Far be it from me to start the month off with a negative review, but that’s just how my December started off. Eh. Should be a lesson to me for trying to read something that’s been on my TBR for 3+ years—my tastes generally don’t change dramatically in that amount of time, but my standards for writing and plot certainly did. That’s all to say that The Witch King was a promising, inclusive fantasy that quickly proved itself to be not worth my time.
Wyatt Croft is a witch, and in the North American realm of the fae, witches are the enemy. Years ago, Wyatt’s magic got out of control, forcing him to flee back to the human world and go into exile. But his betrothal to Emyr, the prince of the fae, has not dissolved, and Emyr is back on the hunt for him. Forced back into the world of the fae, Wyatt must come to terms with his engagement—one that may hold the lives of all of North America’s witches in the balance. And his feelings for Emyr may be coming back, as much as he wants to hide them…
The Witch King has made me realize that I need to expand my criteria for DNFing books; most of my DNFs are 1-star books—the ones that are just so bad that I can’t finish them. In comparison to a lot of the other books on my DNF shelf, The Witch King wasn’t comparably as bad. But the difference is that at a certain point, it was just so clear to me that this book was not worth my time. I really wanted to like it, but once I got past the first third, there wasn’t any point in me finishing this book. A DNF is not always a 1-star read, but a 1-star read is not always a DNF. It’s like geometry but easier to explain.
I wanted to emphasize that I really wanted to like The Witch King. But in the 3+ years that this book has languished on my TBR, it’s clear that my standards have changed. The foreword by Edgmon was incredibly touching, and it’s so clear that this was the book of their soul—there’s no denying the love that went into this book. And it’s so, so important to support trans authors like him, but it’s just as important to remember that even when you read diversely, a book’s diversity doesn’t automatically fix every plot hole and writing issue. There’s some slack I’m willing to give Edgmon because this was his debut, but The Witch King really left a ton to be desired.
It’s clear that Edgmon put a lot of thought into constructing Wyatt’s character, but in his quest to make him as relatable as possible, Wyatt turned from simply “relatable” to an incompetent mess. Even as a queer person, there’s only so many “I am a gay little worm who makes terrible life decisions” (actual quote from the book) jokes I can take. Jesus Christ. The word “cringe” is outright abused these days, but I feel like this is a valid quality to ascribe to the writing of The Witch King, since most of the humor feels so overdone and unfunny. If your type of humor consists of Tumblr jokes from 2017, then boy, do I have the book for you. All of the attempts to make Wyatt seem more human and fallible made him just feel like a pathetic mess incapable of seeing past his personal faults and (many) mistakes. It absolutely grated on me after a certain point. The rest of the writing wasn’t all bad, but good god, Wyatt’s characterization made me want to jump ship almost immediately.
Since I abandoned ship after the first third, there’s probably some context that I inevitably missed, but the worldbuilding of the North American fae really left a ton to be desired. Apart from the rivalry between witches and fae, there really wasn’t much of an explanation as to how the fae worked in tandem with the human world: where do the borders between human and fae begin and end? How do the two interact? And more importantly, what are the different interactions between the different species of fae? There were a bunch of different creatures that were just thrown at you in the background with zero explanation, never to be seen again. There’s a difference between convoluted worldbuilding and worldbuilding that just isn’t properly thought-out, and this fell firmly into the latter camp. It was all just a hot mess. I’ve read several reviews saying similar things about the worldbuilding, so…I guess it never did get better beyond what I read? Oof.
That being said, I really appreciate the diversity that Edgmon wrote into The Witch King. Having a trans main character is so important, and as much as Wyatt got on my nerves, characters like him need to be in the spotlight. Edgmon presented a lot of character that were very diverse in terms of race, gender, and sexuality, and while it seems like the representation wasn’t all accurate and some of Edgmon’s depiction of social issues wasn’t handled as well as it could’ve been (glad I didn’t get to that part, I guess…), it’s always good to have a range of characters like that. It’s about all I have to say about The Witch King that’s positive, but it’s worth being highlighted.
All in all, a diverse fantasy debut that sadly crashed and burned in its characterization and lazy worldbuilding. 2 stars.
The Witch King is the first book in the Witch King duology, followed by The Fae Keeper. Edgmon is also the author of the Ouroboros series, which consists of Godly Heathens and Merciless Saviors.
Today’s song:
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Here we are, and once again, the year is nearly over…at least we have season 5 of Fargo to distract us from the inevitable passage of time.
Let’s begin, shall we?
GENERAL THOUGHTS:
Break aside, November has been on the busier side, but it’s been a productive one for me. It’s been chaos as far as my workload has gone, but part of that chaos was the editing that led me to send off two of my short stories for consideration to be published in some school literary journals! I won’t hear back for several months, but I’m so excited!! The initial impostor syndrome has faded (it’ll probably come back in a few months, mark my words…I’ve got my NyQuil ready), but either way, I’m really proud for taking this first step. Now, the workload chaos is in the form of looming final projects, which is not nearly as fun, but at least I don’t have to take a stats final at the crack of dawn like last year.
My reading has been a bit slower this month (see above), but as far as enjoyment goes, I’ve had a much more successful month! I had another 5-star read in the form of Ceremony (me when mixed-race experience and themes of storytelling), and I only had one book in the 2-star range for this whole month! I ended up reading a ton of literary and literary-leaning fiction for no particular reason, but the ones I read this month were almost all hits. I’ve had some more time to blog, what with break and whatnot, so it’s been fun to write more frequently before finals hits me like a train.
