It is 1947, when a package arrived for Lesley: W. Somerset Maugham's, “The Casuarina Tree," a book that Maugham wrote after staying with Lesley and heIt is 1947, when a package arrived for Lesley: W. Somerset Maugham's, “The Casuarina Tree," a book that Maugham wrote after staying with Lesley and her husband for two weeks in 1921 and that included many events in this story, as Maugham (hereafter "Willie," as he is called in The House of Doors) admitted doing in his own writing.
Tan Twan Eng's book alternates between viewpoints (Lesley's and "Willie's"), across three time periods (1910, 1921, and 1947), and two parts of the world (Malaya and South Africa). It weaves together several stories � Willie's affair with his secretary, Gerald; Ethel Proudlock's murder trial; Lesley's discovery of her husband's affair; and Lesley's assumed affair with the Chinese revolutionary Sun Yat Sen. Each of these sexual events � rape, affairs, and homosexual liaisons (brief and long-term) � was scandalous at the time and would have been devastating for Willie and the women in the other relationships.
Some of The House of Doors takes place in a house hung with many antique, valuable doors that were in danger of being lost to posterity as buildings were torn down. The house was important primarily, though, as it and the other affairs created unforeseen changes, opening "doors" to new lives or ways of living, which the book's characters may or may not walk through.
I attempted reading Maugham in high school and haven't since; Lesley's chapters were more compelling than Willie's, which does not get me wanting to read more Maugham. I enjoyed The House of Doors, partly because it was peopled with real historical figures, which satisfied my voyeuristic urges, but I remember especially enjoying his two previous books (The Gift of Rain and The Garden of Evening Mists). That is an unfair comparison, though, especially as I read them both in 2013 and my memory may not be/probably isn't accurate. ...more
Beth Nguyen's memoir, Owner of a Lonely Heart,, is an unusual refugee story. Perhaps because she was a baby when she came to the states and settled inBeth Nguyen's memoir, Owner of a Lonely Heart,, is an unusual refugee story. Perhaps because she was a baby when she came to the states and settled into a primarily white town, Nguyen identified as an outsider, but not as a refugee. It's also an unusual estranged daughter memoir. She has had fewer than 24 hours with her mother over the course of her life (Nguyen is about 50 now). Nguyen immigrated earlier than her mother and lived half-way across the country from her. She only learned that her "mother" was in fact a stepmother when Nguyen was 10. "We were selves who didn’t mesh and didn’t match. We didn’t know each other at all. Our histories had separated long ago and had never truly met again" (p. 34).
While discussing her relationship with her first mother, she also talked about her relationships with her stepmother, paternal grandmother, first boyfriend's mother, and father, then her own children, with the former relationships echoing in strange ways with the latter.
Sometimes I feel like I’m just shoring up these moments of being a mother. Like it’s insurance, because to be a mother is to be in a vague, permanent state of fear of loss. So, just in case, I want them to know I was there. Here. I wanted to be. I never wanted to leave. (p. 41).
As a child and teen, Nguyen focused on assimilating and belonging, cringing at any hint of her outsider status, eventually dropping her Vietnamese first name BÃch for the more invisible Beth â€� visibility being something to be avoided.
This is a somewhat dour book, although that may make sense as Nguyen was writing about real loss (first country and mother) and imagined loss (her sons). Still, it might be better described as thoughtful and somewhat anxious. It was not something I wanted to set aside, although it was equally not something that I rushed to pick up....more
We think we've experienced acid rain and natural disasters, but nothing like that in the dystopian How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnameable DisasteWe think we've experienced acid rain and natural disasters, but nothing like that in the dystopian How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnameable Disaster, where acid rain can eat away your skin, cause mutations, and demolish buildings. Farming was disrupted, buildings draped in acid-proof tarps, and people isolated within their apartment buildings. "We need each other very badly during these times. These days, the world is a giant hole in the sky that is leaking. What can we do about it but try our best?" (pp. 51-52).
And, yet, we continue to love and be irritated by both the living and the dead (many of whom are ghosts living/haunting this apartment building). "And still, if the afterlife is so close enough to touch, I want to touch it. Don’t you? Wouldn’t you try everything in your power if you knew someone you loved was just within reach? Perhaps they are trying to reach you too" (p. 91).
This is an unusual dystopian novel, as it is both deadly serious and ridiculous (one of the ghosts is a cockroach, another is headless). Enjoy it for its silly weirdness. Appreciate its commentary on humanity or grief. Let it remind you that we must change. ...more
I was prepared to dislike Absolution, as books about women without thoughts or purpose, women whose stories would fail a Bechdel test, irritate me.
As I was prepared to dislike Absolution, as books about women without thoughts or purpose, women whose stories would fail a Bechdel test, irritate me.
