just_one_more_paige's reviews
1488 reviews

 

This has been sitting on my shelf, unread, for yearssssss. The sudden cold snap dumped me right into a Norwegian winter and witch trials kind of reading mood and the time was finally right to pick it up. 

 

I'm using Goodreads for this blurb, because I'm just not in the mood to get creative with it today: "Finnmark, Norway, 1617. Twenty-year-old Maren Magnusdatter stands on the craggy coast, watching the sea break into a sudden and reckless storm. Forty fishermen, including her brother and father, are drowned and left broken on the rocks below. With the menfolk wiped out, the women of the tiny Northern town of Vardø must fend for themselves. Three years later, a sinister figure arrives. Absalom Cornet comes from Scotland, where he burned witches in the northern isles. He brings with him his young Norwegian wife, Ursa, who is both heady with her husband's authority and terrified by it. In Vardø, and in Maren, Ursa sees something she has never seen before: independent women. But Absalom sees only a place untouched by God and flooded with a mighty evil. As Maren and Ursa are pushed together and are drawn to one another in ways that surprise them both, the island begins to close in on them with Absalom's iron rule threatening Vardø's very existence." 

 

I am not sure exactly what I was expecting from a historical fiction about witch hunts, but this both met and diverged from whatever I was internally ready for. There was an incredibly tragic and heavy air to the whole novel (which makes sense), and yet, the underpinning of feminist and indigenous resistance to external powers was also low-key inspiring. The vibes really seeped into one's bones in the same way cold does - quite apt under the circumstances. This was very much a novel of characters - internally and relationally - and setting. The sense of place that Millwood Hargrave brings forth is so strong. The focus on the quotidian details is impressive, and it's clear that the historical research was thoroughly done. And the character development, alongside the development of the conditions which make it possible for a community to act in this way, so superbly (if terrifyingly) communicated. There is just a slow steadiness to the storytelling cadence that is perfect for the story being told. It's reminiscent, in good ways, of The Wolf and the Woodsman, Book of the Little Axe, and Burial Rites. 

 

The story itself, of the spreading of Christianity and western philosophy onto indigenous/native populations (colonialism), is horribly familiar, of course. It's a tale as old as time, when a way of life/power structure is threatened (even existentially, or with false belief of the threat), suffering to “maintain” that way of life begins. And of course, historically, that usually means women and minorities suffering at the hands of cis white men in positions of power. On that note, I had a full on fiery anger at Absalom (and all the men, really), while reading this. Ooooooof. But back to this novel...this is a version of the story - a place and population - of it that is new to me in the details. So, I (of course) did some of my own research afterwards and learned more, which is something I always appreciate from literature. 

 

On a more hopeful note (and a bit bittersweet by the end, I suppose), what grows between Maren and Ursa, the connection they nurture and that gives them support and strength in return, is tender and precious. The ending, in general and as it relates to them, felt just right. It's not happy (how could it be?) and not *quite* hopeful, but there is a little spark of future possibility past this, a realistically small amount of (unfortunately not enough for what the reader would hope for, but how could that be possible, really?) satisfying retribution.  

 

This novel was not fast paced or twisty/surprising, but it was evocative AF. There is a simmering depth of emotion under the surface of the “action” in the story and it really leaves a strong impression on the reader. 

 

“They are a language […] Just because you do not speak it doesn’t make it devilry.” 

 

“It doesn’t matter what I am, only what they believe I am.” 

 

“How is this godly? […] How can they call their work holy?” 

 

And here we go, with the second and final part of this epic duology. (Reminder: The Radiant Emperor duology is a historical fantasy "retelling" of the founding of the Ming dynasty.) 

 

He Who Drowned the World picks up right where She Who Became the Sun left us. Zhu has successfully reclaimed southern China from the Mongols and is looking ahead at continuing that success by taking it all, and crowning herself emperor. But there are still major players in the game with the same goal and a similar claim to the title as her own. The courtesan Madam Zhang is moving for her husband to get the throne (and has an army to back her up), Wang Baoxiang has maneuvered himself into the capital city and is playing political games behind the scenes to further his own agenda, and the unstable General Ouyang is still single-sightedly set on bringing down the Mongols to avenge his family. Zhu has many allies - her wife Ma and close friend Xu Da supporting her completely - but the odds are still long and the fight will still be violent and dangerous. And Zhu will have to decide how much, and who, she is willing to sacrifice to finally achieve her fate. 

