crybabybea's reviews
239 reviews

Beautifully nuanced memoir about what it means to exist in a body and all of its intersections. Lots of insightful anecdotes about growing up as an Asian immigrant, person with fertility issues, abuse survivor, and so much more.

I was struck by the author's repeated gentleness in the face of truly horrific things that happened to her. She has the ability to look past the incident and think about the past events that led to each situation, finding, if not forgiveness, then understanding and empathy for the struggles passed on by her parents and their parents before her. Although everyone's journey with their trauma is different, and there is no "correct" way to heal, Grace Talusan shows a clear reflection and does a great job tying up so many complex topics into one central theme.

The writing was just okay for me. It didn't have the same narrative, poetic feel as other memoirs that I've read and greatly enjoyed. There were some profound quotes, and like I said Talusan brings a sense of gentleness and loving reflection, which lends itself to an overarching hopeful tone, and sets it apart from similar memoirs. Although the topics dealt with are intimately intertwined with Talusan's personal trauma, she doesn't go into much detail regarding the healing process itself, which is completely fine but may not appeal to fans of other memoirs like What My Bones Know.

Despite my feelings about the writing itself, I have to acknowledge that this book hits a lot of topics that are not talked about in the mainstream, something that the author herself speaks a bit about. Thanks to other diasporic Asian people sharing their stories, I know that discussions about mental health and personal experience are quite taboo in a lot of Asian cultures, but I was surprised to learn just how secretive Filipino culture is, and the political and historical reasoning behind the cultural habits of Filipino people. Because of this, I recognize that Talusan's book will be incredibly helpful for a lot of people.

Although this wasn't my favorite memoir of all time, it was still beautiful, unique, and eye-opening. It occupies a specific, nuanced space in the memoir space, and is 100% worth reading.

Such a unique concept with a well thought out world, interesting and complex characters, and high tension.

It takes a while for the story to get going, about 30% or so, but once it takes off it doesn't stop. O'Keefe does such a great job keeping the tension high and weaving in tender interpersonal moments, which felt very cinematic. Allison E on Goodreads said this felt like the "mmm watcha say" SNL skit and it's so true. Reveal after reveal that could have easily felt eye-rolly but was inventive and interesting each time.

The world itself is stunning, with a system of cloning called printing, where individuals’ consciousnesses are uploaded to a cloud, and downloading into a body print of their choosing, complete with cybernetic enhancements specific to their jobs or military roles. I do think the world-building could have been pushed a bit further, I finished the first book still having questions about how printing works. However, it’s a testament to O’Keefe’s skill at writing that the stakes are still high even in a world with theoretical immortality; those that die a violent death are likely to “crack” and rendered unable to be reprinted. The printing system is also woven into the political strife burgeoning in their society, with poor people or those without the “correct” political leanings finding it hard to pay for printing fees and sometimes turning to less-than-legal means to keep their lives intact.

There is a sort of horror aspect to the plot that is really well done, and unique enough in concept that it felt fresh. It’s sort of like The Last of Us but with a futuristic sci-fi twist mixed with a healthy dose of critique on capitalism. And the way the fungus (villain?) works is genuinely terrifying. Paired with O’Keefe’s ability to keep tensions high, it worked out so well.

On top of the main plot & learning more about the villain, O’Keefe throws in some space opera style political conflicts too. Although it’s not a main part of the story yet, she sets it up nicely to continue into the next books, and gives chilling yet complex insights into the mind of the political “leader” of the world.

AND on top of the main plot AND on top of the political machinations, we follow a great cast of characters who all have their own motivations, belief systems, conflicts, and character arcs. With a little sprinkle of romance as well — not an overwhelming amount that would be off-putting to people who don’t like romance, but not a small amount that would be unsatisfying to those who *do* like romance.

There were times the dialogue felt a little stilted, but it kind of fit into the world so it wasn't immersion breaking. Overall, the relationship between the two main characters develops surprisingly naturally, and the author doesn’t cling on to tired tropes that tend to happen in similar books. The two characters are flawed, but mature, so you don’t have to worry about miscommunication or other irritating tropes. Because of this, it felt like like an aged up young adult sci-fi.

If you’re new to Sci-Fi and space opera type books, I think this is a great place to start. The world-building is accessible and fun to figure out, the political stakes are simple but satisfying, and it has a dystopia feel that would be good for people who already like books like The Hunger Games, Uglies, The Handmaid’s Tale, etc.

 Beautifully written & engaging exploration of the nuances of latinidad, and how it intersects with America’s nebulous, made-up definitions of racial division. Very reminiscent of James Baldwin’s writings, which makes sense because the author later mentions Baldwin as his biggest inspiration.

