Tag: Own Voices

Book Review

The Gods Will Sing Our Song by Autumn Krause

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The Gods Will Sing Our Song by Autumn Krause is a YA historical fantasy romance about two Japanese American teenagers, Ren and Violet, who are imprisoned in an internment camp during World War II. Against this devastating backdrop, they find themselves drawn to one another while confronting uncertain futures and a strange magic tied to their cultural heritage. Both are living through a moment that has stripped away so much of their freedom, dignity, and safety. And yet, they are still teenagers who fall for each other, dream about what comes next, and find moments of beauty within circumstances designed to deny them exactly that.

Book cover for The Gods Will Sing Our Song by Autumn Krause.

Magic, in this city of oranges and opportunity, is like that big black dot you see after looking at the sun. It’s the aftereffect of something brilliant, a negative image that’s dwindled over time.

Autumn Krause, The Gods Will Sing Our Song

One of the things I appreciated most about this book is how approachable it makes this history without ever making it feel less horrific. I knew about the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII, but I realized while reading that I couldn’t think of another novel I had read centered on it. Whether that says something about my own reading or about how few of these stories reach a wide audience, I’m not sure. Either way, this feels like such an important entry point. Krause gives us a story we can move through within the covers of a single novel while still asking us to sit with how something this unconscionable was allowed to happen at all.

Part of what makes all of this work so well is Krause’s prose. Her writing is so vivid and distinctive that there were moments I had to stop just to appreciate the images she created. At one point, Ren thinks, “I’m going to punch him in the mouth and watch his teeth drop like autumn leaves,” and I have genuinely not stopped thinking about it. The gruesomeness of that potential violence juxtaposed with something as beautiful and inevitable as falling autumn leaves? What an image! And that’s just one example. That kind of unexpected juxtaposition happens again and again, giving the writing this gorgeous sharpness even when the story itself is painful.

If you understand only your own side and cannot grasp the other, I fear you can’t say you know either one, yours or theirs.”

Autumn Krause, The Gods Will Sing Our Song

I also loved the yearning between Ren and Violet. Their romance is incredibly sweet, even as they live through something so dehumanizing and terrifying. They’re teenagers who want to flirt, fall in love, spend time together, and imagine what their lives might look like in the future. There’s something important about how familiar those desires feel. History can flatten people into what happened to them, especially when we’re looking back at an atrocity from decades ago. But we understand what it’s like to have a crush, to wonder if someone likes us back, to imagine a future we haven’t lived yet. And that recognition closes some of the distance between reader and history. Alongside the profound violations of freedom, dignity, safety, and autonomy, the novel reminds us of all the ordinary, deeply human parts of a life that internment disrupted, too.

Knowing that Krause drew from her own family’s experiences made the story even more affecting for me. There is something so powerful about taking an inherited family history this painful and turning it into a story that can carry those experiences forward. These histories deserve to be remembered, especially when forgetting makes it easier to distance ourselves from how something like this was even allowed to happen in the first place. I thought Krause honored the people who lived through internment while still asking difficult questions about the fear, racism, and failures that made it possible.

Some people go to war out of hate. But some people go to war out of love.

Autumn Krause, The Gods Will Sing Our Song

My one real wish is that we had gotten more of the fantasy and mythology. The gods, relics, and culturally rooted magic were such a compelling way into Japanese traditions, and I would have loved to see that part of the story developed even further. At the same time, I understand how much the novel is already balancing between its historical, romantic, and fantastical elements. Mostly, I wanted more because I was so interested in what was already there.

Overall, The Gods Will Sing Our Song is a triumph! It finds beauty without romanticizing its history, hope without diminishing the horror, and tenderness in a story about people whose humanity was so profoundly disregarded. It makes this history approachable without making it easy, and I’m incredibly glad I got to read it.

Thank you to NetGalley and Delacorte Press for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Keya Das’s Second Act by Sopan Deb

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Keya Das’s Second Act by Sopan Deb is a poignant novel about grief and forgiveness that follows a Bengali American family reeling from the sudden loss of their daughter and sister, titular character Keya Das. Each member of the family regrets not being more supportive when Keya came out, and now it’s too late to do anything about it…or is it? The novel picks up when Shantanu, Keya’s father, discovers a box containing a play Keya was writing with her girlfriend. It briefly brings Keya back to life for them, so her family embarks on a mission to stage the play to honor her memory and make amends.

Book cover for Keya Das's Second Act by Sopan Deb.

Rejection is often a much more powerful emotion than acceptance.