As it turns out, although the characters talk a lot about clothes and men at cocktail parties, these women were not the women I expected. Some � Vietnamese and Americans � were trailblazers, doing amazing things, taking risks for their families and the larger community (mostly Saigon in 1963). Others were on the cusp of change � watching, thinking, challenging � but still boxed in by conventional gender norms (which were very "boxy" in the military-adjacent community).
In a world where families lived in profound poverty, leprosy still existed, and children were burned over much of their bodies as fallout in the not-yet war, these women struggled with the nature of evil and how to make a difference in a difficult and dangerous world.
“There’s a real danger in the bestowing of gifts upon the hopeless only to inflate the ego of the one who does the bestowing.�
She paused, as if to admire the way she’d put this. She might have grown a little cross-eyed. �
A real danger,� she said again. After she’d let that sink in, she added, “It encourages self-righteousness in the one even as it destroys self-determination in the other.� (p. 148)
Why even try to work with lepers when it will make no difference and can even harm? Charlene responded to Marilee, who seemed to spout her husband's words undigested:
"And you can’t imagine how incongruous all that beauty [of the lepers colony] is when you meet the patients themselves. The lepers, Marilee. The terrible distortions to face and limbs. The grotesque transformation of the human form. The human face. You recoil. It can’t be helped, Marilee.� �.
“Turning away,� a gentle indulgence now in [Charlene's] voice, “it’s an honest reaction, isn’t it?� As ever, she did not pause for reply. “But it’s an indication nevertheless of what we’re capable of, it seems to me. We’re capable of turning away. We’re capable of despising the sight of something so awful, something so incongruous to the good order we prefer. The beauty we prefer. I mean, Marilee,� she added with a huff of breath, “suffering.�
�.“Honestly, Marilee. Who wants to gaze at suffering?�
And then she smiled sympathetically across the table. “Do you see what I’m saying?� Conveying as she said it the full confidence that Marilee did not.
A flush had begun to spread from under the neat collar of Marilee’s starched blouse, across her ruffled breast. “I thought we were talking about raising money,� she said, and then added with a small laugh, “for little toys.�
“We are,� Charlene said, utterly patient. “It’s just that you said there’s very little good we can do. In this place. And I agree, I do. But that very little good might be just the thing required to stand against that very little evil—that impulse to turn away.� (pp. 149 � 151)
This question of how to live in the world when you are privileged � as were Marilee, Charlene, and the narrator � and others have a very different experience is an important question. Many of us choose to look away. And, even those who try to stand against that evil may make decisions that are, at the very least, questionable.
That these characters continue to struggle with how to respond to evil and do so at length � I quoted from four pages from a much longer discussion � is interesting and eye-opening, as these women also consider clothes, hats, and hairspray at length (mostly off-stage).
This is a book that I had to let sit for several days after reading. Its message seemed to grow stronger over that time. ...more
"One has to find life, I said. One can't just sit about recovering from near death. One has to find life." (p. 71)
Salman Rusdie's Knife is his memoir "One has to find life, I said. One can't just sit about recovering from near death. One has to find life." (p. 71)
Salman Rusdie's Knife is his memoir of the 13 months after being attacked in Chautauqua in August 2022 and almost dying. His is a clear picture of trauma and healing, but it's also surprisingly flat, surprising because this is a disorder that tends to bend and buck, changing with time. However, as he vividly notes,
It’s hard to write about post-traumatic stress disorder at any time, because, well, there’s trauma involved, and a lot of stress, and a consequential disorder in the self. It’s harder when two of you, you and your beloved wife, are experiencing it at the same time but in different ways. And it’s really hard to do it with one eye and one and a half hands, because the physicality of the writing, its awkwardness, reminds you at every stroke of the keyboard of the cause of your pain. The hand feels like it’s inside a glove, and it kind of crackles inside when moved. The eye…is an absence with an immensely powerful presence. (p. 174)
My favorite parts of Knife are where Rushdie notes the absurdity of his thoughts and actions during the attack. He wondered why he hadn't run when the attacker ran at him: "Why didn’t I fight? Why didn’t I run? I just stood there like a piñata and let him smash me" (p. 11). He remembered feeling hit very hard in the jaw and thinking that all his teeth would fall out � and more absurdly that "Red Rum is murder backward" (p. 17). He worried about his Ralph Lauren suit being cut off him following the attack. (Yes, we aren't logical in the midst of trauma.)
Rushdie very clearly wants to be seen as courageous and as a survivor; nonetheless, courageous does not mean not feeling pain, but fighting despite the pain. Being a survivor does not only mean showing up on the other side of the pain but allowing yourself to be seen while struggling.
So, there's an aliveness to Knife, that comes from it being "hot off the press"; on the other hand, it would have been nice if he had been able to write with a greater psychological distance, noting symptoms coming and going, observing the way his current experience had been and was being shaped by the Ayatollah Khomeini's fatwa.
