If The Persians were a perfume, it would be called Eau de Entitled Dysfunction—an overpowering blend of narcissism, cocaine, and generational trauma wIf The Persians were a perfume, it would be called Eau de Entitled Dysfunction—an overpowering blend of narcissism, cocaine, and generational trauma with absolutely no self-awareness. I gave this book 40% of my time and patience before I tapped out, and honestly, that was a Herculean effort.
Let’s be clear: I don’t mind reading about morally questionable, messy characters. In fact, I usually love it. But there’s a difference between "complex and compelling" and "bratty and insufferable." These characters fall squarely into the latter category. They are extravagantly wealthy, self-absorbed, and treat each other with the warmth of an Arctic windstorm. Trauma is piled on trauma, but rather than exploring it with any real depth, the book just marinates in its characters' bad behaviour like a reality show where no one gets a redemption arc.
The narrative swings between generations and locations—Tehran, Texas, California—but instead of providing insight into identity, displacement, or Iranian history, it reads more like Gossip Girl with Persian couture. The family’s exile from Iran is glossed over in favour of detailing their Louis Vuitton luggage, and their approach to relationships is just as transactional as their approach to luxury goods. There’s scandal, there are secrets, but mostly, there’s just a lot of rich people being awful to each other.
Look, I wanted to love this book. I really did. But after 200 pages of egos clashing, designer handbags, and cocaine binges, I had to ask myself: Why am I suffering when I could be reading something else? So I made the only sane decision—I left these people to their melodrama and moved on....more
Some books settle into your mind like a quiet melody, others unfold like a grand symphony—The Vanishing Half is the latter. Brit Bennett masterfully cSome books settle into your mind like a quiet melody, others unfold like a grand symphony—The Vanishing Half is the latter. Brit Bennett masterfully constructs a novel that spans decades, crossing time and geography with a delicate yet powerful touch, each layer peeling away like the petals of an exquisite bloom.
At its heart, this is a novel of identity—of what we inherit, what we shed, and what we shape ourselves into. Desiree and Stella Vignes, identical twins raised in a town that worships lightness of skin, make an impossible choice at sixteen: to run. What follows is a tale of diverging paths—Desiree returns home, daughter in tow, confronting the past she once fled; Stella vanishes into another life, passing as white, severing ties to everything she once was. Their choices ripple through generations, tangling their daughters in an unspoken legacy of race, belonging, and reinvention.
Bennett’s writing is both sweeping and intimate. She captures the aching tenderness of family, the quiet violence of racism, the weight of secrets that bend lives out of shape. She does not flinch from complexity—Stella’s decision to pass is neither condemned nor glorified, but laid bare in all its contradictions. The novel pulses with emotion, not just in the longing between sisters, but in the lives they touch: Jude, growing up in a town that cannot see her beauty; Reese, forging his own identity against the odds; Kennedy, raised in privilege but unmoored from her origins.
With impeccable storytelling and characters so real they breathe, The Vanishing Half is a novel that lingers. It asks: Can we ever outrun our past? Do we shape our own destiny, or does the world decide for us? This is a book that does not just tell a story—it makes you feel it, deeply, in the marrow of your bones.
“Some seeds need fire to sprout. What if you’re that seed?�
Oh, The Seed Keeper! What an absolute gem of a book—Diane Wilson's storytelling is nothing “Some seeds need fire to sprout. What if you’re that seed?�
Oh, The Seed Keeper! What an absolute gem of a book—Diane Wilson's storytelling is nothing short of magic. This novel captivated me with its lyrical prose and deeply resonant themes. The way it braids together past and present, weaving Rosalie Iron Wing’s personal journey with the generational trauma and resilience of the Dakota people, is just masterful.
Rosalie’s story hit me right in the feels—her childhood in the woods with her father, her heart-breaking foster care years, and her complex, bittersweet life with John on their farm. The contrast between the Dakhóta way of life, rooted in harmony with nature, and the destruction wrought by corporate farming (looking at you, Monsanto!) and colonisation is so beautifully and painfully rendered. And that twist? When the truth about Rosalie's early life was revealed, my jaw literally dropped. It made me want to go back and reread everything with fresh eyes.
Wilson doesn’t shy away from the hard truths—about American Indian residential schools, the commodification of seeds, and the erasure of indigenous knowledge—but she tells these stories with such tenderness and care. The seeds, both literal and symbolic, are the heartbeat of the novel. They represent so much: history, survival, identity, hope. The ending left me a blubbering mess.
