elfs29's reviews
191 reviews

This story, especially being based on Emecheta’s real experience moving to London, is both devastating and incredibly heartwarming, for the way she is treated, the way she suffers, and the colossal brilliance of her determination. Emecheta, through prose full of charisma and character, highlights the nuances and intersections between Adah’s position as a wife and mother, her upbringing in Nigeria and the stark cultural differences in England, her treatment as a black woman in London, all of which contribute to this second class status. It does not end happily, yet not sadly for you know her so well, and really believe that she can succeed, if anything for having seen how much she deserves to. As an account of her and many women’s experience it is honest, illuminating and affecting. 

Then the thought struck her that she could be killed and the world would think it was an accident. Just a husband and wife fighting. She still hit back occasionally when she knew she was near the door or out of danger, but she gave into his demands for the sake of peace. They were like the demands of a wicked child who enjoys torturing a live animal given to him as a pet. 

Márquez writes dark and fantastical tales of humanity with a certain brilliance. This story was atmospheric and heartfelt and sinister and poetic, asking about how societies decide truths, and who is able to challenge them. 

The oppressiveness of twilight filled the world. The Marquis saw the first star in the mauve sky and thought of his daughter, alone in the wretched house, dragging her abused foot through the botched cures of the healer. With his natural modesty he asked, What should I do?

I can see why people enjoy this book — it’s about friendship and about life in a way that one can project a relatability onto. Unfortunately it entirely lacks substance, within every relationship we follow. Sam and Sadie’s friendship is the hinge of the novel and yet they spend at least 50% of it barely speaking, for reasons that seem to try to be complex but are inexplicable for the mere fact we have only been told that Sadie is annoyed about one thing, Sam is annoyed about another, neither of which the reader can put into any context because, after 480 pages, you hardly know the characters at all. Regardless of the very weak character and relationship work, some of the plot points are just ridiculous, especially with Sam’s mother. It just felt like every major development offered more reason not to take this book seriously. The sentiments of complex friendships are important but, being told in such a deeply simple way, stand to be ineffectual. 

I was really surprised by the deftness with which Ishiguro crafted this character, a narrative so different from his other, more famous novels. This perspective of patriotism in post war Japan from a retired artist is really interesting and the use of unreliable narration crafting a conflicted mindset — our narrator feels both guilty and proud of his past, asking how he must adjust the way he addresses his career in the wake of modern Japan’s attitude toward him, how this might have tangible effects for him family, too. Through lovely, meditative prose, Ishiguro poses these questions about patriotism, about choices one has made, about guilt and where it must be placed and where it manifests itself in the consciousness.

'Army officers, politicians, businessmen, Matsuda said. 

I was always surprised by the opinions this book offered — three characters, three perspectives and three different modes of prose lend to an extremely detailed and complex analysis of the same relationships, hinging on blame and remorse, nostalgia and the inevitable intertwining of people over so much time. Benedetti conceded to the truth that to have characters reflect meaningfully on themselves in anyway they must be pompous and narcissistic to an extent, and yet he sewed these traits naturally into their relationships, making it important to the way these relationships have operated and their perceptions of one another have been created. Lucas’ part especially commented on the act of writing itself, which all the characters partook in, and called into question its inherent unreliability, and whether this unreliability extends beyond the page and into the psyche or if the two exist separately, somehow, if there is more we still cannot know. 

If with her violent beatings my mother taught me not to have any illusions, I've learned for myself not to have any great hopes. Lucas is here, a limited, extraordinary but accessible source of happiness, and I, with the excusable feelings of guilt that both you and I are aware of - that only bother me like a minor ailment, a toothache or lumbago - I want to seize this opportunity, I want to offer myself to him, because he is the present, and I believe in the present. After all, it's the only religion I have to hand.

I will not be the first nor last the praise Baldwin’s genius but it must be said, in both his fiction and essays, he offers a perspective and analysis of America so rich and considered that it is purely outstanding. I found reading his opinions of protest novels particularly interesting to apply to the way he writes his own novels, deepening how seriously he takes his writing and the formation of his opinions.