 

The plot was not the only thing that picked up right where it left off. The writing, too, remains just as spectacular. It's incredible quality writing. The plot and character development, the complex political machinations, the subtle and nuanced alliances/betrayals...it all remains just so, so good. It's all balanced together in perfect measure, nothing sacrificed for the sake of another aspect. And the pacing in this second one was even better than the first; I felt like I was on the edge of my seat for the entire book from the complexities of relationships, surprising choices, twists, action scenes, and tragedy/losses. The build of the separate pieces of this story, in parallel with each other, created such an eagerness in me for the moment when it all came together, bringing the novel to its peak. When those moments hit - because there were more than one (!) - they delivered. 

 

Thematically, there was a continued, searing, commentary on perceived gender differences and societal expectations/labels being just that: perceived. Parker-Chan explores through these characters how limiting that actually is on a person's ability to become their full self or imagine a future different (better) from the current. This same commentary and expose on gender is mirrored for external "limitations" placed on people with disabilities, which, again, only limit potential if the person internally lets it. As part of these themes, there is the fact that some of the alliances and character developments in concert with each other are happening within incredibly toxic frameworks (content warnigns for: pain, self harm, emotional manipulation, blackmail/lies, sexual violence/manipulation, extreme un-worked-through grief). It's realistic, but tough to read at times. I also really appreciated the depth with which Parker-Chan delved into a reflection on costs, and how much reaching for a fate/goal is worth. In particular, as some of our primary characters - Zhu, Baoxiang, Madam Zhang - experience losses of those particularly special to them (no spoilers, but there are some big deaths), it does have them really questioning which sacrifices are worth it, and at what point they need to bow out versus would that be disrespectful of another's sacrifice for their cause. It was quite emotionally affecting. On a related note, oh the ghosts that haunt us, and what we do because of/for them, even though it changes nothing of their fate(s) in the end. Heart-wrenching.  

 

The end was not, could not really be, a surprise one. Despite that though, Parker-Chan wrote quite the compelling finale. Zhu grew a lot over these two books, aided in no small part by Ma, and in the final moments of this novel, as she faces one final choice on how to reach her fate and start her new empire, her actions show that growth. She still refuses to not do whatever she must to become emperor, and yet, she also considers what she is willing to do, what she is willing to make those she loves do, and on what note she wants to start this new world of her imagination. That strength of choice and compassion, the power one can pull from it, is such a lingering and powerful message to close on. Finally, I need to say, for me, I was so satisfied by one aspect of the story/ending in particular... The way that everyone who couldn’t accept the expansive view of identity and ability that Zhu was creating the future out of/for, or move past shame of/related to it, doesn’t survive to see said world is telling hits hard. But then, for those who accept/own it, or are willing to reset, there is space made for them, no matter their past deeds. It's sad, hard to come to terms with, in some cases, but also inspires a hope for that future as Zhu and Ma see it.  

 

 Epic. An absolutely epic duology. 

 

 

“…but a weak man, well-managed, is a woman’s greatest strength.” 

 

“But, of course: usually when men saw women, they were performing.” 

 

“It wanted what everyone wanted when they looked at him: to eradicate the hateful thing that didn’t fit into the world as they had made it.” 

 

“Dead was dead. It was only the living who cared. It was only the living who felt, and desired. It was only the living who chained themselves to the past, and told themselves to the past, and told themselves it was for the sake of the dead that they did what they did.” 

 

“Was it really bravery, though, if the reason a boy raised a sword was because an adult's expectations had made him believe there was no other avenue? 'I've always thought honor must be cold comfort to the dying. Given the choice, I'd prefer not to die.'” 

 

“A connection between two people existed only because of their shared belief in it as real. There was no such thing as a connection with only one end. There was no such thing as love, alone.” 

 

“If being the emperor means having the world, then its value must be infinite. It's worth anything. / Perhaps so. But if each death could also be considered the end of that person's unique world-- Then isn't pain infinite, too?” 

 

“To be in contact with someone else's pain was to risk feeling it yourself, unless you severed the connection by hating them. When most people's greatest desire was to avoid pain, of course they would rather hate.” 

 

“…it didn’t have to be real, to hurt.” 

 

“Her triumph was muted by sorrow, for everything that had been given and lost for this moment. Those losses and sacrifices now formed the soil from which her new world would sprout. As the world grew, it would draw up the loving kindness of those sacrifices and knit it into the material of itself. With that as its foundation it could never be like the old world of violence and domination. It would be new. She thought with gratitude: It will be itself.” 

