pangnaolin's reviews
92 reviews

really beautiful book! it did a wonderful job analyzing the way beliefs of the colonizer are forced on the colonized until they accept & enforce them themselves. it was especially interesting in the context of the african trilogy series, being a sequel to things fall apart-- the same patterns repeating in different ways.

achebe's writing is incredible and intriguing, and i really got into this book; i read the entirety in a couple hours! i'd absolutely recommend this book if you're interested in stories about colonization & end of empire or really loved things fall apart.

thinking about 100 Years of Solitude feels like trying to remember a vivid dream upon waking— the details are lush and the emotions intense, but articulating them fully feels impossible.

one of the most striking aspects for me is the theme of generational cycles and trauma. the buendías are caught in an endless loop, where each generation seems doomed to repeat the mistakes of the last, seemingly unaware of and unable to avoid them. this cycle obviously plays a part in their emotional & internal worlds (i especially loved getting to experience the older characters realizing these cycles and watching their children & grandchildren repeat them), but i also feel like it acts as a vivid illustration of historical amnesia.

memory— or lack of it— plays a crucial role in the development of these themes. macondo itself seems like a place out of time-- a sort of capsule where memories are as fluid as the river that passes by it. the town has this recurring amnesia about its history that contributes to a stasis, where no real progress can occur. obviously, this allows for capitalism and its impact to be woven into the narrative through issues such as railroad development and the arrival of the banana company & the rains that follow, showing both subtle and overt downfalls-- and epsecially for families such as the buendías, who continuously gain and lose power, for better or for worse. it's fascinating and also sort of melancholic to see how garcía márquez uses the supernatural to symbolize the real-life failures of collective memory and the impact of this on a community, whether it's through

the overt erasure of a massacre in the minds of citizens, the slow forgetting of colonel aureliano buendía, or even the forgetfulness of the townspeople about simple everyday objects

i will say that this book was incredibly interesting and also a slog to get through. at times, i managed to forget i cared about the characters or even liked the book because i was so caught up trying to figure out what was going on; it felt like an assignment. putting it down and coming back to it really helped that, though, as i loved it much more once i'd had a break. i feel like garcía márquez does a great job at getting you close to the characters without ever truly letting you into their lives & emotions. it's distant and close, and perfectly reflects that theme of solitude (no way!)

anyway, i'd definitely recommend this book, but only if you're ready for some dense reading! to be honest, i'd suggest you write down the events you've experienced in the book every few chapters-- or at least read the spark notes summaries-- just to truly solidify your understanding in your mind. it can take a lot to process this book! i think it's going to be stewing in my mind for a while, now

this was an incredible read and great introduction to kashmir's history and political cliamate (as far as i can tell). pankaj mishra's essay was probably the most unremarkable to me, though undoubtedly a good introduction to the book. then followed tariq ali's 50-page concise and broad history of kashmir, which i will say it was a bit difficult to get through at parts, but was very much needed to grasp the context of this collection! i got a bit lost in it at times, not having much of a background on kashmiri history-- as he'd occasionally introduce something as though we must already know of it, and bouncing between different timelines & names is hard to follow-- but a bit of googling made it more than doable, and i was thankful for the piece!

arundhati roy and hilal bhat's essay were the most compelling by far, with roy's being incredibly well-written, interesting, and informative, and bhat's being incredibly striking and intense (as he encountered intense violence he witness and endured).

i will say that it irked me a bit that only one (or two, if you count 16th century poet habbah khatun) of the included authors was kashmiri themself, but i still did appreciate the perspectives. i wish we'd been able to see more first-hand accounts that could truly explore and account for the complexity in local politics that i don't believe it's possible for outsiders to understand in the same way.

regardless, this was definitely a great introduction, and i feel it gave me a solid foundation for further exploring and understanding kashmir's struggle.