And, we all would be tempted to want to put our attacks to bed where we could forget about them. ...more
Nunchi is a book for the socially clueless, offering guidance for handling difficult situations based on Korean wisdom. It's also a book for the rest Nunchi is a book for the socially clueless, offering guidance for handling difficult situations based on Korean wisdom. It's also a book for the rest of us, reminding us on how to read social situations better. Her description of Nunchi rules: First, empty your mind; lose preconceptions to observe with discernment. Second, manners exist for a reason. Third, be nimble and quick, while never passing a good opportunity to shut up. Most questions will be answered without ever being asked. Obviously, these are rules that many of us (with good nunchi?) follow habitually, but that all can profit from.
I listened to Nunci, a good choice while performing other tasks (e.g., easily followed even while paying attention to the road). Unfortunately, although the narrator has a pleasant and clear reading voice, she could have been reading a catalogue, reducing my listening pleasure and leaving me wondering who has the extraordinarily poor nunchi she describes. ...more
The Burning God is the third of the The Poppy Wars trilogy. By this point in the story, I am over the (often) wanton violence of the series and hopingThe Burning God is the third of the The Poppy Wars trilogy. By this point in the story, I am over the (often) wanton violence of the series and hoping that Rin would move beyond revenge, objectification of the enemy, and glorying in her power, to move on to selective (or no) violence. Rin toys with these changes, but she is increasingly paranoid and over her head in this volume � she is a better soldier and weapon than an Empress. In R. F. Kuang's defense, the Qing dynasty, which this series is loosely modeled on, was characterized by civil war, colonialization, famine, disease, and death.
So, I'm not going to mourn the end of this series, but I raced through the series and continue to be impressed by Kuang's world building and the range of ideas that she had to juggle while writing this series. I am amazed that she wrote this trilogy when she was between the ages of 19 and 23....more
If you want happy stories, stay away from the Poppy Wars trilogy, as it is rife with racism, colorism, and misogyny; the abuses of colonization (e.g.,If you want happy stories, stay away from the Poppy Wars trilogy, as it is rife with racism, colorism, and misogyny; the abuses of colonization (e.g., objectification, nonconsensual human experimentation and medical examinations, and hypocrisy); mental health problems of all sorts (e.g., PTSD, grief, and opium addiction); and violence (e.g., abuse, genocide, torture, rape, burning, mutilation, gore, and goring). I'm sure I'm missing a few. The Dragon Republic continues in the same line as Poppy Wars.
***Mild spoilers in the next paragraphs.***
Nonetheless, on some levels, this is a profoundly hopeful series, if hope and anger can occur in the same breath. Rin and her friends are knocked down repeatedly. If I were to experience one-quarter of what Rin did (physically and mentally), I would stay in bed for months. And, to be fair, there were long periods where she did stay in bed in an opium cloud � and there were an equal number of times when she left her bed when any other person would be physically unable to do so. At this point in the trilogy, Rin is only beginning to recognize and challenge the abuse, misogyny, objectification � her own and others'. Those of you who have read racial identity models may stop to consider Rin's development throughout this series.
On the other hand, for as much as I loved Rin and her friends, scenes where Sister Petra and the Hesperians appeared were, borrowing another reviewer's adjectives, both infuriating and uncomfortable, even when they were not being physically violent. I’m curious about the possibilities for the redemption of your soul� (p. 234), or "See eye fold—indicates lazy character. Sallow skin. Malnutrition?" (p. 275). Somehow, they were worse than the terrible things that some characters did to others.
Like R. F. Kuang's later Babel, this trilogy is fantastical historical fiction set during the 19th century of the Qing dynasty, although countries and groups have been renamed (fairly transparently). Following China's defeat in the Opium Wars, Western colonizers forced the Qing government to sign unequal treaties, granting the West trading privileges and exemptions from local laws and tariffs. During the Taiping Rebellion (1850�1864) and the Dungan Revolt (1862�1877) over 20 million people in western China died from famine, disease, and war.
Just a cursory glance at Wikipedia (from which parts of the last paragraph were drawn) suggests that Kuang will be able to stay busy for the rest of my reading life, just exploring themes raised by the Qing dynasty....more
The Poppy War is a disturbing story that mixes historical fiction and fantasy and considers big issues: genocide, classism, colorism, violence. It telThe Poppy War is a disturbing story that mixes historical fiction and fantasy and considers big issues: genocide, classism, colorism, violence. It tells the story of the war between Nikan and Mugen, which closely mirrors that of the Second Sino-Japanese War and the horrors of the Rape of Nanjing, where at least 200,000 were killed and between 20,000-80,000 women and children were raped. As R. F. Kuang wrote, "Almost every scene from the chapters of Golyn Niis came from [Iris] Chang’s account of the Nanjing Massacre. Very little was made up—most of what you see truly happened" (p. 531).
The Poppy War is beautiful and somewhat uneven. Kuang wrote well about Rin's feelings of being othered, of being dismissed, of the motivation to follow admired leaders. She was described as a woman at a crossroads, one who could make great good (following Jiang) or destroy the world (following Altan). Her nationalism and anger, her thirst for power and guilt around wanting that power, her awareness of power’s consequences, were explored, yet the jump from this delicate balance to an extreme position was difficult to accept.