 

This is the third work of nonfiction by Patrick Radden Keefe that I have read (the other two being Empire of Pain and Rogues)...and each has been spectacular. While I think this was an earlier published investigative book, and I was recommended it by a number of people, it apparently grabbed me less than the others, as I waited until now to pick it up. I won't lie, the recently released Hulu series based on it didn't not have something to do with the timing on that. Anyways, here we are, and it was worth the wait. 

 

In this book, Keefe breaks down  - as much as one can, in a single volume - The Troubles in Northern Ireland. The telling is centered around the disappearance, and unsolved murder, of Jean McConville (a widowed mother of ten) in Belfast in 1972. Although everyone knew that the I.R.A. was responsible, the rampant fear and paranoia of the time, and the culture of shame for anyone who broke silence about their plans/actions, no one would talk about it. While disappearances like this weren't as common, the environment of guerrilla warfare in the streets, many deaths, and complex political and social lines that were violently enforced, absolutely was. And the aftermath of this conflict and brutality, in which many consequences have not been truly reckoned with, and many secrets still exist, is not that much better. The peace accords were, and still are in many ways, uneasy, and fell very short of the goal of a united Ireland that the I.R.A. was fighting for...leaving [previous] members bitter and unsure about the justification of their violence. Then, of course, there is the question of the legacy of that violence on the community - perpetrators and victims - left behind.     

 

Well, Keefe is truly a master of his craft. This is absolutely spellbinding nonfiction. I listened to the audiobook, which was very well narrated, and I literally could not stop listening. This was clearly so deeply and thoroughly researched. And there were so many perspectives, each layered and corroborated narratives, that brought together a greater picture of living during The Troubles. I also appreciated the clear note afterwards, in which Keefe addresses the missing perspectives and voices, along with the many challenges in accessing not just those, but even the limitation with the POVs he did get. 

 

Other than the re-creation of the time and place and lives of those that lived it (to the best that he was able), the thing I appreciated most about this book was the nuance with which Keefe explores questions of morality and blame and the complications of a conflict like this happening within such a small community. It is all incredibly presented, thought-provoking, and reflective on such a complex reality.  

 

I’ll be thinking about this for a long time - both in its own right, and in the ways it can be extrapolated to many other regions and situations. Thinking about the impacts of this conflict, that even on a scale this geographically small it’s still so intense and long/far-reaching...imagining how many similar - and larger - conflicts are happening around the world (and affecting their communities in ways this intense) is a lot to conceptualize. 

 

“….but sometimes it’s the myths we believe most fervently of all.” 

 

“Who should be held accountable for a shared history of violence?” 

 

This one was brought to my attention by @thestackspod, which is how most of my recent nonfiction choices have made it onto my TBR. So, not really a surprise, but definitely still deserving of a shoutout.   

 

In this research/journalistic nonfiction, Asgarian takes on the incredibly tragic story of the Hart family murders/suicides from a (previously unvoiced) new perspective. For those who weren't really aware of the story as it happened - as, to be honest, I was not - in 2018, Jennifer and Sarah Hart, a married couple who had adopted six Black children from two different families in Texas, drove themselves and all six kids off a cliff (literally) on the Pacific Coast Highway in CA. With time and investigative efforts, a story of years of abuse and neglect emerged, culminating in the deaths of all eight family members. While popular media seemed to focus most on Sarah and Jennifer, as many stories of adoption do, Asgarian chooses here to give voice to the adoptees themselves, as much as possible, and the birth families that they were taken from, asking the difficult questions about culpability in regards to the systems that put these six children in such an unsafe, unhealthy, and ultimately deadly situation.  

