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illustrated_librarian's reviews
432 reviews
Off-White by Astrid H. Roemer
challenging
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
'At least once a year, they would map the territory of their past and dig up the roots of the family tree for a brief inspection. And the adults would conclude once again that, regardless, they were all off-white.'
Suriname, 1966, and the long shadow of colonialism still hangs over the country. Grandma Bee, the proud cigar-smoking matriarch of the Vanta family, is dying. Her family is complex, reflecting the many different groups calling Suriname home, and they're scattered over the country and beyond. Once she is gone what ties, if any, will bind them together? What makes a family, a legacy?
Off-White is a vivid family saga told in prose remeniscent of Toni Morrison or Montserrat Roig, deftly translated from the original Dutch. Sweeping back and forth through time, through memories, and across continents, it maps how generations themselves are created, how they disperse into the world but remain shaped by their family history, the links that can push or pull.
Characters emerge slowly and deliberately from the kaleidoscopic mix of thought, memory, and narration, but occasionally I had the feeling the camera had panned away too quickly at a crucial moment shaping who they are. Perhaps something more was at play there, though?
We don't always get the clearest picture of an event, but we see insidious colonialism in Bee's offhand comments, the shadow of male violence in Louise's protectiveness over her daughters, and the consequences of white-centric power structures in Heli's exile to the Netherlands. Some revelations needed a longer treatment, but I understand the continual return of focus to the family as a whole and the ripple effect of each event, even when subtle.
Though there's so much pain, Roemer is possibly most concerned with the possibilities of breaking cycles of trauma, reconciliation, and healing. The Vanta grandchildren emerge as bright points of hope from their complex, diverse family tree; they embody the future of Suriname, and Roemer throws her faith behind them.
A layered and often tricky read (check content warnings!) but one that I'm sure will only grow richer every revisit.
Suriname, 1966, and the long shadow of colonialism still hangs over the country. Grandma Bee, the proud cigar-smoking matriarch of the Vanta family, is dying. Her family is complex, reflecting the many different groups calling Suriname home, and they're scattered over the country and beyond. Once she is gone what ties, if any, will bind them together? What makes a family, a legacy?
Off-White is a vivid family saga told in prose remeniscent of Toni Morrison or Montserrat Roig, deftly translated from the original Dutch. Sweeping back and forth through time, through memories, and across continents, it maps how generations themselves are created, how they disperse into the world but remain shaped by their family history, the links that can push or pull.
Characters emerge slowly and deliberately from the kaleidoscopic mix of thought, memory, and narration, but occasionally I had the feeling the camera had panned away too quickly at a crucial moment shaping who they are. Perhaps something more was at play there, though?
We don't always get the clearest picture of an event, but we see insidious colonialism in Bee's offhand comments, the shadow of male violence in Louise's protectiveness over her daughters, and the consequences of white-centric power structures in Heli's exile to the Netherlands. Some revelations needed a longer treatment, but I understand the continual return of focus to the family as a whole and the ripple effect of each event, even when subtle.
Though there's so much pain, Roemer is possibly most concerned with the possibilities of breaking cycles of trauma, reconciliation, and healing. The Vanta grandchildren emerge as bright points of hope from their complex, diverse family tree; they embody the future of Suriname, and Roemer throws her faith behind them.
A layered and often tricky read (check content warnings!) but one that I'm sure will only grow richer every revisit.
Supplication by Nour Abi-Nakhoul
challenging
dark
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
3.0
'I needed it, a thing to give myself over to, to humble myself before, to go limp in the face of; we all need it. There is nothing else.'
The narrator of this book comes to captive in a basement, unsure of who or what she was before, surrender to this rebirth her only means of escape. During her hallucinatory journey through a city night she pleads for a force to take charge of her path through a world she doesn't quite understand, while on her surreal pilgrimage she constructs herself anew.
The reading experience of this was unlike anything else I've come across. It's embedded somewhere deep in the consciousness, the least rational, most instinctive part, all quick-firing fragments of thoughts, sensory inputs but no sense making. The dense, description-stuffed sentences slid off my brain nearly as soon as I read them. The whole thing was almost incomprehensible, sometimes beautiful, with a driving force behind it that was bafflingly compelling, like a tunnel you need to see the end of.
Supplication is the act of begging, often a higher power, humbly for something. Throughout the book I felt that entreaty ringing out from everything the narrator thought or did, every unfathomable circumstance or action ultimately asking for an understanding of her place in the world. Every mundane ocurrance felt hideously magnified and wrong as she worries away at each little detail, an (un)conscious mind spinning up and burning out. The themes of fear and violence lurk there: in the funhouse-mirror details, the repetitive gnawing on meaningless things, the bewilderment and sensory overload.
The reviews have borne out how divisive this has been and I'm unsurprised. It defies conventional rating (and reviewing) because it can be felt but evades being understood. Did I enjoy it, grasp it even a bit? Couldn't tell you. But was I immersed in a strange, visceral world as the narrator saw it, in all its nightmarish glory? For better or worse, I was.
