philosophical musings are direct and well-layered, the chronological biographical writing a testament the growth and aging of the protagonist, moving from the youthful insouciance of the need to assert power to the mellow question and acceptance of the meaninglessness and insignificance of life. The protagonist's journey of self-discovery, her struggle to understand her identity and her place in the world, resonated deeply with me.
Harpman's prose is sparse yet evocative, perfectly capturing the protagonist's limited understanding of the world and the gradual expansion of her consciousness. The stark beauty of the desolate landscape the women encounter after their escape further emphasizes their isolation and the profound questions the novel raises about survival, meaning, and the very nature of existence. There's no bloodshed in the book, and scant mention of actual violence. Despite its sci-fi setting, the lived experience is plain and quotidien, an interesting and comforting departure from the usual trope of this genre; leaving the philosophical musings to a somewhat spare, bucolic setting rather than a tense, war-torn one.
I Who Have Never Known Men is not a comfortable read, but it is a deeply rewarding one. It's a novel that stays with you long after you finish it, prompting reflection on the human condition and the enduring power of the human spirit. Highly recommended for readers who appreciate thought-provoking and atmospheric fiction....more
Amanda Lee Koe’s latest novel offers an engaging and energetic reimagining of a classic Chinese fable. While the narrative occasionally veers into senAmanda Lee Koe’s latest novel offers an engaging and energetic reimagining of a classic Chinese fable. While the narrative occasionally veers into sentimentality and bursts at the seams with its exuberant energy, it remains faithful to its source material and delivers numerous moments of genuine beauty and charm, particularly around same-sex friendships.
Having previously encountered Koe’s work in Ministry of Moral Panic, I was familiar with her dynamic and evocative prose. This novel retains much of that same energy, propelling the plot forward with a lively pace. The narrative traverses two vibrant metropolises: the gritty underbelly of New York City and the dazzling landscape of Singapore, reminiscent of the “crazy rich” aesthetic. There’s a distinct vein of insider humor that will resonate particularly with Singaporean readers, and it’s commendable how Koe seamlessly integrates vernacular elements while maintaining accessibility for a Western audience.
I particularly appreciated the nuanced portrayal of the Green Snake, often relegated to a secondary, almost impish role in traditional retellings, frequently referred to simply as “Xiaoqing” or “little green.” Here, she is given depth and agency. The novel also boasts a diverse cast of characters, although at times, this diversity feels somewhat contrived, perhaps reflecting a tendency in Singaporean narratives to foreground politically correct representation while overlooking other, more subversive forms of diversity.
While the plot’s fantastical elements, involving a snake incarnated as a human with superpowers, require a degree of suspension of disbelief, the narrative embraces this premise wholeheartedly. However, I felt that a greater sense of restraint in certain instances, a tempering of the “wow factor” and feel-good moments, could have allowed for more compelling character development. Overall, though, the novel is an enjoyable and imaginative read....more
I honestly can't recall what prompted me to pick up this book. It's quite a departure from my usual reading, a work of "living autobiography" that bleI honestly can't recall what prompted me to pick up this book. It's quite a departure from my usual reading, a work of "living autobiography" that blends narrative with a distinct essayistic quality.
Structured as a response to George Orwell's "Why I Write," the book serves as Levy's own introspection on her motivations for writing. It brought to mind those university writing classes where we were constantly asking, "Why is the speaker speaking?"
Levy's prose is powerful and robust, yet also intimate and direct. Her writing truly "cuts close to the bone." I admit I didn't catch all of her literary references, which meant I likely missed some of the deeper context. However, the narrative remained easy to follow. The more narrative sections of the book could almost be read as fiction, and they are often quite eye-opening due to their strong sense of place (South Africa, London) and specific time periods.
There's a lot of writing about the female experience, a topic that I'm not so well-acquainted with and I was drawn to compare her to Rachel Cusk, another contemporary author that centers on the female lived experience. Levy's writing deals more with the systemic, the societal, using the freedom that the autobiographical form affords....more
This short novella reminded me a lot of Rachel Cusk's writing -- a highly educated, artistically attuned female narrator, delicately beautiful prose dThis short novella reminded me a lot of Rachel Cusk's writing -- a highly educated, artistically attuned female narrator, delicately beautiful prose drenched with wit and insight, meandering and adrift. Au's writing bears her own heritage, with a heavy influence of East Asian sensibilities and the imprints of diaspora.