Was she now a goddess or a monster?
Perhaps neither. Perhaps both. (p. 518).
Kuang also considered how one responds to atrocities committed against one's own people, using Mai’rinnen Tearza's story. Tearza, the last warrior queen of Speer, could have called the Phoenix and saved Speer. She could have summoned such a power that the Federation's armies would not have dared set foot on Speer for a thousand years. But, Tearza refused, saying that Speer's independence did not warrant the sacrifice the Phoenix demanded. Everyone on Speer was slaughtered.
The Poppy War asks, Is it better to think about your own people and revenge (Altan and Rin) or to put revenge aside and think about the bigger picture (Tearza)? Tearza's story was told and retold from multiple perspectives, most of which were dismissive of her and her motivations.
The Poppy War is not a book for the easily triggered or the faint of heart � there is considerable physical and sexual violence in these pages. However, we should know about the genocides committed in our recent (and more distant) history. We should think about the ways that objectification, prejudice, classism, and colorism play into our actions. We should question revenge as a motive. The world isn't fair � and we should know this � and we should also consider ways we can make it more kind.
The Poppy War is the first in Kuang's debut trilogy....more
I liked how Banyan Moon drew three generations of strong but ultimately flawed Vietnamese women. Thao Thai highlighted both their intergenerational trI liked how Banyan Moon drew three generations of strong but ultimately flawed Vietnamese women. Thao Thai highlighted both their intergenerational trauma, as well as the ways they supported and cared for each other (or tried to). Nonetheless...
Banyan Moon didn't seem to hang together � like how did Minh end up with Banyan House? Why would Phước want it? Why did he feel himself mistreated when he didn't get it? What was Minh attempting to do in giving it to Ann and Huơng � other than forcing them to work through their differences? Was Thao Thai attempting to get them to work through their trauma histories?
I'm suspicious of the family landing on a happy ending � after a very rough start � in eight months. I'm not a fan of fairy tales, except with illustrations and small children on my lap or the novel being identified as a fairy tale.
The audiobook was read by three narrators, each telling one character's story (Minh, Huơng, and Ann). I liked each narrator, but they made the other characters, especially Huơng, sound bitter and unlikable. Maybe they were unlikable from that one character's perspective, but I would have preferred being the person deciding that....more
I haven't (yet) read reviews on Babel, but I expect there will be people who find it too long, too slow, too academic. These are among the very reasonI haven't (yet) read reviews on Babel, but I expect there will be people who find it too long, too slow, too academic. These are among the very reasons that I liked it � and liked it much more than Yellowface, which played with similar themes, although with much less likeable characters.
Babel attacked the colonialism of 19th century Britain –at least the magical parallel universe that Babel takes place in � although R. F. Kuang's indictment is not limited to her Britain nor to the 19th century. She asks what happens when a people dismiss and ignore others who do not look like them (e.g., anyone brown, yellow, black, female, working class, poor), who they persist in seeing them as "less than." What happens when that country sees other countries only as resources rather than considering the consequences of their policies on that country's economy and people? "‘And where would your loyalties lie? Here, or back home?�" (p. 29).
It would easy to read the last paragraph and decide to pass on Babel, but like Rowling's Harry Potter books, Grossman's The Magicians, and Novak's Scholomance series, a magical school provides an interesting backdrop to larger questions. There is more intellectual grist to play with here than those books; Kuang's students are older than the other series and selected for their facility with Greek, Latin, and at least one other language. Their work has considerable political and ethical consequences � for their society and ours. Babel asks whether we can effect change without violence, or must we depend on it?
Kuang's students are also flawed heroes, sometimes missing the real implications of their ideas. They make mistakes and recover (except when they do not). They engage with the world, one that at first is comprised of abstract ideas, then are later forced to consider the ethical and political issues raised by those ideas.
Babel is not perfect, at least in my reading of it. Three of the characters block Letty out for much of the book � even while loving her � then make a significant error in judgment about her. Would they have? I don't buy that. Griffin and Robin also both misstep at various points in ways that don't feel completely true to me. But there's so much that is interesting here that I spent my time joining her characters in wordplay and loving theirs.
And, Kuang has written a trilogy before. Although Babel doesn't end with a cliffhanger, it feels as though it, too, could be the first in a trilogy....more
This is the second book on Philippine's Rodrigo Duterte and his war on drugs that I've read in the last year. It's also the second written by journaliThis is the second book on Philippine's Rodrigo Duterte and his war on drugs that I've read in the last year. It's also the second written by journalists at Rappler (the other is Maria Ressa's How to Stand Up To a Dictator). I did not plan this, but both journalists impressed me with the courage of Rappler's staff. I love reading anything written by passionate, courageous authors excelling at what they do. Ressa won a Nobel Prize for her work as a journalist.