Thank you to @influxpress for sending this strange read my way.
The narrator of this book comes to captive in a basement, unsure of who or what she was before, surrender to this rebirth her only means of escape. During her hallucinatory journey through a city night she pleads for a force to take charge of her path through a world she doesn't quite understand, while on her surreal pilgrimage she constructs herself anew.
The reading experience of this was unlike anything else I've come across. It's embedded somewhere deep in the consciousness, the least rational, most instinctive part, all quick-firing fragments of thoughts, sensory inputs but no sense making. The dense, description-stuffed sentences slid off my brain nearly as soon as I read them. The whole thing was almost incomprehensible, sometimes beautiful, with a driving force behind it that was bafflingly compelling, like a tunnel you need to see the end of.
Supplication is the act of begging, often a higher power, humbly for something. Throughout the book I felt that entreaty ringing out from everything the narrator thought or did, every unfathomable circumstance or action ultimately asking for an understanding of her place in the world. Every mundane ocurrance felt hideously magnified and wrong as she worries away at each little detail, an (un)conscious mind spinning up and burning out. The themes of fear and violence lurk there: in the funhouse-mirror details, the repetitive gnawing on meaningless things, the bewilderment and sensory overload.
The reviews have borne out how divisive this has been and I'm unsurprised. It defies conventional rating (and reviewing) because it can be felt but evades being understood. Did I enjoy it, grasp it even a bit? Couldn't tell you. But was I immersed in a strange, visceral world as the narrator saw it, in all its nightmarish glory? For better or worse, I was.
Thank you to @influxpress for sending this strange read my way.
The Employees: A Workplace Novel of the 22nd Century by Olga Ravn
dark
mysterious
reflective
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
Fayne by Ann-Marie MacDonald
adventurous
emotional
hopeful
informative
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
It Would Be Night in Caracas by Karina Sainz Borgo
dark
sad
tense
medium-paced
3.5
'"Each of us belongs to the place where our dead are buried." As I observed the shorn grass around her grave, I understood that my mother, my only dead, tied me to this land.'
Adelaida Falcón stands over the open grave of her mother in Caracas, Venezuela, and bids goodbye to the only family she's ever known. The city is falling to ruin amid a revolution: the currency is worthless, tear gas rains down on protestors, and food is scarce. Grieving both her mother and her country, Adelaida faces harsh choices if she's to survive the anarchy raging outside.
The escalating violence and privations faced by Venezuelans make this read like a dystopia, though it reflects real events. Among the nightmarish present, Adelaidas's memories of a happy childhood and a prospering Venezuela that welcomed immigrants from all over the world seem impossibly far away.
The novel explores loss, of loved ones but also of the sense of safety in our homeland many of us take for granted. Once this is eroded, other losses follow easily: the loss of belongings, a home, memories, and identity. It also examines what fills those empty spaces. Police are replaced by bands of vigilantes, a cherished home becomes a rebel base, identity papers are forged, lies are told to shore up this fakery. How many replacements can you make in a life before, ship of Theseus-like, you're left questioning your original identity, and if this means anything at all?
Sainz Borgo's background is in journalism which shone through in her concise but closely-observed snapshot of the turbulent revolution, and the world before it, but it felt like this came at the expense of more character development of Adelaida. As the story progressed it lost some drive, instead having Adelaida move mechanically from event to event. There are still some very moving moments, especially where the mother-daughter relationship is the focus, and though I'd have liked more of that side of the story it remained an impactful read about a piece of history that could be lifted from the very bleakest dystopian novel.
Adelaida Falcón stands over the open grave of her mother in Caracas, Venezuela, and bids goodbye to the only family she's ever known. The city is falling to ruin amid a revolution: the currency is worthless, tear gas rains down on protestors, and food is scarce. Grieving both her mother and her country, Adelaida faces harsh choices if she's to survive the anarchy raging outside.
The escalating violence and privations faced by Venezuelans make this read like a dystopia, though it reflects real events. Among the nightmarish present, Adelaidas's memories of a happy childhood and a prospering Venezuela that welcomed immigrants from all over the world seem impossibly far away.
The novel explores loss, of loved ones but also of the sense of safety in our homeland many of us take for granted. Once this is eroded, other losses follow easily: the loss of belongings, a home, memories, and identity. It also examines what fills those empty spaces. Police are replaced by bands of vigilantes, a cherished home becomes a rebel base, identity papers are forged, lies are told to shore up this fakery. How many replacements can you make in a life before, ship of Theseus-like, you're left questioning your original identity, and if this means anything at all?
Sainz Borgo's background is in journalism which shone through in her concise but closely-observed snapshot of the turbulent revolution, and the world before it, but it felt like this came at the expense of more character development of Adelaida. As the story progressed it lost some drive, instead having Adelaida move mechanically from event to event. There are still some very moving moments, especially where the mother-daughter relationship is the focus, and though I'd have liked more of that side of the story it remained an impactful read about a piece of history that could be lifted from the very bleakest dystopian novel.