goodness. what a beautiful book. i truly have no words good enough to describe my feelings toward this piece. tommy orange, how you hurt me! truly (probably) my favorite author. his way with words is incredible and leaves me speechless with my heart aching each time. the way he navigates 'dialogue' for characters that communicate through more physical cues is incredible, and the way he moves smoothly between older and modern language & culture is just astonishing

i didn't think i'd like this book as much as there, there-- and i probably didn't in the sense that it's effect on me was less strong since it didn't get to catch me by surprise this time, now aware of the intensity of orange's writing-- but goodness, it really did impress me. the characters are beautiful and capture your heart, and the sense we get of their relationships with one another is so deep in a way i haven't encountered in any other book

i don't want to give you mush of the story, because i think it's worth going into relatively blind, but wow do i recommend it. one of my favorite books, for sure; i could easily point out my favorite moments to you from memory

este libro fue increíblemente conmovedor. el lenguaje no es demasiado complicado ni nada por el estilo; no es un libro difícil en ningún sentido técnico, pero está escrito maravillosamente. cada personaje estaba bien desarrollado y ninguno era solo malo o solo bueno. la forma en que reyna grande me hizo apoyar y despreciar a ciertos personajes no tiene comparación con la mayoría de los libros que he leído (que se joda la abuela evila).

también siento que esto brindó una perspectiva tan hermosa y triste sobre la inmigración y la separación de familias de una manera que había oído antes, pero que nunca había escuchado con tanta profundidad. lo recomiendo absolutamente, ¡especialmente si eres un estudiante de español de nivel intermedio y quieres practicar!

i connected with this book on such an interesting level. janie was so incredible to follow, and the way she danced into flowery language anytime she was alone earlier on in the book was beautiful, as was the fact that hurston decided to fade away that thoughtfulness as time went on and she was taught she couldn't be that. the images of the pear tree and God destroying & rebuilding the world each dusk & dawn really struck with me. i also just adored the way she created settings. the store was incredibly well done as a sort of cage for her, but i also loved her description of the muck & the everglades-- i could imagine it so perfectly, especially in terms of the energy she described

one of the most intense moments for me, though, was when

tea cake's friends all praised janie's compliance when he beat her-- the way they were so in awe and excitedly said things along the lines of "wow, i bet she didn't even fight back, huh?"

the feeling hit me so hard and i feel like it brought the whole book together, despite being a small moment

i don't have much else to say, but it was truly just a beautiful book. those were my favorite moments. i hope you enjoy it if you read it, too

Salvage the Bones is a book that pulled me in and didn’t let go. Ward writes with such intensity, I couldn't help but feel like I was right there with Esch and her family, dealing with their struggles long before Katrina shows up. The way she captures love, loss, and survival is unreal-- every character flawed and raw, yet full of so much heart that they ended up holding a special place in my heart.

I feel like it's especially powerful in the way it explores family, survival, and motherhood. Esch’s journey is so deeply tied to her understanding of love, and that love isn’t always gentle-- fierce, raw, and sometimes painful (though I wish she didn't think that's the norm or how it should be). The bond between Esch, her brothers, and their father-- and even some of their friends like Big Henry-- really showcase community in a way that totally broke my heart and warmed it, too.

I'd have to say that one of the most striking things through this novel is the way Ward connects Esch’s experience with motherhood to her brother Skeetah’s relationship with his dog (China), China's relationship with her puppies, and then even Esch's own relationship with her mother. There’s this constant tension between caring for those you love and the violence of the world around you, and I really felt the weight of that, especially as Hurricane Katrina loomed closer.

This book genuinely made my nail-biting habit worse. I was waiting every chapter for something worse, more intense, more incredible to happen, and it kept happening.

Ward’s writing is visceral and vivid, and pulls you into the sweat, dirt, and heart of Bois Sauvage. It doesn’t flinch away from the hard realities of life, but it’s also full of moments of tenderness. I'd say that everyone should read Salvage the Bones (as long as you're ready for some heavy shit), but especially if you’re looking for a story that digs into the messy, complicated love of family and the ways we fight to survive.