Although the Philippines has a drug abuse problem half that of the world average, Dutarte called a war on drugs: "“Hitler massacred three million Jews,� he said. [It was more like six million Jews and five million Soviets, Romany, Jehovah Witnesses, communists, and homosexuals.] “Now there are three million drug addicts. I’d be happy to slaughter them�" (p. 12). He was not calling for their capture and imprisonment, but for outright slaughter on the streets, what has been called extrajudicial killings (EJK).
So is it the goal (removing drug abuse) or the means (slaughter or imprisonment) that matters? In the US, we have engaged in mass imprisonment as a strategy for clearing the streets and, while it is not as despicable as EJKs, the impact on families and communities has also been horrific.
Duterte has been a popular president, although this has been a popularity built on lies. "“I have no pretensions,� he said. “I am a small-town boy,� he said. “I am an ordinary Filipino,� he said. “I know the sentiment of the ordinary people. I can talk to them because that’s where I come from.�" (p. 61). And yet, he had enjoyed a privileged upbringing, surrounded by guns and bodyguards, flying his father’s plane, and hanging out with the sons of the local elite in his Jesuit-run boys� school. Who was the real Duterte?
To believe in Rodrigo Duterte, you had to believe he was a killer, or that he was joking when he said he was a killer. You had to believe in the specter of a narco state, or you had to believe that he was only playing to the crowd. You had to believe drug addiction is criminal, that drug addicts are not human, and that their massacre can be considered acceptable public policy. You had to believe he could make crime and corruption and illegal drugs disappear in three to six months. You had to believe that a mayor who kept peace by ordering undesirables out of his city could succeed in a country where undesirables were citizens too. You had to believe the intended dead would be drug lords and rapists, only drug lords and rapists, and not your cousins who go off into Liguasan Marsh to pick up their baggies of meth. You had to believe there would be a warning before the gunshots ring out. (p. 118).
One of the things I liked best about Some People Need Killing was Patricia Evangelista's focus on language. Were speakers using passive or active voice � and what were the implications of that choice? Who and what was the sentence's subject and object? What words were chosen? ""They would be drowned, stabbed, shot, buried, dropped into Manila Bay, fed to fishes, and sent to purgatory, and none of it would be murder because it was not murder, only justice�. “Simple justice,� he said. “Not murder-murder"� (p. 147).
And, it was not just Duterte who played with language. We are all guilty of Crimes Against Language, when it is convenient.
In Filipino, maganda means “beautiful.� It can also mean “good.� It was unclear what the president meant that afternoon in August, but there was a reason every English-language local news organization chose to use the word good instead of beautiful. Good, as egregious a judgment as it was, was far less outrageous than beautiful. Beautiful would have offered an element of pleasure, a romanticizing of brutality, the impression that the commander in chief of a democratic republic was not just pleased but delighted by the ruthless killing of his citizens. (p. 168).
[image] The Philippine "Pietà ": Jennelyn Olaires holding her husband, killed as an alleged drug dealer. Source: Philippine Daily Inquirer / Raffy Lerma
We must see the humanity of the people killed before we can say no: ""You know, he’s a young kid,� Jason says. An innocent boy who didn’t look like an addict, didn’t look like a squatter, was a student who could have been Jason’s brother or sister or son. “And that’s when I had to look back,� he said. “I had to question how many of those who died before, like the Pietà , were similar to Kian [a 17-year-old killed, who only wanted to complete his homework]—even if they didn’t look like Kian.� (pp. 318-319)
None of us are immune: “We love your adherence to democratic principle,� Vice President George H. W. Bush raising a toast to President Marcos (p. 26). ...more
Dear Scarlet is a sweet and honest graphic memoir of a Chinese Canadian's experience with post-partum depression, a useful read for a person experiencDear Scarlet is a sweet and honest graphic memoir of a Chinese Canadian's experience with post-partum depression, a useful read for a person experiencing it, her friends and family, or as in Teresa Wong's case, her children (when adults). She described both things that helped her (e.g., psychoeducation, medication, psychotherapy, and nonjudgmental support) and that were unhelpful (e.g., criticism, from herself or others). [image] I would have liked to have learned more about who Wong was, as in both her text and simple drawings she treats herself almost entirely as a baby-making machine and inadequate parent. But perhaps that was Wong's point: life became small after Scarlet was born, and she had a difficult time seeing herself outside of a very narrow, inadequately fitting role. [image]...more
Smog circled the earth, occluding the sun, killing most native plants and animals. Our narrator, a chef, was forced to create art from bags of mung-prSmog circled the earth, occluding the sun, killing most native plants and animals. Our narrator, a chef, was forced to create art from bags of mung-protein-soy-algal flour. In other words, her world was bleak, her work impossible.
Her life was like that of a frog being boiled alive (in a rich bouillabaisse). At what point do you jump out?