Although this isn’t necessarily an in-depth overview of the history of immigration, Héctor Tobar includes a brief overview when it’s necessary, without dumping too much. I really enjoyed how he was able to mix his personal memoir with the anecdotes of his own students and people he’s met through his research and journey to reconnecting with his heritage, with just enough information to help uninformed people (like myself) understand the deep historical nuances to immigration and Latin America. In doing so, Tobar illuminates every corner of the subject of latinidad, and showcases a vast array of opinions and experienced informed by the inextricably connected joy and struggle of what it means to be Latinx. 

And, speaking of the term Latinx, there was a lot of pondering on the meaning of the term, alongside Latino/Latina, Hispanic, and Latin American, all of which have complicated histories and reasons that people do/do not support the terms. A great example of how much language is still used to continue the effects of colonization and racism that often gets lost in today's landscape of cultural scapegoating and debates between talking heads. 

There’s plenty to learn here, and as the subtitle suggests, it’s a meditation. Somewhat stream of consciousness, but Tabor does a beautiful job transitioning between each essay and painting a broader picture by focusing on individual stories and experiences. 

Despite the beautiful writing and many memorable quotes, I found myself wanting more from the reading experience. I'm not sure if the meditative style worked for me here, as there were times I wished the author would have dove deeper into the topics he was discussing. The overall themes were well done but it almost felt like the collection as a whole was missing something to really pull it all together.

Every bit of this describes our current political climate and how we got here. Although Trump isn’t necessarily involved with the organizations mentioned, every move being made by the Trump administration is paralleled. This book lowkey broke my mind.

Although this is a book mainly about the corrupt lobbying utilized by right-wing politicians, Jane Mayer doesn’t fully absolve the Democrats either, which helped her argument come across as less biased. She points out how the Democratic party failed to take threats seriously, underestimated the “other side”, and attempted to appeal to moderates which helped the Overton window be pushed further and further to the extreme right; something that we saw repeated in 2024. Also, although Obama was outwardly spoken about the issues he was facing with corporate lobbying, Jane Mayer doesn’t hold back on naming the Democratic politicians who were *also* in the pockets of the corporate donors. Such a corrupt system through and through, throw it all out honestly.

During my time reading, I was reminded of something Imani Barbarin said at the beginning of the 2025 election; it's time to stop memeifying politics, especially Donald Trump and other right-wing extremists. Jane Mayer exposes how coldly calculated these people are, although they might come across as mediocre white men bumbling their way to success, their money translates to very real, very tangible power.

While the ideas presented here might be obvious — billionaires (majorly white men) in America are able to manufacture consent by lobbying politicians, influencing culture, creating smear campaigns, and denying science just by virtue of throwing money wherever they want. This book, however, really digs into the nitty gritty of how deep the corruption goes. Deeply, thoroughly researched, and every detail matters to create a broader perspective of just how insidious these “dark money” organizations are.

You might know, on a fundamental level, that America has descended into oligarchy (and perhaps always was one), but Dark Money lays out in excruciating detail how this issue came to be, and the many, many people behind it.

Similarly, you might think, on a fundamental level, that the Koch brothers and others of their ilk are inherently evil. Obviously. They’re billionaires who are content to destroy the world for their own profit. But Jane Mayer pushes it even further, peeling back layer after layer of corruption, including their inspirations pulled from extremist groups like the Russian oligarchy, the Taliban, and even, yes, the Nazis.

The writing itself is quite dry. Due to the sheer amount of information presented, and complexity of the situation, the names of people and organizations, dates, and dollar amounts all seem to run together after a while. But I feel like I have to recognize the impressive extent of investigative journalism on display here.

I have to admit it was hard not to spiral into doomerism while reading this. I can’t overstate how deep these issues go. The history of “dark money” goes back decades, and has tentacles in literally every realm of American existence. Billions and billions of dollars have been funneled into these projects. Overall I think the information I learned will stick with me forever and will continue to be applicable as politics in America continue to crumble.

This book had, I think, three goals in mind:
1) To tell the story of the author's experience juggling being an ambitious journalist as a Mexican-American woman
2) To share a brief history of immigration, as experienced by the author through her decades of journalistic endeavours and personal experience as an immigrant
3) To connect the two above, and paint a larger picture of people affected by immigration policies

María Hinojosa achieves what she set out to do. I found the overall tone and themes to be well-done, and well-connected, as any good memoir should be. María is an example of what is possible for immigrants in America, if they are supported and allowed to thrive without bureaucratic red tape, federal policies, and cultural scapegoating that seek to keep immigrants as second-class citizens at best, and enemies of the state at worst. She's had a prolific career that centers voices of the marginalized, and was arguably revolutionary to journalism in the way she approached stories intimately, leading with empathy.