Other than that, I’ve just been trying to draw and play guitar (when I can), watching Taskmaster and The Great British Bakeoff (hEY NOW NO SPOILERS US AMERICANS HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL FRIDAY FOR THE FINAL), trying to ignore how cold the weather is, and rejoicing the return of Fargo! FARGO! I FEEL ALIVE AGAIN!
…say, are we gonna talk about how utterly insane episode 3 was? Just me?
Also, for your casual amusement, here’s the mess that is my Apple Music Replay for this year:
READING AND BLOGGING:
I read 15 books this month! Again, slower than normal, but it’s impressive to me, given how much editing and pre-finals chaos has consumed me this month.
Hunger Makes the Wolf came on my radar when I was looking for more books with disability rep (as always), but I ended up buying it on my Kindle after my dad notified me that I had some unused Kindle points (thank you for reminding me!)—it was free with the points added on, so how could I resist? And while Hunger Makes the Wolf wasn’t perfect, it’s a ton of gunslinging, space-fantasy fun.
Hob Ravani ekes out a living in the deserts of Tanegawa’s World, a planet owned by TransRifts—the corporation who controls the market on interstellar travel in the whole galaxy. For 10 years, Hob has gotten by with the help of the Ghost Wolves, a group of bandits roaming the desert and finding money where they can. But when Hob discovers the body of Nick, the man who recruited her to join the Wolves, abandoned in the desert, she knows that she has to act before TransRifts discovers their operation—and discovers the powers that she’s kept hidden from sight.
TW/CW: murder, descriptions of injuries, descriptions of corpses, violence, loss of loved ones, human experimentation
Writing accents phonetically is a slippery slope that I’m not going to get fully into in this review. In this case, though, Alex Wells had decent success with making everyone who was meant to sound like they had a Southern accent actually sound like they had a Southern accent, which worked—this novel was a space Western, after all. That being said, the unintended consequence was that Wells’ spelling of Hob’s accent was that I imagined her voice more like Holly Hunter in Raising Arizona than the badass, hardened gunslinger that she was made out to be. It sort of worked, though.
As far as sci-fi subgenres go, I’m not usually huge on space Westerns; I’ve rarely seen them done exceedingly well (even The Mandalorian got more than a little repetitive eventually), but the best are at least fun. And that was what Hunger Makes the Wolf was—incredibly fun. It had all of the trappings of a debut novel, but what Wells did get right on the first time was that pacing. Although the action sequences were what made Hunger such a blast to read in the best parts, Wells also knew how to balance them out with quiet, more emotional moments, and also moments to slip in worldbuilding without absolutely walloping you with it. Wells’ action was really the star of the show here; their fight scenes had just the right amount of tension, levity, and butt-kicking to make for more than one delightful scene.
Recently, I’ve read several sci-fi books that were marketed as “space fantasy,” and none of them have really fit the bill. And yet, Hunger Makes the Wolf wasn’t necessarily marketed as such, but it does what the other novels lacked. Even amidst the classic sci-fi backdrop of corporate greed, massive spaceships, and gruesome human experimentation, there’s the element of the characters’ strange hidden powers. Naming said powers “witchiness” was already a win in my book, the charm of it really fits the Western atmosphere that Wells was going for—it hits that sweet spot of not sounding overly jargon-y or formal, but not too hokey, either. Every time one of the characters mentioned it, I couldn’t help but smile—especially in Hob’s aforementioned Holly Hunter voice.
Hunger Makes the Wolf is an incredibly ambitious novel, and the ambition is accentuated when you remember that this is Alex Wells’ debut. In some ways, it worked; Wells managed to juggle a safe amount of the worldbuilding without leaving the reader without context, but also without dumping it excessively. However, what Wells did not juggle as well was the sheer amount of characters that we jump between. Hunger was clearly meant to have a found family theme to it, which I’m normally a sucker for, but Wells just had so many extraneous characters on their hands that none of the character relationships felt fleshed out. If we had gotten more scenes with Hob and the rest of the Wolves, for instance, I would have believed that they really were as thick as thieves. Adding onto this, the perspective switches may not have been necessary; Mags, although she plays a prominent role, doesn’t have a perspective or voice that added anything substantial to the narrative. It’s a classic debut author case: Alex Wells had some spot-on ideas, but they bit off far more than they could chew.
All in all, a rollicking space fantasy with action aplenty, but with characters that left me wanting more. 3.5 stars!
Hunger Makes the Wolf is the first book in the Ghost Wolves duology, followed by Blood Binds the Pack. Hunger was Alex Wells’ debut novel; they are also the author of the short story Angel of the Blockade.
Today’s song:
FARGO IS BACK I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH OH MY GOOOOOOOD
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles, and more importantly, MERRY FARGO DAY!! SEASON FIVE IS FINALLY HERE!! REJOICE!! I’ve been waiting three years for this…I can’t WAIT to watch it tonight!
I’ve noticed that I’ve read a lot of adult books this month (much of which have been more literary fiction) and not a lot of YA; although it’s been a much better reading month than October, I wanted some YA to mix it up. A Crooked Mark was the perfect book to scratch that itch—campy and silly in the best possible way.
Matthew Watts knows that evil works in mysterious ways. That’s why his father has raised him to know the signs of those marked by Lucifer himself. Ever since he was young, they’ve been going from town to town, making sure the Marked are killed before their evil is unleashed on the innocent. But Matt’s father has a new mission for him—his first ever solo mission, following a girl named Rae Winters. As Matt tries to blend in at the local high school, he befriends Rae—and begins to fall in love with her. And as his mission steers in the wrong direction, he begins to question if all that he’s working for is a lie…
TW/CW: murder, descriptions of burning alive, car crash, grief, loss of loved ones (on and off page), descriptions of injury
A Crooked Mark caught my eye over the summer because of its premise—not necessarily that it was particularly unique, but because it sounded so similar to Frailty—a movie about a father and his sons killing those that God has told him are demons. As far as I can tell, there’s no real correlation between the two (though I’d be shocked if this wasn’t at least a partial inspiration for the book), but, again, caught my eye—of all the movies to inspire a younger-leaning YA novel, Frailty would not be my first choice. That being said, A Crooked Mark, though not without its flaws, scratched the itch I needed—corny, supernatural fun.