[image]
I almost set aside Land of Milk and Honey, as I was depressed when reading it unlike my usual response to dystopian novels � where the protagonist faces unsurmountable odds but succeeds, even in small ways. This narrator was a passive spectator until almost the end (view spoiler)[when she could have escaped to Mars, but chose not to (hide spoiler)]. She became an actor in her own life rather than simply her employer's puppet.
This last part of the book was worth the wait. As C. Pam Zhang's narrator notes, "Real food is whatever cooks are proud to make" (p. 188). Zhang's writing glistened, I salivated as she talked about food and cooking, and I believed that we can get through this....more
Maria Ressa did not start as an activist, not even a journalist. As she described in her professional memoir How to Stand Up to a Dictator, she was a Maria Ressa did not start as an activist, not even a journalist. As she described in her professional memoir How to Stand Up to a Dictator, she was a shy outsider when her family immigrated to the US. She was a theatre major in college. College is far more than career preparation and got her thinking about the ways that she wanted to approach her life: with integrity, honor, according to her values.
How to Stand Up to a Dictator traced Ressa’s often harrowing journey from social media advocate to democracy defender in a system often more interested in protecting profit than public discourse. In 2021, Ressa was awarded the Nobel Peace prize, which she shared with Russian journalist Dmitry Muratov.
Ressa described the Philippines as “a fraud hub� for “click and account farms, information operations, and the rise of political influencers in the grayer areas of the advertising industry� (p. 124). This didn’t have to be the case. Social media monetizes page views and engagement times, favoring emotionally driven sensationalism. She argued “developments I welcomed in 2011 would soon be fine-tuned by digital platforms� business models, co-opted by state power, and turned against the people, fueling the rise of digital authoritarians, the death of facts and the insidious mass manipulation we live with today� (p. 105)
Mark Zuckerberg did nothing to stop this. She repeatedly showed Zuckerberg how Duterte and his supporters were using Facebook to spread disinformation � but was largely ignored.
So, how does one stand up to a dictator? First, hold technology accountable through regulation that protects journalistic standards and ethics. Second, grow investigative journalism. Third, build global communities of action to protect frontline journalism through collaborations among free press, media, and civil society groups. These communities would collaborate to create databases to defend facts and shorten the time it takes to expose lies and correct misinformation. She argued that we must expose their methods, continue even when it becomes difficult, and be willing to risk our freedom. She asked that we hold technology companies accountable, invest in investigative journalism, and build collaborations between news organizations and those who care about democracy and facts.
This is the third book I’ve read in six months in which a Korean American daughter is writing about her grief over her mother’s death. In each of thesThis is the third book I’ve read in six months in which a Korean American daughter is writing about her grief over her mother’s death. In each of these cases the mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Really, this wasn’t my plan. The first two � Grace Cho’s Tastes Like War and Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H Mart � are memoirs; Folklorn is a novel, where three of the characters flirt with psychosis (her mother catatonic for 15 years). All three were published since 2021.
The two memoirs both focus more on trauma related to the Korean War and immigration to the US as explanations for the schizophrenia. Their symptoms, while called schizophrenia, might be better called major depressive disorder with psychotic features or posttraumatic stress disorder (or both). Or maybe it’s neither of these.
But if a bunch of foreigners barged into your world, dragged your men away on dangerous expeditions, studied you like you were some alien, and demanded you explain every word you had for snow—wouldn’t you also run naked and dive into the frozen sea? (p. 129)
Folklorn nods toward war trauma but focuses more on domestic violence and the loss of a child. Maybe that trauma is incorporated into the culture.
So how could my parents accept the war was finally over when their immigrant village kept the specter of it alive in their drunken reminiscences, business dealings, and paranoia over hidden enemies—from both within and without—those foreign, and those resembling kin? (p. 10)
Folklorn is the most challenging read of the three, as it threaded together multiple themes � experimental physics, culture (Sweden, K-town), cross-racial adoption, Korean folktales and retellings, grief, and family loyalty � often in a somewhat nonlinear, often hallucinatory and grieving manner. If you like clear, straight journeys, choose either memoir. If you can tolerate somewhat messier ones, Folklorn might be your choice....more
Covenant of Water takes place in two countries (although primarily India) over a period of 77 years and, in my version, over 750 pages with a dozen "mCovenant of Water takes place in two countries (although primarily India) over a period of 77 years and, in my version, over 750 pages with a dozen "major" characters and dozens (hundreds?) of minor characters, two "major" diseases, and five hospitals. In this same period, India moved from a colony to a self-governing country, with considerable upheaval as India and its citizens attempted to address the significant problems of poverty, disease, and inequality (both gender and caste).
Because this is such a large book with multiple characters and themes � and I wouldn't remove a page, although some reviewers would � Verghese used a whiteboard to chart where he was going. This is the most recent of five versions posted in Verghese ().
