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booksthroughmyveins's reviews
35 reviews
The Year of the Cat: A Love Story by Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett
slow-paced
- thanks to @hachetteaus for my #gifted copy of this book
As a cat person myself, I jumped at the opportunity of what promised to be a Memoir about isolation, desire for motherhood and cats. Perhaps this is simply a matter of expectations, as it often happens with literature, but I did not find what I was looking for in this book.
Similar to Sarah Sentille's Draw Your Weapons, Cosslett shifts between her account of the first year of COVID —when restrictions were severe and isolation increased— and mainly research about a wide range of topics, from feminism to trauma. However, this style was unsuitable for what Cosslett wanted to transmit, resulting in a fragmented narrative that increased the distance between the author and the reader. The lack of conventional structure was detrimental to the overall flow and contributed to an overwhelming amount of seemingly unrelated information.
Structure and research aside, the personal paragraphs in which Cosslett explores her doubts about motherhood, mixed with the adoption of a kitten and her PTSD, did not grasp me like I hoped they would. Halfway through the book, I started feeling like I was reading someone's diary instead of a Memoir, full of unordered thoughts and diatribes. And yes, one could argue that Memoirs are deeply personal, just like a diary would be. Still, there is a clear, see-through difference between the informal and unpublished and the formal and published. Here, the formality and relevance necessary for publication were missing.
By the end, I was also deeply disappointed by the little content about cats. Cosslett focuses mainly on portraying her never-ending personal back-and-forth between wanting to pursue pregnancy or not and questioning all her life choices during the pandemic, and very little about her adopted kitten Mackerel and the significance to her life.
Overall, The Year of the Cat was not my cup of tea. A disorganised and unfocused Memoir that left me feeling displeased and disappointed, with very little of the promised content about the life-changing power of cats.
As a cat person myself, I jumped at the opportunity of what promised to be a Memoir about isolation, desire for motherhood and cats. Perhaps this is simply a matter of expectations, as it often happens with literature, but I did not find what I was looking for in this book.
Similar to Sarah Sentille's Draw Your Weapons, Cosslett shifts between her account of the first year of COVID —when restrictions were severe and isolation increased— and mainly research about a wide range of topics, from feminism to trauma. However, this style was unsuitable for what Cosslett wanted to transmit, resulting in a fragmented narrative that increased the distance between the author and the reader. The lack of conventional structure was detrimental to the overall flow and contributed to an overwhelming amount of seemingly unrelated information.
Structure and research aside, the personal paragraphs in which Cosslett explores her doubts about motherhood, mixed with the adoption of a kitten and her PTSD, did not grasp me like I hoped they would. Halfway through the book, I started feeling like I was reading someone's diary instead of a Memoir, full of unordered thoughts and diatribes. And yes, one could argue that Memoirs are deeply personal, just like a diary would be. Still, there is a clear, see-through difference between the informal and unpublished and the formal and published. Here, the formality and relevance necessary for publication were missing.
By the end, I was also deeply disappointed by the little content about cats. Cosslett focuses mainly on portraying her never-ending personal back-and-forth between wanting to pursue pregnancy or not and questioning all her life choices during the pandemic, and very little about her adopted kitten Mackerel and the significance to her life.
Overall, The Year of the Cat was not my cup of tea. A disorganised and unfocused Memoir that left me feeling displeased and disappointed, with very little of the promised content about the life-changing power of cats.
Inconceivable by Alexandra Collier
emotional
funny
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
- thanks to @hachetteaus for my #gifted copy of this book
I firmly believe that there is nothing more human than fully pursuing what we sincerely, truly, really want, even more so when dealing with rejection, judgement, and loss is highly likely. Alexandra wanted to be a mother, and when the planets did not align to provide a standard family, she decided to build her own by embarking on a solo motherhood journey.