From here on out, if I say “corny” in this review, I mean in the most affectionate way possible. I was on a streak of reading a lot of adult fiction/more literary-leaning fiction, and while I enjoyed all that, A Crooked Mark was just the kind of unserious book I needed to shake things up. It feels like it could’ve been the kind of campy, supernatural drama that I would’ve watched in middle school, down to the fact that there’s actually a character named Moose. It’s great. I’ve seen a lot of reviews comparing it to Supernatural, which I haven’t seen, but even from the vibes I get from the show, the comparison hits the nail right on the head. The writing, while it wasn’t the best, really nailed that feel, even if it wasn’t what Kao was going for. I can probably enjoy it more because there isn’t cheesier acting attached to the already cheesy writing, but either way, A Crooked Mark was made for corny enjoyment.
Going off of that, A Crooked Mark really nailed the beats of that kind of campy, paranormal story. Matt was the perfect protagonist for this story—not overly brooding, but still self-serious (in a very un-serious way) enough that he was fun to follow around. His friend group didn’t necessarily contribute a whole lot to the narrative, but they served the purpose of putting a shield around Rae—and later being sources of conflict once everything went south. Rae was on the too-perfect side, but again: this is the campiest book I’ve read all month. I’m not expecting monumentally good character development. I did also love that Matt was mixed-race—as a mixed-race person, I wouldn’t say it’s groundbreaking rep, or that the book explores his mixed-race identity poignantly (it really doesn’t), but it’s more important in that everybody deserves to be the hero of a cheesy, paranormal teen drama. It’s what we deserve.
That being said, for a book where Matt was up against the clock trying to discover if Rae really was marked by Lucifer himself and put an end to said evil, A Crooked Mark meandered quite a lot. It was more than a sagging middle—more of a sagging 60-75% of the whole book. There was a whole lot of uneventful high school bonding, a lot of Rae’s tutoring sessions that went nowhere, and a lot of hemming and hawing in general. It would have been easy to add bits of drama here and there to amp up the stakes, and Kao partially did this, but not enough to sustain the story. Especially since a lot of the “twists” ended up being dead ends, (save for the Big Twist™️), there really should’ve been more suspense—or at least more drama—before the main twist right before the climax. I was in it for the cheese in the first 30% or so, and it only managed to pick up in the last 20% of the book—not enough to hold my attention.
All in all, A Crooked Mark isn’t anything revolutionary or exceptionally well-written, but if you’re in the mood for something spooky and campy, this is the perfect book for you. 3.5 stars!
A Crooked Mark is a standalone and Linda Kao’s debut novel.
Today’s song:
I love listening to music like this while I’m just calmly doing chores…I’ll just be cleaning the sink and Joe Talbot’s aggressively screaming about kindness and consent in my ears bahahaha I love IDLES
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Even though he isn’t here to read this (rest in peace), and I doubt he would even if he was, I owe an apology to Bill Withers. When I asked Siri about the insanely funky song that Wilco was playing before their show back in October, I thought…Bill Withers?Like…the “Lean On Me” Bill Withers? The song we all had to sing in either elementary school or at camp? From here on out, I take back any preconceived notions I’ve had about the man, because this song slaps. I severely underestimated him.
To be fair, from the looks of it, “You Got the Stuff” seems funkier than most of his R&B/Soul-leaning catalogue, but when he did funk, he made it the funkiest funk possible. The minute the drum machine fades and the thick, bass-like synths kick in, it’s like I’ve been possessed to move my body for exactly seven minutes and 16 seconds. I haven’t heard of a contagious groove like this song has in ages, something so instantly captivating that hooks you and immediately tosses you on the dance floor. And it’s seven minutes of this. And the last three and a half minutes of that seven minutes is just bass and an absolutely glorious flexatone. (Many embarrassing google searches went into finding the source of that comically cartoonish “doi-oi-oi-oing” noise. I’m not proud of what I did.) It really is a cartoonish sound that this instrument makes, and yet it fits right in with the thumping bass and Bill Withers’ faint, rhythmic breathing and the occasional “ooh, baby.” Three and a half minutes of just that. It feels like a buildup to something bigger, but it doesn’t need to build up to anything—the unique rush of that stretch of the song keeps the funk alive for longer than I thought it could. And it’s crazy to think that this was chosen as a single for this album (‘Bout Love)—even for someone like Withers, putting the one song that goes over seven minutes long as one of the lead singles is a bold move. It did only get to #85 on the Billboard charts at the time, but it’s a hit in our hearts.
What I’m trying to say is that Bill Withers is forgiven for the setlist of my 3rd grade program. Good god, I love this song.