This was a pretty incredible book to me. It was sort of enthralling in a very weird way, and I don't really know where to begin talking about it. It definitely made me realize that Mexican gothics/surrealist horror pieces have a very specific style. Regardless, the prose was incredible, and I felt like the rug was constantly getting pulled out from under me.

I was especially drawn in by the way it explored the dividing lines of gender, sanity, language, life & death, attraction & fear, relationships in general, and obviously geographical spaces/cities. It felt very vague, and didn't let you sit with anything too long before pulling you along.

I do feel like it doesn't exactly focus on gender as much as summaries & reviews might lead you to think, or at least not in a trans/queer/feminism sort of way. Actually, I'm not sure how to describe it. It does have that string sewn throughout, but it doesn't explain much for you, and it's not always very direct. I'd argue it's more about the erasure of feminine works, ideas, values, etc... whether in how it explores language or Amparo Dávila's work. I wonder if gender might stand out more strongly if I were to read it in its original Spanish language. I should probably try someday!

There's definitely a lot of historical and cultural context around this I want to explore more, though. I feel like every paragraph of this book begs to be analyzed, and it'd do me a lot of good to read some essays on it, reread it with a more critical & analytical eye, and then read some more essays. 

You need to be ready for some insane surrealism if you read this, but it definitely is an incredible read.

Roya Marsh’s dayliGht is a collection that grabs you from the first poem and doesn’t let go. She isn’t afraid to confront tough topics like police brutality, systemic racism, and the intersectionality of being a queer Black woman in America. The balance she strikes between raw anger and deep tenderness is incredible. She’s unflinching in how she calls out injustice, but there’s a lot of love beneath it all— love for herself, her community, and the future she’s fighting for.

The poems feel urgent— meant to be heard right now, in this moment. Her voice is unapologetic, and she refuses to sugarcoat the pain and trauma, but there’s also a clear sense of resilience as she makes space for both the anger that comes from being marginalized and the care it takes to survive in a world that constantly devalues you. There’s this underlying thread of hope running through the collection, a belief that even in the face of so much injustice, there’s power in speaking out, in being heard.

I also really adored the use of structured titles with slight adjustments. It really tied each story together, and I felt like the collection really was one story/piece, whereas a lot of poetry collections can feel more disjointed to me. I would definitely recommend this to anyone who likes a sort of... Danez Smith/Hanif Abdurraqib style of poetry.

I have to say that I truly adored this novel, and at the same time, it didn't stand out to me all that much— maybe because it's one of the first of many that told this story, and I've read many others. I wasn't too drawn into the imagery or storytelling, but I was also never bored— just sort of vaguely interested in leaning more. That said, I did really love what it had to say (and especially found that it got better near the end), so I'd absolutely recommend it.

To me, Things Fall Apart feels like it’s telling a fairly straightforward story on the surface— Okonkwo is a man of tradition, holding fast to the values and customs of his Igbo culture, even as the world around him begins to change. I guess it is straightforward in that regard, but I also feel that there's so much more to it.

Okonkwo, trying so hard not to become like his father, ends up creating a rigid identity for himself and his children. He’s constantly worried about appearing weak, and that insecurity drives almost all of his actions. He’s obsessed with showing strength, but it also makes him blind to the changes happening around him, and makes it harder for him to genuinely fight for his beliefs. In this way, the arrival of European colonizers in the latter half of the novel isn’t just an external conflict, but symbolic of the internal conflict that Okonkwo faces with himself— he can’t adapt, even for the sake of fighting colonization and the erasure of his culture, and it ends up being his undoing.

The way Achebe weaves in these themes of masculinity, power, and change feels timeless. It’s interesting how Okonkwo's struggle isn't just about the Europeans or colonialism but about how people respond to change in general.  I think the real power of the novel comes from Achebe’s portrayal of Igbo society before colonization, though. He paints it with such depth and respect that you really feel the loss when it begins to fracture. You see the complexity of their traditions and beliefs, which makes the cultural shift and the arrival of the missionaries feel that much more devastating. We feel the erasure of their collective identity, and it becomes that much more tragic when Okonkwo, in his fight to preserve it, is left behind.