If you loved Braiding Sweetgrass or enjoy books that honour indigenous traditions while challenging modern environmental and social injustices, this one’s for you. Highly, highly recommend! ...more
Nikki May’s This Motherless Land is an exquisite exploration of family, identity, and resilience, centred on Funke, a young girl uprooted from her belNikki May’s This Motherless Land is an exquisite exploration of family, identity, and resilience, centred on Funke, a young girl uprooted from her beloved Nigeria after a tragic car accident claims her mother and brother. Sent to live with her estranged English relatives, Funke (renamed “Kate� by her family) encounters a harsh world filled with new customs, cold treatment from her aunt Margot, and a deeply rooted sense of displacement. The only warmth in her new life comes from her cousin Liv, a spirited soul who welcomes Funke with genuine affection and excitement, forming a bond that anchors them both through years of love, betrayal, and self-discovery.
This novel shines with its deeply immersive writing, skilfully capturing Funke’s longing for home and sense of “otherness� in both England and, eventually, Nigeria when she returns as a teenager. May’s narrative is achingly beautiful, painting an honest portrayal of the challenges of mixed-race identity and the often unspoken tensions within multicultural families. The complexity of Funke and Liv’s relationship is striking; initially a refuge for Funke, Liv’s companionship grows turbulent as they navigate the difficulties of adolescence, cultural divides, and family secrets.
Funke’s resilience and inner gentleness stand out as she endures her aunt’s coldness and navigates her grandparents� aloof affection, ultimately finding her own path amid fractured relationships and generational trauma. The setting, alternating between vibrant Lagos and subdued Somerset, becomes a character in itself, reflecting Funke’s internal struggles between her Nigerian roots and her English upbringing. May’s prose, laced with poignancy and quiet strength, evokes the contrasts of these two worlds while embracing the beauty and flaws in each.
At its heart, This Motherless Land is a story of belonging, love, and survival. It lays bare the lasting impact of generational wounds and celebrates the resilience of the human spirit. Whether you’re drawn to character-driven narratives or cross-cultural sagas, this novel is a true masterpiece that will linger long after the last page. ...more
�...I learned that we can't heal the story by changing the plot, pretending the awful stuff didn't happen. Tragedy just breaks out somewhere else alon�...I learned that we can't heal the story by changing the plot, pretending the awful stuff didn't happen. Tragedy just breaks out somewhere else along the line. The story won't heal until the players do.�
Reading A Council of Dolls felt like holding a precious, fragile relic � a heart-breaking yet fiercely resilient saga that stretches across generations of Indigenous women. Mona Susan Power deftly brings to life the haunting legacy of three Yanktonai Dakota women and their silent but ever-witnessing dolls, each bearing the weight of history in place of the elder councils they should have had. Set across a century, from the brutal grounds of Indian boarding schools to urban Chicago, Power’s narrative captures the destructive force of colonialism � systematically erasing culture, language, and identity.
The accounts of the boarding schools are especially heart-wrenching, a visceral reminder of how Indigenous children were stripped of not only their heritage but their sense of self. Cora’s beaded buckskin doll, Lillian’s Shirley Temple doll, and Sissy’s Ethel become far more than toys; they transform into guardians, confidants, and lifelines, bridging gaps between innocence and trauma. These dolls symbolise a tender resistance, embodying fragments of culture even as they silently witness generational scars and fleeting moments of joy. Power's stunning prose paints these interactions with an eerie grace, blending magical realism with harsh reality.
Personally, I found some descriptions, especially of mental health struggles within the family, to be profoundly moving yet challenging, touching on my own experiences. However, this is a testament to Power’s raw, evocative storytelling, which demands both acknowledgment and remembrance. A Council of Dolls is an act of preservation and a call to bear witness to a history that echoes painfully into the present. ...more
Anne Michaels� Held is a rare literary gem, a symphony of intertwined lives and memories captured in poetic prose. Every page of this novel is packed Anne Michaels� Held is a rare literary gem, a symphony of intertwined lives and memories captured in poetic prose. Every page of this novel is packed with lyrical, thought-provoking passages that invite readers to slow down and savour the depth of emotion and philosophical musings Michaels brings to life. Moving fluidly across time and generations, the novel follows John, a soldier returning from World War I, through a journey that explores both personal and universal desires: the need for connection, understanding, and healing.
Michaels, known for her meditative style in Fugitive Pieces and The Winter Vault, employs a stream-of-consciousness approach, crafting small vignettes that feel like standalone pieces of poetry. Each section of Held reveals glimpses of characters whose lives are connected through invisible threads - loss, love, and the mysteries of existence. Her sparse, fragmentary form allows readers to experience the unspoken and invisible boundaries between life and death, intimacy and distance, the self and the world beyond.