[image] Verghese with his storyboard in 2016
Although loosely based on ideas and stories from his family, Verghese says it is more the tone that he borrowed from his mother's story for her granddaughter and namesake. Covenant of Water was warm, accepting, and flowing, even when characters were angry with each other or messing up. "Every family has secrets, but not all secrets are meant to deceive. What defines a family is not blood, molay, but the secrets they share" (p. 665). I felt like I was drifting along the Pama River, although occasionally we hit "rapids," which I also enjoyed.
As in Cutting for Stone, Covenant of Water includes detailed descriptions of medical procedures, although perhaps not as frequent descriptions. These were similarly engaging and understandable, in ways that most physicians do not talk about their work.
Many but not all of the physicians were the kind that I don't see enough of: "Love the sick, each and every one, as if they were your own� (p. 617). ...more
One of the difficulties with (reading) history is that we can get a sanitized and flattened narrative. That narrative can focus on Great Men, people (One of the difficulties with (reading) history is that we can get a sanitized and flattened narrative. That narrative can focus on Great Men, people (men) in power, wars and diplomacy, etc. It often doesn't focus on new immigrants, the underclass, women, and the contradictions in their experiences.
In Buddha in the Attic, Julie Otsuka provides a short history of early 20th century "picture brides" from Japan, not by describing the typical experience (was there a typical experience???), but by giving a range of experiences and asking the reader to abstract a central quality, much like a pointillist painting (e.g., Georges Seurat). Otsuka had started her career as a painter. Was that her intention?
Here Otsuka describes the panic following Pearl Harbor, but before Japanese immigrants and their American-born children and grandchildren were interned in concentration camps:
It was nearly impossible to get your name on the list. It was extremely easy to get your name on the list. Only people who belonged to our race were on the list. There were Germans and Italians on the list, but their names appeared toward the bottom. The list was written in indelible red ink. The list was typewritten on index cards. The list did not exist. The list existed, but only in the mind of the director of military intelligence, who was known for his perfect recall. The list was a figment of our imaginations. The list contained over five hundred names. The list contained over five thousand names. The list was endless. Every time an arrest was made another name was crossed off the list. Every time a name was crossed off the list a new name was added to it. New names were added to the list daily. Weekly. Hourly. (pp. 83-84)
Otsuka's paragraphs captured the diversity of opinions, approaches, beliefs, and responses of the picture brides, but she often used the first person plural, "we" � although not in the examples here. Perhaps as they became acculturated into the more individualistic American society, their voices and experiences were named for the first time later in the book. "There was an old man from Gilroy who left on a stretcher. There was another old man—Natsuko’s husband, a retired barber in Florin—who left on crutches with an American Legion cap pulled down low over his head. 'Nobody win war. Everybody lose,' he said. Most of us left speaking only English, so as not to anger the crowds that had gathered to watch us go" (p. 105).
Buddha in the Attic feels like poetry � broad and simple strokes carrying deeper levels of meaning. Imagine a different, non-contradictory list of suggestions for how to interact with white Americans. Would it be as effective? Would it tell us as much about this group and that time?
Stay away from them, we were warned. Approach them with caution, if you must. Do not always believe what they tell you, but learn to watch them closely: their hands, their eyes, the corners of their mouths, sudden changes in the color of their skin. You will soon be able to read them. Make sure, however, that you »å´Ç²Ô’t stare. With time you will grow accustomed to their largeness. Expect the worst, but do not be surprised by moments of kindness. There is goodness all around. Remember to make them feel comfortable. Be humble. Be polite. Appear eager to please. Say “Yes, sir,â€� or “No, sir,â€� and do as you’re told. Better yet, say nothing at all. You now belong to the invisible world. (pp. 25-26)
Buddha in the Attic was moving in a way that I found unexpected. Some of its power came from subsuming many voices into a single, richly-textured braid....more
R. F. Kuang lambastes authors, the publishing system, readers of GR and Twitter, and everyone and everything else in Yellowface. She has an unreliableR. F. Kuang lambastes authors, the publishing system, readers of GR and Twitter, and everyone and everything else in Yellowface. She has an unreliable narrator, June Haywood, who is whiney and unlikeable, sees the people around her as getting unfair advantages (Haywood is the kind of white Progressive that DiAngelo was talking about in Nice Racism), and sets up a variety of problematic interactions as a result. I felt dirty spending time with June � and the people in her world � and yet I kept reading. A long hot shower was in order after finishing this book that had not a single unmitigated good guy.
A three sentence summary: Brilliant, talented, and beautiful Athena Liu choked on a pancake and died. June Haywood � not as BTB as Liu � "lifted" Liu's unfinished manuscript and finished it. BTW, Haywood is white, writing a book about Chinese laborers in WWI.
You may not agree with everything here (I don't), but she's right that the road to success can be unfair.
