jessicaxmaria's reviews
1011 reviews

Absurd, delightful, and reeking of purposeful cringe. Drummond does a swell job of investigating the canyon between the haves and have-nots in Brazil. I nervously laughed through to the last page.

This is my second Lance Olsen book this year or ever, and I'm now a huge fan of his writing and the way his stories build from an experimental structure. The writing can seem abstract at times, but the fragmentary approach is often similar to poetry, but poetry that is diving deep into what it means to be human, to experience loss or to be lost, and aging, existence, miracles, death, etc etc etc. Looking forward to reading more of his work.

Just a really lovely and well-written novel, and the audiobook narrator was excellent. There were so many lines I wished I could underline and Adina's observations of humans could be both funny and deeply moving. One of those books that make me believe in the goodness of people again?

César Aira is a delight to read; one never knows where he will take you, how the story will unfold, or if it will even land. There were quite a few moments in this that made me smirk and chuckle out loud. The writing is so clever and funny as well.

A very fun and extremely meta collection; I had a great time reading this. I loved the moments of recognition and intertwining by the book's end.

Can't wait to read more from Lima.

"Don't you think it's funny...that in a world that relies so much on circles and cycles and orbits, time is a line?"

In the chaos of the modern world it can feel like something's a little off. Is it a feeling everyone who has ever existed has had? Or are we attaching it to relatively recent events both personal and globally? A pandemic, an election, the internet, predictive technology, the sheer amount of death, illness, and suffering... this weighty feeling, the one that I sometimes have late at night when I stare into the darkness and am thinking *a little too much* about the meaning of existence, reverberates throughout THE AVIAN HOURGLASS.

The unnamed narrator’s world consists of a small town, a few dear friends, a dead father, three children, the bus route she drives for work, her ambition to be a radio astronomer, and the fact that all the birds in the world have disappeared. Giant human-sized and (historically) accurate bird nests start appearing around town, and so does her long lost love, a woman she refers to as The Only Person I’ve Ever Loved. The narrator seems to feel these known entities circling around her, weaving something unknown to her consciousness, and she grasps for meaning in her day to day life.

There is so much care in this book—while reading it it feels like a veil of sadness hovering in the unknown, but it's mostly about love. Maybe it's like an egg, as the narrator surmises at one point: "Love must be like the white of an egg wrapped around a yolk made of grief. Then I remember there aren't birds anymore." The narrator’s solitude seems nestled under layers of her surroundings; it felt like something I was trying to uncover.

If you ever want to divulge in someone else’s feeling of uneasiness within the world rather than ferment in your own, you may like this. I was completely enchanted by this novel from start to finish. THE AVIAN HOURGLASS philosophizes in a way that will compel you into deep thought, regard the world in wonder, and it makes a stirring argument for hope.

I enjoyed this fine--there were a lot of scenes and twists that I really liked--but I'm not sure it had much to say about anything. 

Rachel Cusk’s recent works are mystifying and mesmerizing in a way that lets the reader know she is in control of her slicing prose and yet she will not give way to convention for your ease. If you know me, you know I love cerebral novels that are up for interpretation, or require extra consideration. I love a book that makes me think. And however opaque PARADE may seem, I was transfixed.

PARADE likely refers to many things, from the literal parade in part 3 to the veritable procession of artists throughout the novel, each named “G.” And these Gs are all based (I believe) on real artists. I picked out Louise Bourgeois, Paula Modersohn-Becker, Eric Rohmer, and had a vague recognition of others; I’m choosing not to take to the internet yet as I let the story sink in. And while ‘story’ may be too structure-based a word for PARADE, the way Cusk tells this story telegraphs a major theme, the relationship between identity and artists (I enjoyed underlining many sentences about artists who were mothers). It navigates a lot more and in between: violence, shame, duty, marriage, family, community—and humanity in general.

After having read and loved the OUTLINE trilogy and SECOND PLACE, PARADE makes sense as an evolution of what Cusk has been seeking to accomplish. I can’t speak to what exactly that goal is, but to me it’s something akin to finding a new form. For instance, there’s a first person voice in the beginning of the book that eventually morphs into first person plural. Who are we? She’s done with the restrictions and conventions of a novel and its form, what else can be produced? It’s definitely art. And I believe it may be Cusk’s best production to date.

And so I’ll leave you with a line from PARADE, a book I know I’ll be rereading many times: “Art is the pact of individuals denying society the last word.”

Thank you to FSG books for the review copy.