Everything I Read & Where I Read It: September 1-7
This was the kind of reading week that ruins all other reading weeks for me. It was incredibly good. That’s the best feeling: when I see that QPL (Queens Public Library, for the uninitiated) has stocked a bunch of my requests at once, and I get that Christmas Eve buzz of knowing I’m about to be inundated with excellent books.
I’m a Fan by Sheena Patel
This was my first pick from my huge, momentous library haul. I read this one mostly at Rockaway Beach–Scott and I took the Rockaway Rocket with our friends on Sunday. Some important outtakes from our time there: two HIGHLY competitive rounds of Bananagrams; an amazing cherry-cacao smoothie; a disorienting beach nap.
I loved, loved, loved this book. This was another old Literary Friction recommendation. (I miss this podcast. Carrie and Octavia, if you’re reading this, come back, please.) It reminded me of a combination of My Husband by Maud Ventura and Luster by Raven Leilani, which are, not coincidentally, two of my favorite books. Re: My Husband: I love books about obsession. My Husband is one of the best, weirdest examples of a book about obsession, and I’m a Fan approaches the topic with a similar lack of reserve. The narrator has no other life outside of her obsession–there’s no attempt to develop her friendships, job, or family, although they’re mentioned. Instead, it’s just about HIM: the husband, the Man She Wants to Be With. I love this kind of framing. It’s absurd and overwrought–somehow funny and dark at the same time–and it works for me. Re: Luster: in I’m a Fan, romance acts as a device to comment on other power dynamics, mainly those built around race and class, just like in Luster. This, to me, is the highest calling of a book with a relationship at its center: to use that relationship to analyze notions about desirability, power, and communication. 5/5, easily.
Ghost Fish by Stuart Pennebaker
Book #2 from my library-haul-to-end-all-library-hauls. I read this one at home, which was ideal because I cried a lot while I read it.
Another major win from my library haul. I’m in a comp mood this week, I guess, because this one reminded me of Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler combined with Shark Heart by Emily Habeck. Again, two books I loved that stayed with me. Re: Sweetbitter, this book is a classic young-angsty-woman-moves-to-New-York-City tale. Specifically, it gives Sweetbitter because the main character works in a restaurant, which is a subplot I often like. And re: Shark Heart, this book uses magical realism to talk about grief, which I find to be an affecting and effective tool. I sobbed at the end of this book–like, curled up in bed, crying into the pillow kind of sobbing. If you have a sister, beware–this book is a lot. 5/5.
One of Our Kind by Nicola Yoon
I read this one mostly while getting a pedicure, which was disquieting given how heavily this book foregrounds issues of inequality in society, particularly wealth inequality. There’s a whole plot line about a “wellness spa” that’s actually a facade for a brainwashing facility.
YET ANOTHER big win from my library haul. This one reminded me of a combination of Stepford Wives and Get Out. The Stepford Wives vibe is extremely strong: Jasmyn, the main character, moves to a utopian all-Black neighborhood with her husband and son, where she quickly starts to realize that something is seriously off with the people around her. And like Get Out, the real horror in this book is racism and the bodily toll it takes on its victims. Like both Stepford Wives and Get Out, this book builds an incredible amount of suspense. I basically knew what was going on about halfway through, and yet I still found myself walking off the subway, tripping onto the platform because I could/would not look up from this book. I really liked Jasmyn, too, and thought she was deftly drawn as a main character. In this kind of suspenseful, psychological thriller, the main character has to have a strong reason to stay in the setting, knowing something is off, for the story to make sense. Jasmyn had that: she had strong reasons, both interpersonally and philosophically, to be optimistic about her new neighborhood. The ending of this book was incredibly intense. Like, I kept thinking, there’s no way…that can’t be the direction we’re heading in…and yet it was! 5/5.
Hurricane Girl by Marcy Dermansky
I read this one in its entirety on the ferry to Nantucket, where Scott and I went to a wedding last weekend. That makes it sound like I loved this book and found it really absorbing, which is…not entirely true.
I liked the sound of this premise: woman loses house, life falls apart, medical catastrophe happens, she puts the pieces back together. As it turns out, though, I did not like how this story was told or basically anything else about it. This book had that concussed-narrator vibe: the main character, Allison, is describing everything happening to her as if from a great distance, seemingly mystified by her own decisions and emotions (or lack thereof). That kind of device works for me sometimes–I think of Otessa Moshfegh as someone who does this well in books like Eileen–but this one was way too remote in its telling. EVERYTHING is a big mystery to Allison. Where is she? Why is she driving? What’s her nephew’s name? What is her job? At a certain point, it gets really annoying. Figure it out, girl! Allison was very much Manic Pixie Dream Girl, too, in a way that I found irritating. She ends up in a hospital for a brain injury, and her surgeon is a guy who’s been in love with her since college and loves her because of–not in spite of–her “quirkiness,” which in this case means her overriding obsession with swimming and inability to form any emotional attachments. Also–and this is my last gripe, I promise–I found the tone of this novel to be unsettling and unclear. The book jacket describes it as a blend of comedy and horror, but I didn’t find it to be particularly funny or scary. It was more dream-like or remote than either of those genres, but with occasional, random overtures to comedic observation or horror-like suspense. ⅖.