The setting is in Japan, a meeting of daughter and mother for a long-proposed vacation. The pair are perhaps a little distant, apart for too long for the confrontation of aging and the reversal of care-giving responsibilities. The novel is fully narrated by the daughter, listful and shifty in its remembrance and recollections. The present is simple and spare, but the memories are effusive and eloquent.
Au writes "I had one vague, exhausted thought that perhaps it was all right not to understand all things, but simply to see and hold them." The impulse to comprehend and the frustruation of imcomprehension is core to the novel, as is the search for comprehending oneself and the one that is closest to us. But perhaps, there's really not a clear causal nature to life and all its constellations, not even when one traces to early childhood and the marks those make -- life is not a static object, but a lived experience.
I can see why this book won the Novel Prize, this is a piece that interrogates the power of the novelistic form, barely a novel in its length (expanded from a short story, according to the author); mechanistically challenging in its long plotless siloloquy streaming in the now and the past, a twin of faceless characters bearing their own histories against a wet, rainy foreign landscape washed of details, but poignant in meaning. I'm sure this little volume would fare well in a literature classroom, or as a discussion between the academically-inclined readers....more
It took a bit of time to get into Rooney's staccato stream-of-consciousness narrative for Peter, whose voice opens the book. The older brother, glamorIt took a bit of time to get into Rooney's staccato stream-of-consciousness narrative for Peter, whose voice opens the book. The older brother, glamorous in his good looks and lawyer-ly ways but breaking down inside, partly from grief of losing his father, and partly perhaps just haunted by loss and the emptiness inside him, which he fills with drugs, alcohol, rowdy friends and young flings. The voice of Ivan is quieter, more familiar in its restrained clear-mindedness, not as awkward as the older brother makes him out to be, actually quite pleasant and personable and educated. Perhaps not one to meld into the crowd, but ready to blossom when in the company of a good listener. And we found that listener in Margaret, 36 years old, from a small rural town, but well-educated and worldly, beautiful and delicate but fiery and self-righteously strong.
Rooney's characters are always beautiful in their own ways, striking and attractive in the moments she writes for them. Attraction and desire are explicitly mentioned in the early part of this book, but I think these (and Ronney's expectedly well written steamy scenes) are perhaps just a distraction from the central conflict of this book, which I think is death. Death confronts the character in many ways, the looming reality of grief from death of a loved one, the physical violence threathening death, the ideations and invitations of ending it all, the worry of someone actually dying and gone through our grasps. As Murakami wrote, "Death is not the opposite of Life, but a part of it". The struggles and reconcilliations with death are well written in this novel I think, with much restraint through the dramatic moments.
Not much happens in the book, per se, but a lot of internal struggles don't need a lot to happen externally, and that kind of transformation is what Rooney has become an expert at capturing....more
This book took a while to finish, not because it's hard to read, not particularly, but because it's a book that's easy to put down, its ebbs and flowsThis book took a while to finish, not because it's hard to read, not particularly, but because it's a book that's easy to put down, its ebbs and flows finding natural pause points.
At first glance, this book reminded me of Homegoing, epic in its scale of time. Whereas Yaa Gyasi's novel followed a lineage by blood, North Woods followed a lineage by locale, and in some ways, collapsing time from a continuum a conflation. While Home going felt like a book of restraint, this book felt like a book of excess, overflowing in drama and largess, at times the characters are too full-of-life, bursting at the seams; heaving at the controls by the plot lines and narratives. Which is to say, that there's a lot of plot that happens in this book, in order to justify all the actions that happens here, but really, the plot isn't the main point of the story, for the most unchanging character is the setting of it all. The place that just -- is --: ambivalent to all the transient hurrahs and woes that transpires on this little piece of land; be it man-made or nature, intentional or incidental.
Mason's lyrical nature writing is what stood out in this book. There's a tenderness to the senselessness, almost violence of nature; of death, decay and the cycle that eventually nourishes life....more
This book took a long time to get through. It started from a stirring, resonant place and petered out a bit in the second half.
The author's introductiThis book took a long time to get through. It started from a stirring, resonant place and petered out a bit in the second half.
The author's introduction and motivation drew me in, echoing a deep-seated frustration of the culture of achievement without fulfillment. The gnawing emptiness from climbing up a mountain to only look for the next taller one. As Brooks writes:
the rampant individualism of our current culture is a catastrophe. The emphasis on self - individual success, self-fulfillment, individual freedom, self-actualization - is a catastrophe... The whole cultural paradigm has to shift from the mindset of hyper-individualism to the relational mindset of the second mountain
The analogy of the second mountain, and the framework of 4 pillars of commitment (vocation, marriage/family, philosophy/faith and community) are clarifying and strong anchors to the book. Brooks also quotes liberally from living writers and philosophers of our time that I personally have much affinity with, which created an enjoyable reverberance.
