A Book A Week

Occasionally, a book emerges that feels perfectly attuned to the current cultural landscape. R.F. Kuang's Yellowface is one such example. Since its release last year, it has garnered both critical acclaim and commercial success, quickly establishing itself as a must-read that encapsulates the spirit of the times. While it had been on my radar since its publication, I only recently had the opportunity to delve into its pages. In just a few days, I found myself completely absorbed by its narrative, understanding immediately why it resonated so deeply with readers.

June Hayward has always lived in the shadow of Athena Liu, her college classmate and literary rival. While Athena soared to success with one acclaimed novel after another, June's own writing career languished in obscurity. Their friendship, if it could be called that, was tinged with June's bitter envy of Athena's achievements.

One fateful evening at Athena's apartment in D.C., tragedy strikes when Athena suddenly chokes and dies. In shock and disbelief, June finds herself alone with Athena's latest manuscript—a groundbreaking work highlighting the forgotten contributions of Chinese laborers in World War I. Without a second thought, June decides to seize the opportunity fate has presented her. She takes the manuscript and a few other papers, imagining a future where she submits it to her publisher under her own name. After all, Athena no longer needs it, and June sees it as her chance to finally claim the success she believes she deserves. What could possibly go wrong?

Ironically, the central premise of Yellowface felt reminiscent of Jean Hanff Korelitz's The Plot, a book I had previously read. However, as I delved into R.F. Kuang's narrative, I quickly realized that she was using this familiar storyline to explore much deeper themes. Yellowface serves as a scathing commentary on tokenism in publishing, shining a spotlight on the industry's tendency to prioritize diversity for the sake of appearance rather than genuine inclusivity.

As June's deceit unfolds, she finds herself buoyed by an industry eager to blur her cultural identity for profit. Kuang skillfully interrogates the concept of ownership in storytelling, questioning who has the right to tell certain narratives and whose voices are amplified or silenced by the publishing world and social media. It's a thought-provoking examination of power dynamics and the consequences of chasing fame at any cost.

The novel is told from June's morally dubious perspective. She's not a traditionally likable character, and readers are keenly aware of the wrongness of her choices. Yet, there's an undeniable magnetism to her story that kept me engaged. While Yellowface may have echoes of familiar narratives, Kuang infuses it with profound insights that elevate it beyond mere familiarity. The result is a compelling and thought-provoking read that lingers in the mind long after the final page is turned.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 39)

 "I’ll just say that we would not be who we are today without the calamities of our yesterdays."

The news of Salman Rushdie's brutal stabbing at a Chautauqua Institution literary event in August 2022 was both shocking and, in a sense, expected. Given the tumultuous history surrounding Rushdie's provocative 1988 novel, The Satanic Verses, and the subsequent fatwa issued against him by Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini, it seemed almost inevitable that such an attack would occur. Rushdie had spent years living under constant police surveillance, largely withdrawing from public life until relatively recently, when the threat against him appeared to have diminished.

The vicious assault in 2022 served as a stark reminder that sentiments against Rushdie and his written words remained as violent as ever. Despite the mental and physical toll of the attack, Rushdie's response was characteristically defiant. Ironically, the event where the attack took place was a speaking engagement on the importance of safeguarding writers—a cruel twist of fate that underscored the ongoing threat against him. Rushdie confronted this violent attempt to silence him by doing what he does best: writing about it.

In Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder, Rushdie offers a candid reflection on the events leading up to the attack, his arduous path to recovery, and his perspective on the future. He recounts the 27 seconds of frenzied violence that forever altered his life, leaving him with catastrophic physical injuries and deep psychological scars. Buoyed by the support of his family and loved ones, Rushdie's resilience and unwavering spirit shine through. 

Knife transcends the narrative of mere survival; it delves into the complex emotions and philosophical reflections that arose from Rushdie's brush with death. Despite his staunch atheism, Rushdie grapples with the inexplicable miracle of his survival. It questions the very nature of existence and mortality. His imagined dialogue with his would-be assassin, whom he refers to as "A," offers a poignant exploration of human nature and the motivations behind such senseless acts of violence.

Ultimately, Knife is a testament to Rushdie's resilience and intellectual depth, offering readers a profound meditation on life, death, and the enduring power of the human spirit. Through wit, humor, and candid introspection, Rushdie navigates the complexities of his experience with grace and insight, crafting a narrative that is as thought-provoking as it is compelling.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 38)

"The land claims what you leave behind."