As much as I, in theory, dress a fair bit punk (on the days where I have my pin jacket) and generally like the leanings of the political attitude, I’ve never been able to get fully behind it—the combination of the abrasion (both musical and lyrical) and the contrarian, infighting parts of it have made it so I’ve never felt fully aligned with it. I’m only punk up to my jacket, my boots (they’re not very good for extended walking, so I wear them sparingly…there’s only so long I can commit to the bit), and my socialist tendencies. More in spirit than anything else. Same reason that even though I regularly have at least one day a week where I dress in all black and go all out on the eyeliner, I can’t fully commit to being goth, because I’ll then go up to my friends and say “HIIIIIIIIIIIIII :)” in the most decidedly un-goth way. And plus, contradicting everything about yourself sounds kinda tiring, unless you’re Hobie Brown and you make it look cool (and that’s because he was this cool the whole time). And yet, every single IDLES song makes me absolutely foam at the mouth. I love them. I’ve been putting off actually listening to a full album of theirs for who knows why, but their spin on punk—still plenty aggressive, but resoundingly hopeful and positive in their ethos (see “Mr. Motivator”). Joe Talbot himself has repeatedly insisted that they aren’t a punk band, so…okay, I’m not all that punk. But that combination of all the fiery energy of punk with their riotous joy and their wholehearted embrace of vulnerability and love is what endears me to them so much. The absolutely delicious Britishness and bisexuality of it all certainly helps too.
Hearing that “Dancer” was a collaboration with LCD Soundsystem kind of floored me—where could the epitome of tight, high-strung white boy music fit in with this? The mesh, however, is as smooth as it could ever be. There’s a constrained tightness about the opening riff that feels all at once caged in and expansive—the James Murphy touch reveals itself more and more on each listen, aside from the obvious backing vocals on the chorus. Either way, “Dancer” has just about everything I love in an IDLES song. Joe Talbot’s signature aggressively theatrical line deliveries never fail to put a smile on my face—every repetition of “and the sweat” (I can almost hear him raising his eyebrows every time he says sweat) and “so to speak” (imagine that as spitty and Britishly as you will) make listening to the whole song feel like an elaborate performance, a…dance, if you will. There’s an undeniably sensual feel of it all, a visceral pulse to the calculated choreography of each line. It’s a song I’ve never been able to skip since I downloaded, and even though I’ve still yet to listen to any of their full albums (SOON, though), I’ve got hope that Tangk will be more of the same.
New IDLES and The Smile next January…man, I’m gonna implode. It’s been fun, everybody.
…this is certainly an interesting transition. Whoops.
Certain bands are often seasonal for me—some bands are more spring, summer, fall, or winter than others. (Hence my seasonal playlists). But some bands immediately evoke a more specific point in time. For me, The Shins were always a late fall, early winter band; they feel like fall, but only after the first frost has crept in and stripped the trees bare. There a few leaves left, but they’re all brown and brittle, crumpled underfoot. It’s snowing, but not a January blizzard—maybe just sleet that doesn’t accumulate, if you’re lucky. You’re warm, sitting by the fire. The trees look skeletal now.
So I’m glad I rediscovered “Black Wave” when I did—it’s one of those songs that lingered in my periphery for years (I grew up in a very pro-Shins household), but I’d gotten so complacent in hearing it everywhere that I didn’t even think to ask about its name. But it’s the perfect November song—as most of what I’ve heard from the spectacularly titled Wincing the Night Away is. James Mercer layered effects over his gentle, wordless warble as the song begins, making a rippling, Bon Iver-like echo. Even with a colored named in the title, “Black Wave” is decidedly painted in deep, warm colors; shades of brown and maroon, accented by orange and gray. The opening image of “this goose is cooked” cements the feeling of being huddled around a fire; I imagine the goose being cooked on a spit, the skin crackling as the embers lick it. Mercer’s voice drifts and out of focus, as though on a chilly wind. And like the wind, the song doesn’t so much end as disappear, like the image of a cryptid shifting through blurry footage to fade into the winter woods beyond.
Since I first listened to Up back in March (oh, the album art is just some water droplets on a gray backgr—oH MY GOD PETER WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT), it’s been an album that I always fall back on. “Growing Up” was already a faint childhood memory and “Darkness” immediately stole my heart, but the more I listened, the more songs I’ve stuffed in my back pocket—the grossly timely, sleazy groove of “The Barry Williams Show” and the chest-rattling resonance of “Signal to Noise” that makes my soul leave my body every time I hear it. (Real chill stuff for walking to class, amirite?)
There’s something to be said for my hypocrisy of creating dozens of oddly specific playlists and then just listening to my whole library on shuffle, but shuffle always revives songs like this. (Although this one did go on my oddly specific clone playlist next to Roxy Music.) So much of Up has this graying, industrial feel to it, but Peter Gabriel, the genius that he is and continues to be, uses that gravelly darkness (no pun intended) not necessarily to be edgy, but to convey that feeling of hopelessness—the consumption of fear in “Darkness” and the betrayal and desperation of “Signal to Noise.” “More Than This” opens with imagery of “I woke up and the world outside was dark/All so quiet before the dawn/Opened up the door and walked outside/The ground was cold.” I can’t help but think of the quiet bridge of “Darkness,” where the fear wanes and he walks into the woods to find his fear “curled up on the floor/just like a baby boy.” That industrial atmosphere—furthered by distorted, grainy samples of guitars that he and Daniel Lanois messed with in production for the album—immediately sends a hood of coldness over you, the roughness of concrete and frozen ground. And yet, amidst said cold ground and sinking ships, this is where Gabriel finds connection—in the absence made by everything hopeless about this world, there is still a beating heart pulsing beneath our feet, and it’s not the Telltale Heart kind. It’s the connection in knowing that you are surrounded by a community, and surrounded by the love that it breeds. Amidst it all, there’s more than this. It feels like the answer to Roxy Music’s “More Than This”—that song pondered what could exist outside of the all-consuming sorrow, and Peter Gabriel blows aside the curtain of fog to show the many arms reaching out to you, offering their guidance and warmth. It also feels like the prequel to “i/o”—”More Than This” song is the realization of connectivity, and “i/o” fully embraces it, going from a community of people to the connectivity to the Earth and all of its creatures.