However, I found the writing increasingly exploratory and anecodotal as the book progresses, failing to capture the intensity and the sharpness of the vision that was posited. Perhaps it's because I personally have not put in sufficient thoughts into matters of faith and community, but I found those sections illusive and hard to resonate emotionally.
As I reached the end of this book, I was reminded of a 2-week seminar I took in college forbodingly named "The Meaning of Life"; as a group of 20 year olds, we sat with our university chaplain and discussed a novel a day, concluding (or at least I remember it) that the meaning of life lies in the relationships we build with the world. It felt more like a literary rhetoric then, and a little more relatable now. Perhaps this book is best taken not as a guidebook or an atlas pointing the way up the second mountain, but just a memoir of someone who has gone through that transformative climb, that experience that you'll recognize once you have made that journey yourself....more
Came to this novel looking for an immersive tale to lose myself in for a little bit and was not disappointed.
There's a very strong sense of place in tCame to this novel looking for an immersive tale to lose myself in for a little bit and was not disappointed.
There's a very strong sense of place in this novel, the town a character in its own rights. Tough the setting is foreign, and probably as far away from the tropical island I reside as possible, there's an ease in relating to Beartown. In some ways, there's a fairy-tale archetype to the place, a backwater town in the forest, lost in time, declining in industry with neighborhoods segregated by wealth. But with enough human character to feel wholesome and uniquely situated. Backman has a knack for caricaturing a place and a cast of characters with a few quick strokes, but leave enough whitespace for nuances and colors that gives depth through paradox. I do think some of the plot "twists" are a little staged and forced, the foreshadowing and smoking guns a little too heavy handed. But all in all, it plays to that feel-good bestseller expectation of a narrative arc, so I think it think it's part of the deal, that build-up to a hefty novel-saga that transplants you to a place and let you be there for a few hours, and perhaps will be willing to return to, in the remainder of the trilogy....more
"The First Rule of Mastery" introduces the concept of Fear of Other People's Opinions (FOPO), a concept that I resonated with. I started off 2025 with"The First Rule of Mastery" introduces the concept of Fear of Other People's Opinions (FOPO), a concept that I resonated with. I started off 2025 with this book, hoping for some insight on finding centering. I've at my sense of self adrift, particularly in recent times, pulled in different directions by the opinions of others as I take on more responsibilities and roles in life.
The book is written in an accessible style, with self-contained chapters, making it a relatively quick read. For people familiar with self-help and positive psychology literature, some of the concepts may feel familiar, but Gervais regroups them through his lens of high-performance psychology (with anecdotes from his own life and his clients).
The book explains FOPO as an anticipatory mechanism comprised of three phases: anticipation, checking, and responding. These mental processes consume considerable energy and represent an inefficient use of cognitive resources. Gervais argues that various aspects of modern culture contribute to this tendency, distorting our innate need for connection and belonging into a maladaptive behavior.
The book offers several practical strategies for mitigating the effects of FOPO:
- Mindfulness: Creating a deliberate pause between stimulus and response. - Building a trusted support network: Cultivating strong relationships with trusted individuals. - Developing a strong sense of self: Aligning actions with core values and a defined purpose.
Overall, the book felt like a collection of related concepts and contemporary research; situating these within the FOPO domain, but fell short of fully synthesizing them into a cohesive whole. While it could serve as a useful reference for various concepts, I didn't find it to be a particularly strong stand-alone read. Personally, I found Gervais's HBR article, "How to Stop Worrying About What Other People Think of You," to be a more concise and coherent summary of his core thesis and recommendations....more
I've always been drawn to the writing of sociogists and anthropoligists, their long run-on sentences where the meaning of a word shifts and shifts in I've always been drawn to the writing of sociogists and anthropoligists, their long run-on sentences where the meaning of a word shifts and shifts in a dizzying tailspin.
This is the first time I'm reading Bauman and this collection is a gentle, and easy entry. The topics here are rather broad-ranging, but also familiar. There's plenty of anchoring on philosopher-writers of the modern world that I've had an instinctive turning towards -- Camus and Calvino comes to mind -- and there's a certain comfort in that, with calming drone of Bauman's loquacious verbiage.