I really enjoyed this Memoir and Alexandra's creative choices behind it. Her decision to pursue solo motherhood does not happen in a vacuum, and it comes with significant consequences, so I appreciated the author's necessary vulnerability in explaining the journey and not shying away from exploring its most difficult and painful parts.
Nevertheless, Alexandra's sense of humour perfectly balanced the seriousness of the matters she delves into: from heartbreak and the oppressiveness of societal expectations to the difficulties of conceiving, gender roles, relationships and the lack of support from the Australian health system for soon-to-be parents. It is a rollercoaster of content and emotions, but one that is enjoyable, nurturing, very entertaining and approachable to anyone, including those whose experience is entirely different from Alexandra's.
In addition to learning about the biological and practical ways women can approach getting pregnant without a male partner, I also felt a shift in my beliefs about motherhood. As a person who does not aspire to marriage nor find comfort in the idea of traditional families, Alexandra made me reflect a lot on my personal values and aspirations, as it expanded my view of what is possible when you let go of impositions and expectations that do not resonate with you.
Overall, Inconceivable is a dynamic, entertaining and profound approach to a woman's journey to creating her own family. Informative, defiant and inspiring, it is a book that I recommend to anyone looking for a compelling and memorable read.
Once a Stranger by Zoya Patel
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
- thanks to @hachetteaus for my #gifted copy of this book
In Once a Stranger, debut author Zoya Patel explores the lives of an Indian Muslim family that immigrates to Australia searching for a better life. Here, Patel explores intergenerational trauma, death, tragedy, loss, and the life-changing intricacies of the immigrant experience, mainly through her characters and the consequences of their choices.
Unfortunately, I could not connect with this story and its characters as I would have liked to. I understand entirely what Patel tried to do here, but I believe the identifiable intentions did not translate to execution.
Although the pace is stable and the plot is easy to follow, the characterisation —the greatest asset of a novel like this one— was underdeveloped. Sisters Ayat and Laila felt two-dimensional and stereotypical: the rebel and the good girl. There is nothing new about this trope, yet novelty is not the problem: the absence of nuance that trumps the characters' potential is.
In general, the dialogues felt disingenuous and forced, which only contributed to the overall lack of depth. It is hard to believe in the humanity of made-up humans when their interactions with others feel structured and stilted. There were pivotal moments in the novel —like when Ayat speaks with Laila for the first time in six years, both over the phone and in person— that were reduced to a few mere pages with functional dialogue that were not enough to convey the impact and importance of those moments. Something similar also happens when Ayat is reunited with her mother, Khadija, reiterating the incredible missed opportunity to add layers of meaning to the story.
I also struggled a lot with the overuse of similes and metaphors. This creative choice is personal and inherent to the author's writing. Still, too many similes and metaphors become distracting and interrupt the natural flow of the narrative.
Overall, Once a Stranger was not my cup of tea. Nevertheless, I will most definitely read whatever Patel writes next. Debuts are usually just the beginning of the road.
In Once a Stranger, debut author Zoya Patel explores the lives of an Indian Muslim family that immigrates to Australia searching for a better life. Here, Patel explores intergenerational trauma, death, tragedy, loss, and the life-changing intricacies of the immigrant experience, mainly through her characters and the consequences of their choices.
Unfortunately, I could not connect with this story and its characters as I would have liked to. I understand entirely what Patel tried to do here, but I believe the identifiable intentions did not translate to execution.
Although the pace is stable and the plot is easy to follow, the characterisation —the greatest asset of a novel like this one— was underdeveloped. Sisters Ayat and Laila felt two-dimensional and stereotypical: the rebel and the good girl. There is nothing new about this trope, yet novelty is not the problem: the absence of nuance that trumps the characters' potential is.
In general, the dialogues felt disingenuous and forced, which only contributed to the overall lack of depth. It is hard to believe in the humanity of made-up humans when their interactions with others feel structured and stilted. There were pivotal moments in the novel —like when Ayat speaks with Laila for the first time in six years, both over the phone and in person— that were reduced to a few mere pages with functional dialogue that were not enough to convey the impact and importance of those moments. Something similar also happens when Ayat is reunited with her mother, Khadija, reiterating the incredible missed opportunity to add layers of meaning to the story.