“More Than This” was a wonderful surprise to re-stumble upon—the music recaptured me at first, but with every listen, it feels more like an anthem. Not only are you not alone, you have never been alone, and if you can only look beyond yourself, you can find joy in connection. The choir slowly snaking into the backing vocals towards the end of the song…almost gets me choked up, like you’re seeing the fog lifted and the love revealed.
Another calm one to end this week’s song lineup. It’s getting cold outside, the hearth is ready, and I intend to rock you to sleep with this gentle melody. Grab your blankie, kids.
My halfway deep dive into The A’s (see last week’s songs) only went as far as a few songs on the album, but it also led me to Daughter of Swords, Alexandra Sauser-Monnig’s solo work with a gloriously tarot-sounding stage name. Like The A’s, the tidbits I skimmed through from her album Dawnbreaker (title also goes hard) ventured into territory that was too twangy for my taste, but quiet moments like “Fellows” stood out to me in their calmness. The sea of lo-fi graininess that “Fellows” is drowning in coats the acoustic guitar plucking in a state of drifting, only anchored by the gentle, lilting waver of Sauser-Monnig’s voice. From the moment that faint, ominous noise scratches at the background (it sounds like a train whistle to me, but I could be wrong), you feel like you’re stepping into a sepia-tinted photograph, all hazy edges and soft, grassy ground. Alexandra Sauser-Monnig has the perfect voice for this kind of folk—as she sings about all of said fellows (who get noticeably taller and skinner as the song goes on…I guess she’s figuring out her type? Is Jack Skellington next? No judgment, but he’s taken…), her voice rings out amidst the grainy sea. It can ring when it needs to, but it has the effect of bedtime tea: calm enough to rock you to sleep, but rich enough to savor the herbal flavor as you close your eyes.
Since today’s post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.
That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Here in theU.S., November is Native American Heritage Month! I’m surprised that I haven’t compiled a list for the occasion yet, but to be fair, November tends to be a busy month for me. But now that I’m a few days away from break, I figured I would use that time to make this list.
Despite the wonderful boost in diversity in YA and adult literature in the past decade or so, I’ve seen very little of that diversity focused on Indigenous characters and stories. It could be just me, from an outsider perspective, but diversity means boosting all voices—not just the few that you can think of off the top of your head when you think of the word “diversity.” And as an American, I know full well that we are and always have been living on stolen land, so it’s important to read outside of what our history books teach us. So I’ve compiled some of my favorite books by Native American, Indigenous, and First Nations authors for the occasion.
Let’s begin, shall we?
THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR NATIVE AMERICAN HERITAGE MONTH
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and if so, what did you think of them? What are your favorite books by Indigenous authors? Let me know in the comments!
Today’s song:
That’s it for this recommendations post! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Brief rant: don’t you love it when Goodreads posts the nominees for the “YA Fantasy & Science Fiction” category and…there’s no science fiction books on the list? Not a single one? Thank you Goodreads 🥰
It’s been years since I’ve read anything by Kelly Barnhill; I read a fair amount of her middle-grade novels when I was younger, and there were hits (The Girl Who Drank the Moon) and misses (Iron-Hearted Violet). But either way, the road has taken me back to her adult novella, a chilling retelling of “The Crane Wife” that I thoroughly enjoyed.
In a distant future, a fifteen-year-old girl lives on one of the few remaining farms in the United States, growing cloned crops in order to make a living. Her father passed away when she was young, and now she manages the farm with her mother and takes care of her six-year-old brother, Michael. But when her mother brings home a new suitor, the girl is appalled to find that the suitor happens to be a giant crane—a crane intent on working her mother to the bone in order to produce tapestries to sell. As her mother succumbs to the wills of the crane and her family grows poorer, the girl knows that the only way out is to rid the house of the crane—and she’ll do anything to make sure the bird is out of the farm.
TW/CW: death of a parent, blood, abuse, animal death, child endangerment
It’s been at least seven or eight years since I’ve read anything by Kelly Barnhill, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that when faced with the (quite large) jump from stylistic choices between age groups, she does so with eery grace! The Crane Husband was a disturbing treat, quick but chilling.
I only had a vague notion of the original Japanese folktale of the Crane Wife that this book subverts, but even without that background, Barnhill weaves a haunting, dystopian fairytale like no other. It’s that lovely kind of book that falls into science fiction, but has just enough trappings of other genres to pass as something else. The magical realism element is heavier than the rest, and it rules the book—rightfully so, given the subject matter. But like a good fairytale, Barnhill’s ability to suspend disbelief made The Crane Husband all the scarier—scenes that would have otherwise seemed charmingly quirky or absurd were downright horrifying under her lens.
Barnhill’s writing was what sold how horrific the events of The Crane Husband truly were. The way she captured the voice of the unnamed, fifteen-year-old protagonist as she had to take her livelihood into her own hands in the face of the invading crane husband had such a tangible desperation, making the conflict feel real as all get out. Tension crept out from every word, and I found myself keeping my Kindle in a vice grip as I read. And that tension never wanes—in only 118 pages, Barnhill built up monumental tension that books three times the length have failed to uphold. The Crane Husband really was nail-bitingly eerie, and it was worth it all the way.