Publishing picks a winner—someone attractive enough, someone cool and young and, oh, we’re all thinking it, let’s just say it, “diverse� enough—and lavishes all its money and resources on them. It’s so fucking arbitrary. Or perhaps not arbitrary, but it hinges on factors that have nothing to do with the strength of one’s prose. Athena—a beautiful, Yale-educated, international, ambiguously queer woman of color—has been chosen by the Powers That Be. (pp. 5-6)
Haywood avoids blame and justifies everything she does, "It’s not like I took a painting and passed it off as my own. I inherited a sketch, with colors added only in uneven patches, and finished it according to the style of the original. Imagine if Michelangelo left huge chunks of the Sistine Chapel unfinished. Imagine if Raphael had to step in and do the rest" (p. 36). She sees herself as knowledgeable enough to write a Chinese history, but her understanding is very thin: "it’s important to be anti-PRC (that’s the People’s Republic of China) but pro-China (I’m not terribly sure how that’s different)" (p. 71).
And Haywood recognizes Liu's brilliance, but also puts her down, "The original draft made you feel dumb, alienated at times, and frustrated with the self-righteousness of it all. It stank of all the most annoying things about Athena. The new version is a universally relatable story, a story that anyone can see themselves in" (p. 45). That is, "universally relatable" if you're white. And, she's most racist when protesting it. As one reviewer in the text said: she "uses the suffering of thousands of Chinese laborers as a site for melodrama and white redemption� rather than as an opportunity to excavate a forgotten history (p. 99).
Okay, I don't need to tell you more, except that everyone piles on building a good product, loving the book, then hating it, then hating Haywood. Accusations fly, with interesting questions all the way around. (If someone tells you their personal story and you use it in a story you publish, is that also theft?)
The truth is fluid. There is always another way to spin the story, another wrench to throw into the narrative. (p. 317)
Earlier this week, Stevens () argued that "audiences are finally getting to see all dimensions of the Asian American experience � even the weird, bad and raunchy parts" and that this is good for Asian Americans. Yellowface continues this trend....more
Cutting for Stone is a massive book, almost 700 pages. I read it in fewer than four days, often in large gulps. Fifty-two percent of GR reviewers rateCutting for Stone is a massive book, almost 700 pages. I read it in fewer than four days, often in large gulps. Fifty-two percent of GR reviewers rate Cutting for Stone five stars, 15% three or fewer. I am in the former group. I loved Cutting for Stone. I love epics and the space they allow us to observe personal, cultural, and historical changes, especially when they cover three continents, as this does, although time on each continent is not equal. I wouldn't have imagined that I would have followed � and enjoyed � Abraham Verghese's lengthy descriptions of medical decisions and procedures and of Ethiopian politics. I did. I love reading/watching anything that one does with passion. They are also compassionate, thoughtful, and sometimes downright funny.
The five major figures in this book are surgeons and passionate about their work. The narrator is one of a pair of conjoined twins, Marion and Shiva Praise Stone, who were separated at birth, and born to a nun who died in childbirth. Their purported father abandoned them shortly after their mother's death, and they were adopted and raised by a pair of loving and joyful physicians in their Mission Hospital (called "Missing" by all).
Many of Verghese's points were made through stories and aphorisms. (Many people parent this way, right?) One important story was the Abu Kassem story: a miserly merchant held onto his battered, much repaired slippers, despite them being objects of derision and hateful even to himself, yet every attempt to get rid of them led to disaster. Everything we see, do, and touch, every seed we sow or »å´Ç²Ô’t sow, becomes part of our destiny. (view spoiler)["Shiva, do you see how deflowering Genet, a biological act as far as you were concerned, led to all this? It led Rosina to kill herself, led Genet to stray from us? It led to this moment where I hate the woman I hoped to marry?" (p. 446). (hide spoiler)] The beauty of the Abu Kassem story is that to get rid of the slippers, we have to admit they are ours. Once we do, the "slippers" will get rid of themselves.
Like R. K. Narayan’s Man-eater of Malgudi, one of the family's read-aloud books, the Stone world “boringâ€� in its small details, but also "interesting and even funny." They were "imprisoned by habit, by profession, and by a most foolish and unreasonable belief that enslaved them; only they couldn’t see it" (pp. 256-257). What should we hide? What should we share? What should we strive for and why? "This was what growing up was about: hide the corpse, »å´Ç²Ô’t bare your heart, do make assumptions about the motives of others. They’re certainly doing all these things to you" (p. 331). Even these brilliant, compassionate, and wise people were often misguided.
Like his narrator, Verghese was born in Addis Ababa of parents of Indian descent. He ended up in the US during Ethiopia's Civil War (1974), later doing medical school in India. Verghese is now professor of medicine at Stanford Universities, where he encourages doctors to place themselves in their patients� shoes. His motto is “Imagine your patient’s experience.� He won the National Humanities Medal in . Several times the elder Dr. Stone asked, "Tell us, please, what treatment in an emergency is administered by ear?� (p. 520). The answer, of course, is "words of comfort." That comfort and empathy undergirded the work of each effective physician in this book.
The book-loving members of my family urged me to read Cutting for Stone to ready for Covenant of Water. I appreciate my fellow readers....more
Loading...