Sopan Deb, Keya Das’s Second Act

With loss of a child and implied homophobia at the forefront of this novel, this is an emotional read. Grief impacts different people in different ways, and that makes Deb’s cast of characters even more important as they are vehicles through which readers can experience the central themes in this story. Following Keya’s death, Shantanu isolates himself from his family, his wife Chaitali tries to move forward with her own life, and their eldest daughter Mitali tries to distance herself from her sorrow — all very relatable coping mechanisms. But because their journeys are so disparate, it’s a little challenging to keep up with the various side characters that help to bring the family back together. None of them are developed enough, which sometimes makes their heavy influence on our key characters a little difficult to understand. The ultimate message is to encourage leaning on community to help assuage and process the big feelings that occur during times of grief, but the poignancy of that takeaway sometimes gets lost in Deb’s delivery.

I particularly enjoyed the Bengali words interspersed throughout otherwise English language sentences. As a Bengali American who grew up in a bilingual household within a diaspora community, that is exactly how we speak! I’ve seen criticism about the lack of a glossary or sufficient context clues to decode the meaning of select Bengali phrases in other reviews for this novel; however, I like to view this creative choice as a postcolonial resistance to the residual effects of Orientalist policies that defined English as the medium of instruction and the language of knowledge itself. Deb’s language choice — his refusal to translate, sanitize, or suppress the story he wanted to elevate — empowers him to seize back control of how he defines himself in a postcolonial reality still very much influenced by the lingering aftereffects of imperialism.

But more than anything, they each blamed themselves. In their own ways, they had made Keya feel unseen.

Sopan Deb, Keya Das’s Second Act

The one thing I really struggled with in this novel was lack of LGBTQ+ representation. Yes, Keya is gay, but her identity felt like a plot device for characters who didn’t want to accept her sexuality when she was still alive. They took her manuscript, interpreted it for the stage as they saw fit, and essentially used it for their own devices. For lack of a better term, the allyship after the fact felt performative. I realize with a tragedy like this, catharsis just might be the best we can hope to achieve since it’s too late to apologize to Keya or treat her the way she deserved. Still, I expected to see more positive and normalized representation. Keya’s lack of voice in this aspect of the novel has me going back and forth with classifying this novel within the LGBTQ+ category.

For all the heavy themes that form the foundation of this novel, it is surprisingly heartwarming and hopeful. Keya Das’s Second Act begins with characters weighed down by grief, regret, and trauma, and Deb navigates them through a healing journey that leaves them in a better place. This novel reminds readers it isn’t too late for us to take the time to listen and carefully consider how our actions affect the people in our lives. And even if it is too late — like it was for Keya — her family demonstrates it’s never too late to learn and grow from mistakes.

Thank you to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan

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A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan is a young adult contemporary romance about aspiring screenwriter Mina Rahman, whose deepest desire is to win the Golden Ivy student film competition that will all but guarantee her a way out of New York City. So when indie film star Emmitt Ramos enrolls at her school under a secret identity to research a role, Mina does whatever she can to have him star in her film. Emmitt is game — so long as she serves as his tour guide in the city. Inspired by Bhuiyan’s real-life experiences when Tom Holland enrolled at her school under similar circumstances, this long-awaited novel doesn’t disappoint!

Book cover for A Show for Two by Tashie Bhuiyan.

I feel such a disconnect from my identity. Sometimes I feel like I’m not Bangladeshi or Muslim enough because there’s so much I don’t know — being diaspora is a huge part of that.

Tashie Bhuiyan, A Show for Two

Much like Bhuiyan’s debut, Counting Down with You, this novel features a Bangladeshi-American protagonist grappling with relatable and decidedly American coming-of-age milestones involving friends, love lives, and decisions about the future. Mina’s South Asian parents have worked hard to provide her with a plethora of wonderful opportunities, but Mina’s ambitions simply don’t align with her parents’ expectations. It results in a deeply fraught relationship with her parents, and watching Mina (and her younger sister) struggle with it was both distressing and cathartic for me. Growing up in a diaspora community presents so many unique challenges that mainstream media absolutely fails to address at this time, so it was incredibly validating to read about a character with complicated, messy feelings that also fail to align with most depictions of young adult stories but are no less valid.

As much as this novel is about Mina and Emmitt falling for each other, I would argue the true romance is between Mina and New York City. She’s desperate to get away from the familial conflict and generational trauma she deals with on a daily basis, so she incorrectly holds her beloved city — “the city that loved me, even when I didn’t love it” — responsible for her grief. But seeing the five boroughs through Emmitt’s eyes reminds her how New York City has helped to nurture and grow her when other influences in her life have failed to measure up.

There are so many of us drowning in plain sight, and so little the rest of us can do to help.