The way that Barnhill used this tangibly uncomfortable atmosphere to drive the point of this folktale’s subversion home was also masterful. The main twist in this iteration is, hence the title, that the protagonist’s mother brings home a giant crane who she takes as her husband. And instead of the crane wife wasting away to produce beautiful tapestries, it’s the human mother being forced by the crane husband to churn out tapestries like a machine. Abusive relationships were the main theme of the novella, and Barnhill’s depiction of abuse through this lens felt as authentic as it could be, from the strained, forced silence of the women of the family and the lack of support that the protagonist finds when she tries to seek help. Beyond that, The Crane Husband’s message about suffering for art was equally powerful and important; the emphasis on how the protagonist’s mother works to the point of near-death in order to create something that people will think of as “transformative” was commentary that I wasn’t expecting from the novel, but enjoyed wholeheartedly. Needs to be said.
That being said, my only major problem with this novella was that it directly referenced the original folktale that it’s retelling. Though it was in a flashback scene, it felt tacky and unnecessarily meta to hand it to you right there—and not only that, but basically delivering the twist right at your doorstep. I will admit that I loved the line about cranes making other creatures do the work for them, but at that point, it isn’t even foreshadowing anymore—it’s just whacking you over the head with the twist that it’s supposed to be hiding from you. It made me more than a little mad, but the rest of the novella was so good that I could almost let it slide. Almost.
All in all, a timely and truly disturbing retelling that packed a stinging punch with an impressively short page count. 4 stars!
The Crane Husband is a standalone; Kelly Barnhill is also the author of many books for children, including The Witch’s Boy, The Girl Who Drank the Moon, and Iron-Hearted Violet. She is also the author of When Women Were Dragons, her first full-length novel for adults.
Today’s song:
NEW SMILE ALBUM IN JANUARY EVERYBODY STAY CALM
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
11/12/23: another satisfying date where the month and the day add up to the year. Glorious. Savor these days. And to soundtrack those days, why not listen to some nice, orange songs? (Half of which I stole from Wilco’s pre-show playlist, but that’s beside the point).
CONTENT WARNING FOR THE MUSIC VIDEO: most of the music video consists of an interview with a former Guantanamo Bay prisoner recounting the torture and inhumane conditions of the prison, so if this is triggering for you, proceed at your own discretion. That part of the video begins at 3:32.
I’m slowly (no pun intended) getting into Massive Attack, mostly thanks to my brother and my dad. This one is all thanks to my brother, who confessed to us while we were in line for Peter Gabriel last month that he had no idea until then who was singing on the track. His first thought was Gruff Rhys (makes sense), but apparently not—Damon Albarn does the lead vocals for this song.
That was all the convincing I needed to download it. You know me.
I’ve noticed a phenomenon in any later Damon Albarn project (of which there have been two this year) where there’s a point where it ceases to sound like Gorillaz or Blur, and just sounds like Damon Albarn. Gorillaz usually remedies some of this with its rotating cast of guest features, but on something like Blur’s newest album, The Ballad of Darren, there’s very little to distinguish it from his solo work. As I said in my initial thoughts on the album back in July, it’s still good music, but it lacks what makes Blur Blur, even though all the moving parts are present. But how does that flip when Damon Albarn is the feature instead of the one in charge of the features? “Saturday Come Slow” has an aura to it that could only be produced by the likes of Massive Attack; the slow build of it has an unmistakable air of foreboding, as if the Saturday coming slow is a shadow wiggling its too-long fingers over your shoulder. Fitting that Albarn croons about “the limestone caves/in the southwest lands,” imagery that calls to mind barren, sheer things towering over you. It’s a kind of eery creeping that meshes with the howling echo of his voice, but that you don’t quite get with Gorillaz or Blur; Gorillaz can get plenty spooky in a fun way, but they were never meant to be creepy—they’re a pop act at heart, and even though they’ve tread territory that pop hasn’t normally trod on for the 20+ years they’ve been active, it doesn’t have the foreboding build of this song. Blur, on the other hand, got plenty weird and unnerving in their experimental years (see: “Caramel,”“Trailerpark”), but their brand of unnerving came more from the claustrophobic atmosphere of off-kilter samples and synths that built up its cramped exoskeleton. The dread of “Saturday Come Slow” comes from how spacious it feels—like those limestone caves, that sense of foreboding comes from the primal sense of being surrounded by something larger than yourself—and being walled in by it, with only the echo of your voice to accompany you.
This is the first of two songs this week that I stole from the playlist that played before Wilco’s phenomenal show at the Mission Ballroom back in October. An indicator of a really good show can be found in its playlist—if you keep going back and forth between you and everyone else who came along trying to Siri every song that comes on, then you know it’s gonna be a good show. Same thing happened with when I saw Spiritualized last year. That whole playlist was in heavy rotation for a solid month and a half afterwards. (Lesley Gore and Daniel Johnston: duality of man.)
The first thing that anybody has to notice about the song is the bass. That bass. Sweet Jesus, it’s so good. “Lucinda,” once the chorus kicks in, has not one but two basslines, all working in the thicket, most delicious tandem possible. Jez Kerr leads the charge with a sound that feels thick enough to cut with a butterknife—it propels the sound to new heights, taking what might have otherwise been a bare-bones, post-punk dance song to something hypnotically head-nodding. The bass might as well be the vocals—Martha Wilson’s tight vocals are soft and fleeting, but it’s Kerr’s bass that really takes center stage in “Lucinda.” It’s more than a head-nodder—it’s a whole-body-swayer, buttery and enigmatic enough to send waves through your whole system. Thanks, Wilco.
I’m not like other girls…I didn’t find out about this song through Abbott Elementary. I found out about it through my mom, who…found out about it through Abbott Elementary. It’s good stuff. The song and Abbott Elementary, from the laughter I’ve heard from the bedroom whenever she watches it.