July is shaping up to be a horror-centric reading month for me. I read Paul Tremblay's latest novel last week, and plan to read Riley Sager's newest haunted house story later this month. In between is the work of new-to-me author Stephen Graham Jones. The blurb for The Only Good Indians compared his writing to that of Tremblay, so I knew I would be in for a treat. I quickly requested a copy of the book from the publisher and was pleased when they sent one my way. It proved to be a visceral exploration of coming to terms with the past and dealing with all the grisly consequences.

Years ago, a group of young American Indian men made a reckless decision. The foursome snuck onto land that was protected by their native Blackfeet tribe. The light of the moon illuminated a herd of elk peacefully grazing amongst the sacred field, unaware of the slaughter that was about to come. Each of the boys killed one of the animals in cold blood, breaking the bond between man and nature that their ancestors had protected for so long, an irreversible rift that would follow the boys for the rest of their lives.

Years later, Lewis and the other guys all feel as if they've buried the past. None of them speak of the horrible things they did that fateful night. Lewis is still haunted by the mother elk that he killed, still sees the lifeless body of her unborn calf. He's on the ladder in his living room, fiddling with a light fixture that seems to have a mind of its own, when he notices the figure. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. Through the circling blades of the ceiling fan, Lewis swears he saw an elk standing there in the middle of his home. Only this was no ordinary animal. She was standing on two legs with an almost human-like quality to her. Is his mind playing tricks on him, or is this the beginning of something more sinister? Is nature finally seeking revenge?

There is something completely unsettling about The Only Good Indians. Stephen Graham Jones has written a novel that feels almost ritualistic in its brutality. It is the kind of horror that makes you feel as if you would be better off not witnessing what is unfolding but dares you to keep looking. After a wild opening that completely sucked me in, the novel stalled for the first quarter or so. There was character building, but I can't say that I was invested in Lewis or his life. It was the strength of wanting to know more about his mysterious vision that kept me reading. Fortunately, a violent event at the end of the first act really turned up the momentum. From then on, the novel maintained a perfect balance between gory horror thrills and well-drawn character building. I would be remiss if I didn't point out that the book features graphic descriptions of violence, death toward both humans and animals. Still, The Only Good Indians delivers as a gory horror thrill ride and interesting take on culture and revenge.

For more information visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.
(2020, 30)

Every once in a while, an author attempts to make big statements about big ideas. To portray social subjects (racism, class, history, tradition, culture, etc.) in the confines of written words is no easy task. Often, any commentary becomes burdened by the mechanics of language. In his new novel, Welcome to Braggsville, author T. Geronimo Johnson attempts to tackle some of these topics.

As he begins his freshman year at UC Berkley, D'aron Davenport is clearly a fish out of water. Thousands of miles away from his hometown in Georgia, D'aron struggles to find his way in this new place. He has never had to put much effort into his school work, and quickly ascended to the top of his small high school class with minimal effort. But the rigors of collegiate academics have taken their toll on D'aron. After the first semester, he finds himself with unsatisfactory grades and the threat of academic probation. A meeting with his advisor reveals deeper internal issues. D'aron's advisor, who also made the move from small conservative town to large liberal city, diagnosis the young man's social conundrum. She tells him that his difficulty in reconciling his upbringing with the culture of his new setting is normal, but he must come to terms with these issues to achieve success in his studies.

It is not until an awkward turn at a party that things for D'aron begin to change. A misunderstanding finds D'aron, his roommate Louis Chang, Candice (from Iowa) and black prep school student Charlie being accused of being racially insensitive. From there, the group, 4 Little Indians as they call themselves, become close friends, and it seems that D'aron has overcome his social insecurity. It is an American History class on alternative perspectives that inspires the friends to create a performance piece that makes a political statement. D'aron's hometown, Braggsville, the kind of conservative place where "gay" is used as an insult or joke, holds an annual Civil War re-enactment. The group decides to make their statement at this event. When things don't proceed as expected, the foursome and the entire town of Braggsville are forced to face racial, social, and cultural issues that none of them could have anticipated.

Johnson tackles tough issues and interesting characters to middling results. The central plot and characters are very well conceived and offer natural ways to explore complex social issues. Unfortunately, Johnson's unique authorial voice takes a bit of time to get used to, sometimes making reading this novel a chore. As is so often the case with this subject matter, the mechanics of written language fail to portray the lofty ideas that are discussed. That being said, there is no denying Johnson's craft. Even when the plot becomes muddied by excess points and overtly obvious observations, Johnson manages to steer the story back to a central focus that is both timely and engaging. In the end, Welcome to Braggsville is not a book that everyone will enjoy, but definitely offers the kind of sharp satire and commentary that is difficult to achieve.

For more information, visit Amazon and GoodReads.

(2015, 6)