Tashie Bhuiyan, A Show for Two

My favorite aspect of this novel is how Mina’s forced to grapple with the fact that her experiences aren’t the same as her immigrant parents’, and they really aren’t comparable to her friends’ either. Her relationship fumbles are especially frustrating for readers due to her struggle to choose a side, so to speak. She isn’t American enough, nor is she Bangladeshi enough, and she feels judgement from both sides for attempting to walk the hazy line blurring the two defining cultures in her life. However, she leads a hybrid existence created where two cultures converged to form something new, and — as she slowly learns — something uniquely hers. Once she accepts that as her power, she’s able to redefine her dreams in relation to her own hopes and values. It liberates her from many perceived familial and societal expectations that confine her character growth for much of the novel.

I also enjoyed watching Mina and Emmitt be passionate about their artistic pursuits, and I appreciated that Bhuiyan placed value in the arts as both hobby and career — a distinction often mistakenly presented as a dichotomy.

Home doesn’t have to be with your parents. Home can be your friends, your sister, this city. Home can be yourself. Don’t you get it? Home is where you find love.

Tashie Bhuiyan, A Show for Two

Initially, it was difficult for me to like Mina, but upon reflection, I think it’s because I saw way too much of my own teenage self in her! Counting Down with You is much easier to read because it takes place while Katrina’s parents are out of the country. It’s a monthlong, borderline fantasy experience that is as charming and light as it is largely because Katrina deals with familial and cultural issues through internal monologues instead of difficult conversations and experiences with her own family in real-time. And that’s really what makes A Show for Two such a beautiful journey of self-discovery. It validates the most challenging experiences and allows us to watch Mina find beauty and power in her own circumstances.

A Show for Two is a heartwarming and bittersweet read that represents a unique perspective on familiar growing pains. It will soothe your inner child and remind you to be proud of the experiences that have helped to shape you into the person you are today.

Thank you to NetGalley and Inkyard Press for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron

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This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron is a young adult urban fantasy featuring Briseis, a teenager with the peculiar ability to grow flowers simply by touching seeds or plants. When her aunt dies and leaves Bri a mysterious estate in rural New York, she and her moms move there for the summer, away from the bustling concrete jungle that is Brooklyn. Surrounded by verdant forests and bucolic scenery full of plants and flowers for the first time in her life, Bri hopes to use this opportunity to learn more about herself and gain better control of her gift.

Book cover for This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron.

Whenever you hear a story about villainous women, you should ask who’s telling the story.

Kalynn Bayron, This Poison Heart

The premise of this novel—a poison garden, ancient magic, and a gothic home packed with secrets—is absolutely delicious, but I felt like I was constantly waiting for the plot to take off. Bri discovers an apothecary fully stocked with mysterious plants and a poison garden (inspired by the actual Poison Garden at England’s Alnwick Garden) hidden within her new home, and beyond Bri realizing her specialty is in handling poisonous plants, the plot seems to stall for a while here. I kept wondering what she would do with her powers, other than creating elixirs and growing ingredients for eccentric townsfolk who abruptly barge into her home requesting remedies only she can provide. The novel is heavy on exposition, and the awkward pacing made the first half a struggle to get through.

The charming if odd host of friends, family, and new acquaintances Bri makes is one of the best parts of this novel. In Brooklyn, Bri’s friends aren’t very understanding or kind towards her, and Bayron effectively illustrates how lonely it can feel to have bad friends. It’s so satisfying to experience Bri cultivate some real friendships as her story unfolds. Bloom where you’re planted? More like bloom where you’re transplanted.

Bayron subverts familiar, maybe even predictable metaphors and symbols associated with gardening and nature. This is especially noticeable in Bri’s close relationship with her parents; she’s adopted, and Bayron is especially thoughtful outlining Bri’s concerns about possibly hurting her mothers’ feelings in wanting to explore her biological family’s lineage to learn more about herself. I love that Bri’s bond with her mothers is so strong that even though she worries about hurting their feelings, she never actually tries to hide her curiosity about her ancestry or her desire to learn more about her heritage. The openness in their relationship is refreshing, and it’s so comforting that that angst is never true cause for any grief in her life.

History belongs to all of us.

Kalynn Bayron, This poison Heart

Bayron’s use of Greek mythology as a foundation for the magic surrounding Bri’s powers and bloodline is one of the most unique elements of this story, but it takes too long before it‘s fully revealed to readers. Bri and her parents don’t even arrive at their summer residence until a quarter of the way through the book, and the process for Bri to stumble onto clues about her magic and heritage is too drawn out and convenient. I never quite understood why so many clues were hidden throughout the house if Bri’s biological family didn’t intend for her to discover those secrets. Perhaps they never anticipated she would be in the house, but then why were the clues there at all? There are so many questions and so few answers, though I should point out this novel’s the first in a series, so maybe this ambiguity is by design.