Held is a book to be read slowly, to be savoured and reflected upon. It’s filled with quotable lines, each one a small meditation on life’s impermanence and the echoes of human experience across time. The prose itself feels almost mystical, blending science, art, and memory in a way that invites readers to embrace uncertainty and wonder. This is, quite simply, a book that will linger, its beauty and melancholy woven deeply into my mind.
On the 2024 Booker Prize shortlist, Held is, in my view, deserving of the win. Michaels has crafted a deeply resonant and profoundly poetic novel, capturing the essence of what it means to be human, in both the brightest and darkest moments. ...more
The Glassmaker by Tracy Chevalier is an absolute gem, a shimmering, multifaceted bead of a story that had me completely spellbound! From the very firsThe Glassmaker by Tracy Chevalier is an absolute gem, a shimmering, multifaceted bead of a story that had me completely spellbound! From the very first page, I was transported to the magical world of Renaissance-era Venice, where the air practically hums with the heat of the glass furnaces on Murano. Orsola Rosso, our fiercely determined heroine, grabbed hold of my heart and refused to let go as she defied every expectation to become a glassmaker in a world that insists it’s a man’s craft.
Chevalier’s writing is nothing short of stunning; her prose flows as smoothly as molten glass, reminding me of the lyrical beauty of Maggie O’Farrell and the rich, atmospheric depth of Lauren Groff. I couldn’t help but be utterly entranced by the way she plays with time, skipping effortlessly across centuries, yet keeping Orsola and her family's legacy at the core of the narrative. It’s as if Murano itself exists in a bubble where time bends and stretches, allowing us to witness the Rosso family’s triumphs and heartbreaks as they echo through the ages.
And let’s talk about the magical realism! The way Chevalier weaves it into the fabric of the story is simply enchanting. Time on Murano flows differently, and this slight distortion adds a layer of mystique to an already rich tale. The island feels almost alive, a character in its own right, timeless and enduring, much like the glass Orsola crafts with such love and care.
Oh, and the beads! Those tiny, seemingly inconsequential bits of glass that Orsola begins to make in secret, they’re like little jewels in the narrative, each one holding a piece of history, a sliver of beauty. Chevalier’s metaphor here is exquisite, showing us how these small things: these beads, this family - can carry so much weight, so much meaning across time. I was immediately Googling the images of Murano Millefiori beads and now need some in my life!
I must also gush about the audiobook! The narration was some of the best one I have listened too, absolutely perfect.
By the end, I was in tears, completely overwhelmed by the emotional depth and the sheer beauty of the story. If you love stories that are as delicate and strong as the glass they’re about, this one’s a must-read!
Huge thanks to NetGalley and HarperCollins Audio for an audiobook ARC of this book! All opinions are mine.
Pachinko by Min Jin Lee is an ambitious multi-generational saga that follows a Korean family through the 20th century, navigating life in both Korea aPachinko by Min Jin Lee is an ambitious multi-generational saga that follows a Korean family through the 20th century, navigating life in both Korea and Japan. While I found parts of the novel deeply engaging, my overall experience was mixed.
The first part of the book is where I felt Lee’s storytelling was at its best. The characters, especially Sunja and Isak, were so well-drawn that they felt incredibly real to me. The depiction of life in Korea under Japanese rule was both immersive and emotionally powerful. I was completely absorbed in the struggles and hopes of these characters, and the historical context added a layer of richness that I truly appreciated.
However, as the story moved into the second part, I started to lose some of that initial connection. While the exploration of the family’s life in Japan and their experiences with discrimination was interesting, the narrative became less focused. The plot broadened, which made it feel a bit more scattered and less emotionally intense. The introduction of the pachinko parlors as a central element of the story was intriguing, but the metaphor felt a bit heavy-handed at times.
By the time I reached the final part of the book, my engagement had waned. The pacing became rushed, and the story felt disjointed. New characters were introduced rapidly, and the once richly developed characters seemed to lose their depth, becoming more like symbols than real people. The abrupt shifts in narrative and style left me feeling disconnected and unsatisfied with the conclusion.
As someone who enjoys family sagas, I did appreciate the historical insights and the exploration of the Korean experience in Japan, a topic not often covered in literature. However, the uneven pacing and the fragmented nature of the final part of the book left me wishing for more consistency in the storytelling.
In the end, while Pachinko had moments of brilliance and provided valuable historical perspectives, it didn’t fully resonate with me as a cohesive and compelling family saga. The first two parts were excellent, but the final section let the story down, making it a book that I’m glad I read, but not one that I would rush to revisit....more
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