Whatever the case, “Hold Em” was destined for theme music from the start. The beat and instrumentation has that kind of meticulous touch to it. Smooth really is the best word to describe it: the groove that persists through this song never wanes, but never feels the need to amp up the intensity. With the persistent but boxed-in drumbeat and the humbly soft bassline, it lulls you into an instant rhythm, but the kind of rhythm understated enough to allow for some freeze-frames and title screens as the opening credits roll through. And yet, it never feels understated: it’s bold. It feels like there’s constant pops of color bursting through your ears. It’s infectious. And that’s what would make it a great theme song: catchy enough to remember, but smooth enough to share the stage with a visual element.
I have nothing to say for myself. It slaps. Just Dance 2 and its effects on society.
Look, the original spot for this slot was gonna be “The Day I Tried to Live,” but I figured we’d stave off that depression for a few weeks. I’m going to talk about it eventually (because it’s still a fantastic song), but it’s getting dark at 5pm and I still haven’t adjusted. We don’t need that energy right now. Move your feet. Feel united.
We’ll end on a softer note with the other song that I stole from Wilco, or, at any rate, whoever was behind their playlist. Drastically different than “Lucinda” (and most of this week’s songs), but nonetheless beautiful.
In the style of Kim Deal, The A’s are a side project of a side project; consisting of Amelia Meath and Alexandra Sauser-Monnig, the A’s came about after both of them took breaks from previous bands and solo careers—they both hail from North Carolina and had crossed paths in the music industry, and thus this project came to be. I haven’t listened to any of their work (save for…[checks notes] Sylvan Esso? That Sylvan Esso? The annoying Sirius XMU Sylvan Esso? Can’t be…) outside of this band, but the two of them together made for hauntingly beautiful harmonies. Watching them on their recent Tiny Desk Concert solidifies the image even more—they’re like charmingly unnerving cartoon characters, with their matching leaf-print dresses, black lipstick, and giant sunglasses. I wouldn’t be surprised if they eventually became those old ladies from Coraline in their latter years.
“Swing and Turn Jubilee” is part of their album Fruit, an album of almost all covers (save for the original song “When I Die”), ranging from cowboy and folk standards to Shelley Duvall (more on the latter in a few weeks, mark my words). Some of the other songs that they performed on Tiny Desk definitely get too into that yodel-ay-hee-hoo, Buster Scruggs a-capella vibe for me, but in any case, there’s no denying the magic that happens when their harmonies collide. “Swing and Turn,” even if I hadn’t first heard it from Wilco, would have been an instant stand-out, if a quiet one; their performance is just their voices, Sauser-Monnig on guitars, and Meath making percussion by tapping her thick-soled sneakers into a basket of stones. Doesn’t get much folkier than that. Most of these kinds of Appalachian folk songs that I hear from movies or from covers (so covered that the original songwriter is lost to time) are the kind that have a kind of desperate, underlying sorrow to them that permeates even the sweetest love song. Living in the bare bones of the U.S. just does that to a person, I guess. But there’s something about this take on “Swing and Turn” that turns the sorrow into tenderness. It doesn’t give me that icky, Dust Bowl malaise; to be fair, most iterations are faster and more upbeat than most other songs of its ilk, but the restrained, slow pace of The A’s take on it fooled me into thinking so. But it’s partly due t how plainly sweet the lyrics are: “Hardest work I’ve ever done/was working on a farm/Easiest work I’ve ever done/was falling into your arms.” The gentle honey of Meath and Sauser-Monnig’s soft harmonies seem to take me in their arms themselves, like I’m being rocked to sleep.
Either way, these kind of modern folk covers are just begging to be put somewhere in either Fargo (NEW SEASON IN A WEEK AND A HALF WHO’S HYPED) or the next Coen Brothers project. If your whole deal is melancholy covers of already melancholy and unnerving folk songs, you’re just asking for it, at that point.
Since this week consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.
That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to do a book tag, and now that I’m in a sort of lull post-midterms (for now), I figured I would use that time to have some book tag fun. I found this tag over at Laura @ The Corner of Laura (who always finds the best book tags), and I can’t seem to find the original creator of the tag—if it’s you or if you know them, let me know and I’ll credit them! I try not to be negative *all* the time, but sometimes, you’ve gotta get the book rants off your chest.
Let’s begin, shall we?
🫤THE WASTED POTENTIAL BOOK TAG🫤
A BOOK THAT TRIED BUT FAILED TO TACKLE AN ISSUE
It’s My Lifewas a complicated book for me—Stacie Ramey almost did a good job of portraying her disabled protagonist, but ultimately, her handling of disabled identity itself rubbed me the wrong way. (It’s one thing for a disabled person to use the label “differently-abled,” but having the word “disabled” almost never mentioned for the whole novel and then instead referred to as “differently-abled” by the abled author was…weird, to say the least). Also, for once, I’d like a book about disability that isn’t centered around the main character getting slurs yelled at her. Not that those stories don’t have a place, but again: it feels more uncomfortable knowing that this was written by an abled author.
2.AN INTRIGUING SERIES THAT DIDN’T PAY OFF
I only got three books into the Invisible Library series before I quit. It’s such a shame—they started out so strong, and for a concept that seems so rich with potential ideas (traveling through alternate realities to find books?? I mean, come on), it felt that Genevieve Cogman was rapidly running out of ideas by book 3. And knowing that there’s eight books in this series doesn’t give me faith in what I’ve missed out on.
3. A GREAT BEGINNING WITH A MEDIOCRE ENDING
The Spear Cuts Through Waterstarted off with so many bold choices that I thought it was going to be fantastic. And then…it just dragged. It just dragged on for so long, and everything that was bold at first just became tired and full of itself. This one was a real disappointment.