This Poison Heart puts a fresh new spin on the nature vs. nurture dialogue (quite literally where the plants are concerned!), and its strength is in the relationships Bri establishes, nurtures, and grows. While the mythology aspect is interesting, the info dumping was difficult to process, and the story at the end of this book left us with far more questions than answers. I can only hope the seedling that is this book will sprout into a series that is a bit more fully realized because I otherwise like the individual elements of this world.

Thank you to NetGalley and Bloomsbury for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manansala

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Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manansala is a cozy mystery featuring Lila Macapagal, who’s just moved back home to put her life back together and help save her Tita Rosie’s Filipino restaurant. Navigating the drama she thought she’d left behind in her small town, as well as a revolving door of old flames, nosy relatives, and matchmaking aunties keeps her busy enough until an ex-boyfriend literally drops dead while eating food she serves him. With the police convinced she’s the prime suspect, Lila must leverage her network of family and friends in order to solve the murder mystery so that she can save herself and her family’s business.

Book cover for Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manansala.

A “real” Filipino…As a second-generation member of a colonized country, born and raised in the Midwestern United States, what did that even mean?

Mia P. Manansala, Arsenic and Adobo

The premise of this novel is great! The execution? Not so much. This was my Book of the Month selection for April, so I especially wanted to love it. There were several problems that prevented me from enjoying this mystery, but three elements especially stood out: plot, characterization, and dialogue. (Okay, a secret fourth issue too: My edition goes back and forth between calling the murder victim Derek Winter and Derek Winters starting about halfway through the novel. Sloppy and annoying since I noticed it enough to stop reading about a handful of times. I don’t want to be in editor mode when reading a fully published novel.)

While I understand cozy mysteries are meant to be light, easy reads, I’d argue they still need to make sense. But so much of the plot in this novel just happens at random. Nothing seems natural. There is no flow. For instance, when Lila drops off something at the dentist, she goes there on a Sunday, expects it to be open, and it is simply because it’s narratively convenient, like the author just needed to tick something off a list of plot points, so she shoved it in where she could. And when Lila’s accused of assaulting someone and actually has an airtight alibi that could clear her of the crime, the police don’t bring it up because they find her to be a convenient scapegoat. What’s worse is Lila doesn’t even fight for that airtight alibi that is seriously airtight. It doesn’t even make sense! It’s a problem that shouldn’t even be a problem! I’ve heard of bumbling cops, but the ones in this book are so incredibly incompetent it literally gave me a headache.

No one seems appropriately spooked or somber about all the crime that takes place either. The police attempt to pin every murder and assault on Lila, and multiple people try to ruin her family’s business, yet she really doesn’t seem to be concerned enough about any of it. Stumbling upon a dead body actually slips her mind at one point, a murder victim’s family simply wanders away from the wake, and everyone is constantly more worried about hospitality or commenting on the quality of any food that happens to be around. It’s all so weird. No one’s actions make any sense. None of it is believable.

And I know Lila’s supposed to be sarcastic and somewhat glib, but that only comes across half the time. Other than when she can make herself be grateful for her family (but only until she figures out how to repay the bail money her family put up!), she’s rather boring and has no personality beyond her appreciation for Filipino cuisine and belief that every man in town has or had a crush on her. Lila’s backstory contains some interesting elements, but it’s only referenced to establish her as a character troubled enough to warrant suspicion from cops who are otherwise terrible at their jobs anyway.

In typical Filipino fashion, my aunt expressed her love not through words of encouragement or affectionate embraces, but through food.

Mia P. Manansala, Arsenic and Adobo

Also, people just don’t talk the way these characters do, and I think that’s largely because the novel needed a round of edits for show/tell issues. No one casually drops decades old history and family drama into fleeting conversations with random people all over town. And I know the amateur sleuthing in cozies is meant to be a little clumsy, but the dialogue with suspects was too redundant since everything was repeated back to Lila’s friends, family, or her lawyer. And I must point out that during one part of Lila’s investigation, someone witnesses two Japanese people having a conversation in Japanese, and he’s able to understand what’s communicated because he watches a lot of anime. I don’t care how much anime you watch. That’s not how that works!

Finally, all of Lila’s aunties and godmothers were difficult to tell apart, so I wish their personalities were more distinct. As a diaspora kid boasting my own network of aunties, I understand the importance of including this element in the novel, but again, the execution was off. I couldn’t bring myself to care about anyone other than Lila’s grandmother, and only because I’m not a total monster.

I was so excited for Arsenic and Adobo because the premise seemed promising and hilarious, but overall, it really, really missed the mark for me. I don’t want to feel like the author thinks I’m an idiot, whether it was intentional or not. After a while, it became a chore to read. I am curious to try the recipes at the back of the book, though. I enjoyed all the food porn, but a well-plotted book that doesn’t rely on so much suspension of disbelief could’ve included the same culinary adventures too.