Some of the main frameworks I'm leaving with: - Consumerism as redefining the relationship with posessions from one of a lasting friendship to one that thrills at the moment of acquisition - The latent and persistent tension between longing of belonging to a larger whole, and the longing to be seen as a unique individual - Fate sets the options, but character makes the choices
to live, as to love, means giving hostages to fate
- Boundary as a definition of the division of inside/outside, but also as a metaphysical communication interface ...more
A crowd-pleasing instant favorite. There's a wholesomeness and settledness in this novel that is somehow really difficult to find in today's literary A crowd-pleasing instant favorite. There's a wholesomeness and settledness in this novel that is somehow really difficult to find in today's literary world. This novel is that little shelter of a home, a firm, comforting place where the toil of everyday somehow lands with meaning, somehow insulated from the craziness of the world.
There's a charm to Ann Patchett's writing that feel enchanting and uplifting in a warm, imperfect way, like a long-lost family's hug that starts a little awkwardly but slowly one relaxes and sinks into.
There's an impulse to visit that homely cherry farm in Michigan, that hard life that's so easy to love....more
As the author acknowledges, "Power is the last dirty word of America" -- it is something that is difficult to discuss, but clearly on everyone's mind.As the author acknowledges, "Power is the last dirty word of America" -- it is something that is difficult to discuss, but clearly on everyone's mind.
I really liked the premise of the book, to legitimize and validate the positives of power and the acquisition thereof as a tool, rather than a personality -- ie. to humanize the person seeking power for fulfillment of their life, rather than caricature a power-motivated individual as egotistical and self-centered.
As the book progresses, however, I found it increasingly difficult to stomach the advice that moves increasingly deviant from social norms. Perhaps this is the point of the book, to overturn the conventional wisdom of "nice" and "kind" to the true and tested methodologies of gaining and using power. Perhaps it'll just take a little more than this slim volume to be convinced....more
A collection of punchy, pithy stories. I think Ma is a stellar short story writer, her stories have a consistency in voice and posture that is quite oA collection of punchy, pithy stories. I think Ma is a stellar short story writer, her stories have a consistency in voice and posture that is quite outstanding and assuring for a young writer.
Like her novel Severance (which, to be honest, I don't really remember much of the plot line, just the emotional quality of it), Ma's world in this surrealist collection are all a little aslant, a slice of fantastical jammed alongside a quotidian normalcy of realism. There's this quality of chopping a block of tofu with a very sharp Santoku knife -- there's an theatrical inevitability to the feat, but it also feels somehow misplaced, askew.
I think I'm most impressed with Ma's ability to evolve the narrative voice between characters within the span of a story -- the slipperiness of her first and second person pronouns intimating between perspectives without a gap. My favorite story in the collection is "Peking Duck", with its self-referencing discussions of appropriation and authorship, and the questioning of the legitimacy of stories when retold and rememebered; and of course, referencing Lydia Davis in a short story is quite a daring homage to the form itself....more
Satirical novels are not a genre I frequent, and there's a something off when reading Elaine Chou's debut novel -- just like the saturated 3D renders Satirical novels are not a genre I frequent, and there's a something off when reading Elaine Chou's debut novel -- just like the saturated 3D renders on the cover that could have come from one of the newest generative AI apps with the prompt "Japanese school girl's room in pink with a door opening to a slice of sky" -- there's something slyly inauthentic in this narrative, something that never really sit unsettling.
The start of the novel reminded me of Moshfegh's Eileen, a similarly navel-gazing experience inside the mind of a young-ish female anti-hero protagonist; paradoxically sharp of mind and sluggish of action. But alas, this novel definitely should not be read as literary fiction, it demands to be not taken too seriously, for it flails and squirms out of hand pretty quickly, chuckling in its wake.
This book certainly confronts some heavy topics, the structural violence of colonialism, the anchoring of identity from external validation and the aslant gaze of those in power. Kudos for Elaine Chou for being able to use the fictional form and the assemblage of PhD wielding characters to confront some densely worded anthropological arguemtns.
The outrageousness of the plot movement aside, I think the novel is a standout for me in its questioning of "orientation", of how we find our paths and internal compasses (and perhaps our willingness to deal with moments of the so-called disorientation, to reset and recalibrate our sense of direction and retrace our paths forward). For me, this novel is a rather blatant examination of external markers of identity (accolades, profession, milestones of relationships) versus internal wayfinding (motivations, love, reconcillation).
In my reading, this novel ends on the very Asian ideal of the ultimately unwavering and unconditionally redemptive power of familial love, which, though heart warming and satisfying, feels a little uncharacteristic in a world going up in flame. But paradoxically, the ending feels well placed and non-satirical, a final anchoring, centering place that we can hide for a little bit, before we close the book and confront a world that's truly crazy (or not?)...more
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