4.A LAST-MINUTE TWIST THAT RUINED IT ALL
Without spoiling anything, the twist ending of Katzenjammerreally felt like it was in poor taste. This novel was so unique up until that point, and the ending could have been not only more creative, but more sensitively handled as well. Real shame.
5. A GREAT PLOT WITH SOME BORING CHARACTERS
It’s not so much boring characters but frustrating characters in this case; The Surviving Skyhad the potential to be incredibly imaginative, but having the focus be on two insufferable characters in a failing marriage was not the right move for this book. The infodumped worldbuilding didn’t help either.
6. A CHARACTER DEATH THAT RUINED A BOOK (Spoilers)
I’m having a ton of trouble coming up with anything for this prompt. I know I’ve read books where this has happened, but I just can’t think of any right now? So I’ll have to leave this one blank…
7. A ROMANCE THAT RUINED A BOOK (Spoilers)
I already despise love triangles, but you know what’s worse than a love triangle? A love triangle where there’s no reason to like either of the romantic interests. Warner and Adam from the Shatter Me series were both so gross to me, and I would’ve been mad at Juliette for ending up with either of them, but I hated Warner even more, so that soured the whole end of Ignite Mefor me. Eh.
8. A ROMANCE THAT YOU WANTED TO HAPPEN (Spoilers)
Normally, I love when authors leave a couple that’s set up to be love interests as platonic, but the romance between Ning and Kang in A Venom Dark and Sweetwas hinted so much in book 1, and then…nothing ever came of it? It just felt like a very messy way to resolve it, almost like Judy I. Lin just forgot that it was supposed to happen.
The Deepy Sky came out this July, and I’ve been seeing a ton of buzz about it around the blogosphere since. I’m always in for a sci-fi thriller, and this one delivered in that aspect, as well as the wonderful mixed-race rep!
Asuka has been chosen as a representative on a mission to deep space, where she will help give birth the next generation of Earth’s children. But she has been chosen to represent Japan—a country she barely knows, as a half-Japanese, half-Latina girl raised in the United States. Feeling like an imposter to an unfamiliar country, she accepts her duty and joins the crew of the Phoenix. But a deadly explosion onboard the ship leaves her the only surviving witness. With all eyes on her once more, Asuka must get to the bottom of the explosion before the perpetrator strikes again.
TW/CW: racism, terrorism, miscarriage/fertility themes, death of a child
“Literary” sci-fi rarely does it for me; most of what I’ve read barely scrapes past the 3.5 star rating for me, at best. Often, what happens is that the sci-fi element gets significantly watered down for the sake of marketability, drama, and a place in a celebrity’s book club (see: Sea of Tranquility, In the Quick). But The Deep Sky had the chops to make itself unique—and incredibly poignant.
The sci-fi plot of The Deep Sky is pretty standard as far as story elements go, but Kitasei’s approach to it made it feel fresh. It’s the setup for a myriad of sci-fi thrillers: you’ve got a large crew voyaging through the depths of space, only for a tragic accident to leave everyone onboard in suspicion, with no way to get back to Earth. It’s not necessarily a new approach plot-wise that keeps it going—it’s the emotional core that Kitasei brings to it. You’re really able to see deeply into Asuka’s head, deeper than a lot of authors dare to go with these kinds of stories; it’s a great way to increase the stakes without having to complicate the mystery of the story.
Also, LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIXED-RACE REPRESENTATION!! I’ve been on a roll with books with amazing mixed-race characters and stories lately (see also: Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony—a very different book, but no less poignant), and as a mixed-race person, I’m so glad that narratives like these exist. Kitasei’s depiction of the imposter syndrome that Asuka faces about her identity is twofold—not only is there the level of it that comes with her being of Japanese and Mexican descent in the U.S., but also in the fact that she has to represent Japan—a country that she’s barely been to—in this mission. It really did make me feel so, so seen. Kitasei’s portrayal of having these intersecting identities and them coming at odds with how others want to box you in was deeply moving and authentic, and I cannot thank her enough for that.
Back to the subject of literary sci-fi. A lot of these types of novels that I’ve read deal with intersecting, nonlinear timelines, which may or may not have to do with actual time travel (case dependent). For the most part, it worked incredibly in Kitasei’s favor—even outside what we can consider the “main” plot, the pieces that we get of Asuka’s life before the deep space mission were almost more intriguing than the actual murder mystery in space. Kitasei’s character work is incredibly detailed and nuanced, and having most of this novel be driven by character and family was a choice that made me enjoy it that much more. These types of sci-fi thrillers normally lend themselves to very distant characters, and minimal character work by proxy (outside of “trust no one”), so this was a breath of fresh air in that sense.
That being said, the nonlinear timeline was also what brought part of the novel down for me. There’s much more emphasis placed on the time before the mission than the actual mission, making the murder mystery plot feel like an afterthought. The way that these timelines were spaced out meant that we went long stretches without checking in on what’s supposed to be the novel’s inciting incident, which made the stakes feel much lower than they were meant to be. The tension got appropriately amped towards the end, but other than that, there really wasn’t as much thriller as I was expecting going in. Maybe this is just a matter of how The Deep Sky was marketed, but I did wish we got a little more of the “main” plot.
All in all, a rare gem of a literary sci-fi novel where every page brimmed with emotion and suspicion. 4 stars!
The Deep Sky is a standalone; it is also Yume Kitasei’s debut novel.
Today’s song:
listened to my first Arlo Parks album, and I’m a fan!! this was my favorite, for sure
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
The Bookish Mutant 