Monday, December 15, 2025

Anything is Possible

Anything Is Possible (Amgash, #2)Anything Is Possible by Elizabeth Strout
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Strout does such a good job in creating significance in the insignificant. Everyday life unfolds with great and terrible consequences, yet she finds grace and hope in small acts too. Each chapter centers on a different character loosely connected with Lucy Barton and the small town in Illinois where she grew up. Each of them struggles, usually internally, with their scars that happened in the past and how this affects what is happening to them now. In most cases, they overcome it with help from those around them who show an unexpected kindness or forgiveness. We all hurt one another, but we can all help one another heal, too, she seems to say. Strout writes in small episodes connected by references to past chapters, so it helps to try to keep track of minor characters because they may become the main character in a few chapters in the future. However, if you lose track, the stories are satisfying by themselves, too.

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That Kind of Mother

 

That Kind of MotherThat Kind of Mother by Rumaan Alam
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This novel attempts to cover a lot of ground: balancing career with motherhood, hiring out care vs. staying home, mixed race adoption, divorce, single parenthood. While the protagonist grapples with all of these issues, I didn't really feel any of angst these issues would produce. Near the end I realized the author was actually a man, and I think he missed the essential feelings of guilt that would exist in a female. While Rebecca sometimes dithers before making a decision, she never questions her choice once she has made it and sometimes blithely disregards the consequences. For instance, when her black child's adult sister explains about skin care Rebecca waves it off as"skin is skin" and then, while realizing her faux pas, we don't see her researching any other differences in grooming, health care, or culture that might affect her adopted son. Perhaps being "that kind of mother" means not second-guessing or worrying about messing up your kids, but I haven't meant a mother yet that doesn't feel some of that anxiety.

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The Underground Railroad

The Underground RailroadThe Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Yes, Whitehead is a great writer. Yes, this novel is important because it recounts the atrocities this country has committed to people of color. I think when I read it was a science fiction take on the underground railroad, I was hoping for a bit more metaphor and a bit more hope than what I felt this take offered. Yes, the underground railroad in this book is an actual railroad under the ground--but it leads only to different spectacles of horror--eugenics, "historical" tourism, extermination orders, vigilantes,etc. While taken to extremes in cases, all of these scenarios existed in our past (and in some ways now) so it is a truthful and powerful novel in that way. However, its relentlessness made it hard to read much at a time.

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Sometimes such an experience bound one person to another; just as often the shame of one's powerlessness made all witnesses into enemies.

When the slaves finished, they had stripped the fields of their color.  It was a magnificent operation, from seed to bale, but not one of them could be prideful of their labor.  It had been stolen from them.

In death the negro became a human being.  Only then was he the white man's equal.

If Tennessee had a temperament, it took after the dark personality of the world with a taste for arbitrary punishment. 


Bitter Orange

 

Bitter OrangeBitter Orange by Claire Fuller
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

An excellent psychological thriller. Fuller paces things so that new information is not only surprising but throws color on the past as well. And the while they are surprising, they are also not jolting--she lays enough ground work to make the revelations plausible. Atmospheric, haunting, slightly disturbing, but such a great read! Not all questions get answered, but that just lets the mystery linger...

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Friday, December 12, 2025

Girlhood

 

GirlhoodGirlhood by Melissa Febos
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Febos knows how to dial into the crux of matters. Although some of her personal experiences may not vibe with everyone, I think every woman can relate to issues such as being objectified, feeling responsible for another's (read: male's) feelings of rejection, how our perception of our bodies lead to self-hate, promiscuity, shame, etc. Febos successfully weaves personal experiences, literature, and pop culture to examine the female experience. While she doesn't give easy answers, she provides a lot to consider and question.

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To say: no person, trying to take responsibility for her or his identity, should have to be so alone. There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep, and still be counted as warriors.
Author’s Note
I no longer think that the pains or darkness of my own girlhood were exceptional. It is a darker time for many than we are often willing to acknowledge. During it, we learn to adopt a story about ourselves—what our value is, what beauty is, what is harmful and what is normal—
Prologue: Scarification
It is better to choose your pain than to let it choose you.
Kettle Holes
In some inchoate way, I understood that desire led to fear that could lead to hate—all without ever obliterating that original want.

A mystery solved is always a death: that of possibility, denial, the dream of our own invincibility.