About my interests: I don't know if I have any, unless the morbid desire to own a sixteen-millimeter camera and make experimental movies can be so classified. Otherwise, I love to eat and drink-it's my melancholy conviction that I've scarcely ever had enough to eat (this is because it's impossible to eat enough if you're worried about the next meal)-and I love to argue with people who do not disagree with me too profoundly, and I love to laugh. I do not like bohemia, or bohemians, I do not like people whose principal aim is pleasure, and I do not like people who are earnest about anything. I don't like people who like me because I'm a Negro; neither do I like people who find in the same accident grounds for contempt. I love America more than any other country in the world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually. I think all theories are suspect, that the finest principles may have to be modified, or may even be pulverized by the demands of life, and that one must find, therefore, one's own moral center and move through the world hoping that this center will guide one aright. I consider that I have many responsibilities, but none greater than this: to last, as Hemingway says, and get my work done. 

Shibli does an amazing job of creating distinct voices and distinct perspectives - Part One, whilst detailing the horrific violence of the Israeli soldiers and settlements, employs an extremely detailed and detached prose style. Part Two, however, from the perspective of a Palestinian woman living within the occupation twenty five years later, is rife with life and personality and presents the way Palestinians are forced exist, the way their perceptions of themselves and their lives have been distorted. The way these two timelines intertwine and collide is atmospheric and anxious and tragic, bonding the past and present irrevocably, harking especially on the concept of borders - physical and psychological ones - that in the past and present provide the framework for violence and the bounds of oppression.

Since I lack the ability to evaluate things rationally, situations like these have a severe impact on me; they shake and destabilise me to the point that I can no longer fathom what is permissible and what is not, and I end up trespassing even more borders, worse ones than before. Yet all my fear and anxiety and internal turmoil dissipates when this trespassing occurs within the confines of my solitude. Solitude is so forgiving of trespassed borders; it was only thanks to my time spent alone, sitting at my table in the mornings, 'working' on something, that I was able to make my discovery.

As an avid enjoyer of Dazai’s other work, I really expected to find this brilliant. Whilst some stories were, like Eight Views of Tokyo and One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji, many of them felt a little dull, not imbued with the same consideration as some of his other work and held up mostly by a subversion in the final lines. Others I really hated. A Little Beauty is merely a perverted misogynistic story and I can’t imagine why the curator would feel the need to include it. I think, too, whilst these stories offer a personal look at a unique life and mind, Dazai at certain points becomes to deeply unlikeable, especially regarding his treatment of others and especially women, that I can barely even continue reading it. I’m glad I did, though, for he remains a talented artist and powerful literary voice. What I found most interesting was the final story, featuring his youngest daughter Yuko Tsushima, for the fact that one can begin to compare his telling of their life to hers. 

I consult my own flesh, my own passions, and find myself, alas, unable to deny it. Mark this well: your youth is gone. I would write a farewell to my youth without pandering to anyone. 

The nature of this book, the main bulk of the story seemingly written by someone of Frank’s behalf, explains the faster, less detailed and more blunt telling of emotions and behaviour. Whilst I think this serves its purpose of shrouding wartime experiences in mystery, isolating people from one another, it is less evocative than some of Morrison’s other work. Still, it remains poignant and beautiful in the way all of her writing is, answering not only to the present but how it was arrived at b

You young and a woman and there’s serious limitation in both, but you a person too. Don’t let Lenore or some trifling boyfriend and certainly no devil doctor decide who you are. That’s slavery. Somewhere inside you is that free person I’m talking about. Locate her and tell her to do some good in the world. 

Gripping, important, moving. Kingsolver is a fantastic writer that took this novel so far from David Copperfield into something massively more. Relationships, addiction, grief, poverty, this novel not only covers the reality of a devastating period of recent American history but also asks and answers why. All the characters are full of life and charisma and I think I will miss many of them. 

Never be mean in anything. Never be false. Never be cruel. I can always be hopeful of you.