There were some research flaws, specifically dates that were slightly off, and details of certain stories told. While not necessarily incredibly important, argument-breaking errors, they were noticeable and kind of gave the sense that María was retelling the events from memory without researching to double-check, or that she didn't have an editor that cared enough to double-check.

Personally, I just didn't vibe with a lot of the thought processes. It's very girlboss, liberal feminism, which is perfectly fine, but not my cup of tea. (also she kept referring to herself as "small and petite" which started to creep me out) I do think she came across as neutral and unbiased, which is saying something considering how personal the events/stories/topics are to her. She includes criticisms of both the Republicans and the Democrats, and strikes a great balance of pointing out the flaws in the American system, while still acknowledging the opportunities she received as a virtue of being an American citizen.

It's hard to rate this from a western perspective. So I want to give a disclaimer that when I make critiques, I'm in no way implying that "America does it better", and I know America has its own issues with corporatized, privatized therapy practices and mental health stigmatization. But I want to mention the cultural differences, because I think it helps to go into this book trying to see it with a different perspective.

There is something to be said about the intimacy of this book, coming from a culture like Korea which still has a heavily stigmatized outlook on mental health. I can imagine that this book was a breath of fresh air for many, many Korean people (and others, of course) who have likely struggled with similar anxiety issues and feeling bogged down by the pressure to sweep it under the rug, grit their teeth and work harder. Because of that, I do think it's a bestseller for a good reason, and certainly not only popular because it's recommended by BTS, as some other reviewers imply.

My issue I think is that the psychotherapy shown is kind of lackluster, the therapist involved doesn't really tackle issues like I'm used to. There's a lot of individualism (as in, blaming the individual) and reliance on medication. The author opens up talking about her experience with an abusive father, controlling older sister, nitpicking mother, alcohol dependency, self-esteem issues, crippling anxiety... and the therapist is just kinda like. "Well, have you considered not feeling bad? Here's some pills." But, then again, the author says that therapy really helped her, and I'm not a professional, so who am I to say it's bad therapy?

The writing itself is a mixed bag for me. I think Baek Se-hee is clearly a talented writer with an eye for metaphor, and I found myself a bit sad that I'm not able to understand the book in its native language. But I will say I do often like Anton Hur's translation work, and I feel he does a good job keeping the poetic language intact while keeping it readable and accessible. The use of transcripts as the main part of the book wasn't my favorite thing. It got repetitive (especially as an audiobook), and felt quite dry, cold, and detached.

I don't know if it stands against memoirs that go in-depth into the psyche and trauma that can cause anxiety and depression, like What My Bones Know. It's more of a surface view, for people that struggle with mild anxiety and depression, which certainly has its place in the genre too.  

If you struggle with mild anxiety and depression, or perhaps feel like you don't relate to other memoirs that tackle more "severe" disorders such as C-PTSD, give it a go - I think what the author has to say is worth reading, but I personally would recommend taking the therapist's advice with a grain of salt. And, it's a quick read so there's not much to lose!

Just fine, I have negative interest in sports so my review lacks the perspective of someone with a long history in the sports fandom. I will say that I learned a lot that I didn't know, but I'm not sure how much that means as someone without much knowledge. Maybe long-time sports fans would already know a lot of the information presented.

I picked up this book because I thought the ideas around fandom would apply to other non-sports fandoms, and I can say that it mostly does.

Although a big part of the book talks about the sports-industrial complex which is very unique to American sports; teams purposely throwing games as a form of gambling, taxpayers having to pay for billion dollar sports arenas via pressure from team owners, political figures paying millions to insert American propaganda in hopes of recruiting people to the military, the author does stay true to the title of Rethinking Fandom, and I think a lot of what's talked about could apply to all sorts of fandoms.

Such a huge perspective shift, I'm really glad I read this.

This book goes in-depth about decolonizing environmental justice, and provides clear examples as to the steps of decolonizing different issues that arise around environmental issues. Dina Gilio-Whitaker uses real-world examples to show the reader how things have gone wrong in the past, and what could be done to fix them and avoid making the same mistakes in the future.

Honestly, for how complex these issues are and the long, long history behind them, the author does a really great job making this accessible and digestible. I went in with pretty much 0 knowledge of environmental issues (that is, legal battles surrounding environmental issues) or environmental justice and came away having learned so much. I was really awed by the ways the author shifted such simple perspectives, and this book provides the "why?" behind decolonial practices that I think would make things a lot clearer to those interested in learning more.

This ties in really well with Braiding Sweetgrass, I think the two would make a great pair to read side-by-side.

boring, terrible world-building, stupid plot. just let it be smut pls