The true telling of our stories often requires the annihilation of other stories, the ones we build and carry through our lives because it is easier to preserve some mysteries. We don’t need the truth to survive, and sometimes our survival depends on its denial.
The Mirror Test
“The mirror represents the perspective of the others on my body: by taking over this perspective on myself, self-consciousness is constituted. An essential step in this process is marked by the development of shame.”

To be called a slut is tantamount to being one, she tells her daughter. Society creates you.

This is the brilliance of shame as a tactic of domination: it conditions us to maintain our own isolation.

I have since learned that recognizing the invisible parts of oneself in another person can feel like a radiant kind of love.
Wild America
Our power may be innate, but we learn its meaning from others.

How wrong I had been about freedom. I had mistakenly thought that beauty was the price of it, that I must succeed at erasing myself in order to be myself. In fact, it was the opposite. Only when I divested from the systems that benefited from my self-hatred could I relinquish it and glimpse freedom.

Intimacy, I’ve found, has little to do with romance. Maybe it is the opposite of romance, which is based on a story written by someone else. It is a closeness to another person that requires closeness with oneself. It is not watching lightning strike from the window but being struck by it.
Intrusions
The pathology of victimhood would also claim that self-blaming and shame were my very ordinary attempt to explain what had happened to me, to assert control over it by assuming responsibility.

“Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at … Thus she turns herself into an object—and most particularly an object of vision: a sight.”
Thank You for Taking Care of Yourself
Secrets, if initially a source of power to their keepers, often transmute into a source of shame over time.

One of the dictionary definitions of the word unspeakable is “too bad or horrific to express in words.”

see two powerful imperatives that collaborate to encourage empty consent: the need to protect our bodies from the violent retaliation of men and the need to protect the same men from the consequences of their own behavior, usually by assuming personal responsibility. It is our shame, our embarrassment, our duty alone to bear it.

That is, it was preferable to tolerate sex she didn’t want than to tolerate the displeasure of men.

Sex and “love” were dues we owed to society for much, much longer than they have been voluntary routes to our own fulfillment.

If neurologists and psychologists conducted a study of women who had given empty consent, how many symptoms would they identify that we commonly associate with trauma?

It is not a coincidence that the apex of feminine beauty is nearly identical to that of physical powerlessness.

The only thing that renders the awkwardness of affirmative consent greater any of these awkwardnesses is that the onus of it does not rest entirely on the shoulders of the most vulnerable.

A body isn’t very well loved by the person who abandons it when its needs conflict with the desires of strangers.

If I have learned anything by writing this, it is that consent is a form of communication that happens first within the self.

Sometimes what I mean by healing is changing.

We must choose it over and over.
Les Calanques
Once in a while, I’ll give a few dollars to a panhandler who I know is going to spend it on dope. There are days when the next high is the only mercy available to us. Sometimes our best efforts at self-preservation look like a kind of violence.

A thing of unknown value has no value, and I treated myself as such.

The more I know my own worth, the less I have to fling myself against anything. 

American Spy

American SpyAmerican Spy by Lauren Wilkinson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A great spy novel where the protagonist is a mother running from her past. Pacing, character development, intrigue--all great! Great exploration on American involvement in foreign governments, idealism, feminism, and motherhood.

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 But recruiting and running informants was about cultivating their trust.  To do that I found it worked best to lie frequently to them.

I learned that a secret is power, that power in application is force, that force is strength and strength advantage.

Real democracy has to develop in response to the needs of that society.

The Pull of the Stars

The Pull of the StarsThe Pull of the Stars by Emma Donoghue
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Donoghue does such a remarkable job of creating feelings and emotions by simply relating unrelenting detail of life. She did it in Room and she does it here. At first I was a little exasperated at the chunk of text without chapter or other breaks but soon saw the sheer relentlessness of the page as a brilliant device--the lack of quotation marks was another great choice as the whole narration becomes a sort of fever dream. When the first break happened a third way into the book I felt like I had been completely immersed in Julia's world (and mind). Also like Room I felt like some of the intensity was lost in the second half of the novel. I felt like some of it became repetitive and the love story seemed to come out of nowhere--the same feelings could have been produced without introducing the romantic element, in my opinion. So interesting that Donoghue started writing this before COVID and how so many of the same elements played out in both pandemics. (We thought we were so unique...)

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