I also struggled a lot with the overuse of similes and metaphors. This creative choice is personal and inherent to the author's writing. Still, too many similes and metaphors become distracting and interrupt the natural flow of the narrative.
Overall, Once a Stranger was not my cup of tea. Nevertheless, I will most definitely read whatever Patel writes next. Debuts are usually just the beginning of the road.
Broke by Sam Drummond
challenging
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- thanks to @affirmpress for my #gifted copy of this book
I hope I never cease to be amazed and profoundly moved by the courage, the talent and the grace of writers like Sam. Writing is beautiful and painful, and for some, it can even be healing ... but writing one's story and sharing it with the world takes guts —to say the least— and significantly more so when your voice is usually dismissed and buried amidst thousands of voices louder than yours. For this, I extend my gratitude and admiration to Sam and Affirm Press for bringing Broke into the world.
I basically —and unapologetically— devoured this book, switching between reading my physical copy and listening to the audiobook. Sam's voice —figurative and literally speaking— is equally captivating and heartwrenching. Undeniably, this type of narrative can only be achieved through an uncomfortable level of vulnerability for both the author and the reader. However, little can be achieved through art if we run away from learning and listening to voices that oblige us to wake up from our stupor, demanding to witness and sit with someone else's pain.
In his Memoir, Sam covers several critical topics, succinctly drawing from a lifelong experience of discrimination and dismissal. But this book is not only about disability, poverty, mobility limitations and discrimination; it is also a profound and heartfelt love letter to Sam's mother, who advocated and fought for her sons through life-changing hardship. Throughout my short —I wanted more!— but impactful experience with this book, I found myself fantasising about reading a Memoir about Sam's mum, especially one that picks up from where Broke ends. Wink, wink. Just saying.
In addition to the compassion, kindness and hope embedded in Sam's writing, there is an urgency for action and a demand for care. The current Australian health system —made by members of the society we are all part of and responsible for— is constantly letting down, dismissing and abusing vulnerable people. To change this, we need to listen and learn. And you can start to do so by reading this book.
I hope I never cease to be amazed and profoundly moved by the courage, the talent and the grace of writers like Sam. Writing is beautiful and painful, and for some, it can even be healing ... but writing one's story and sharing it with the world takes guts —to say the least— and significantly more so when your voice is usually dismissed and buried amidst thousands of voices louder than yours. For this, I extend my gratitude and admiration to Sam and Affirm Press for bringing Broke into the world.
I basically —and unapologetically— devoured this book, switching between reading my physical copy and listening to the audiobook. Sam's voice —figurative and literally speaking— is equally captivating and heartwrenching. Undeniably, this type of narrative can only be achieved through an uncomfortable level of vulnerability for both the author and the reader. However, little can be achieved through art if we run away from learning and listening to voices that oblige us to wake up from our stupor, demanding to witness and sit with someone else's pain.
In his Memoir, Sam covers several critical topics, succinctly drawing from a lifelong experience of discrimination and dismissal. But this book is not only about disability, poverty, mobility limitations and discrimination; it is also a profound and heartfelt love letter to Sam's mother, who advocated and fought for her sons through life-changing hardship. Throughout my short —I wanted more!— but impactful experience with this book, I found myself fantasising about reading a Memoir about Sam's mum, especially one that picks up from where Broke ends. Wink, wink. Just saying.
In addition to the compassion, kindness and hope embedded in Sam's writing, there is an urgency for action and a demand for care. The current Australian health system —made by members of the society we are all part of and responsible for— is constantly letting down, dismissing and abusing vulnerable people. To change this, we need to listen and learn. And you can start to do so by reading this book.
Yellowface by R.F. Kuang
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0