 

This was, all told, an incredibly emotionally difficult read. One of the primary emotions for me, for the majority, was anger. I mean, this story is absolutely infuriating. It’s clear on almost every page how systemic, institutional, and sometimes individual/personal racism created a situation where biological/extended family that wanted and fought for these kids is turned away in favor of an adoptive family that meets “societal standards” of white and middle class, even in the face of myriad signs and indications that the Hart''s were not the safest/best options for these kids. I mean, some reports of what was happening in the adoptive home were even worse than the situations the children were forcefully removed from in their birth families, and that didn't seem to matter at all. The number of red flags and warning signs and actual calls to police and CPS that were never or minimally followed up on, happened far enough apart that people could ignore the pattern, or happened across state lines and therefore patterns weren’t easy to follow - it’s mindblowingly upsetting. So much seems to come back to the fact that Jennifer and Sarah presented a “believable” and “respectable” front (but like, let’s talk about inherent racial/gender bias in that assumption, for real) and people being too constrained by “politeness” and not wanting to rock the boat. UGH. And, to be fair, the overload on the people working for the protective systems is real, regardless of how many other issues there are with said systems. Coming back to, though, the contrast in what led to these children’s birth parents’ losing custody, and what was allowed to continue in the home of their adoptive parents, is stark. And that difference continues in how the media and legal/Law enforcement representatives interpreted and acted and carefully chose their language after the fact.  The common assumption that these children were better off with the white women who had adopted them than under whatever conditions in their early childhood homes were like… If nothing else hits the reader (and many other things should/do), the unevenness and bias in views on this is an imperative takeaway. 

 

As Asgarian told the story of the two birth families of these youth, she provided an environmental study, for context, as well. Specifically, she intertwined a narration of these families experiences, through their own words and the documents/records tracking it, with a larger indictment of the systems involved (legal and social work and juvenile justice, particularly in the states - TX and MN - centered here), and a history of “orphans” and adoption in the US that got us and these systems to this level of functioning in the first place. And let me tell you, none of that context made me less infuriated. Like, the intertwining of the juvenile justice system and child welfare system “dual status youth” occur at such high percentages that it should not take a tragedy like this to indicate and merit a closer look and a massive overhaul. Yikes. (Side note, as comps read, if you are interested in more perspectives of these systems and the youth affected, Invisible Child and Pushout are both books I'd recommend.) I mean so many children, our most vulnerable population, coming from already difficult situations, being so routinely abused and not provided care/attention/love, with no recourse for complaints and no way to support/backup those claims of abuse, are just left left in a place with no hope and no vision of a different future and no reason to feel like living, and then provided no services/care/support when they "age out." Because it’s so easy to shove aside this whole population, out of sight out of mind, we then are somehow surprised how, after years of trauma and abuse, there are so many unmet needs and inability to adjust to "regular" life... Horrifying.  

 

The cycle of intergenerational involvement in foster and juvenile detention systems is devastating to watch unfold (especially seeing the roles these systems played in the outcome of this story). Blame is thrown all around, but where is the outcry at the many whose decisions on behalf of the children, at every step of their lives, put them in this situation? The systems that are, supposedly, there for the best interests/protection of the children, are in no way held accountable, for their role in this (absolutely avoidable) tragedy. And really, there is just so much punitive action, that is in no way actually centering to helping the needs of the child, the way these systems deal with the birth families/parents. I know this review might be getting repetitive, but I just had so much anger, and I needed to get it all out, and writing my feelings seemed to be the best immediate option. Anyways, let's also point out how “neglect” is often just a euphemism for “poverty” - and that’s not a fault of the parent for not caring/providing, but not being able to under a reality of systemic inequality in this country. And then, like, if foster placements get a monthly stipend to help with childcare costs, could the birth family not just get that and reach the same end faster, without the trauma of being in the system and moving homes and all the extra bureaucracy involved? 

 

One other beautiful and resounding message in these pages: you cannot separate someone from their past and where they’ve come from. It’s not possible. So, does removing a child from a home, even if it's a traumatic one (but all the other stable aspects and relationships of life that they’ve built in a place they are comfortable with), do the good it’s meant to? Are we balancing that against when that removal and upheaval and lack of all known connections and threat of future moves/reprisals/change hanging over them always adds even more trauma? Maybe it does, sometimes. But it is still worth due consideration, and it's for sure not getting that now.  

 

After reading it, this title is devastatingly on point. My heart breaks. And overall, this is a wonderfully inclusive account...making sure to center a bit extra those voices who’d previously been sidelined (in myriad other platforms) to even a playing field, but giving voice to all the parties in the end (exactly what anti-racism and inclusivity activism asks for). A truly, deeply, affecting read. 

 

“Once adopted, the law says that...all of the rights and care transfers to the adopted parents, and the mothers - the birth mothers - are expected to just disappear, just go away [...] And that's very difficult to do, emotionally, spiritually, physically. We still do exist.” (Oooof, I mean I know in some cases for the child, that contact cutting is necessary/beneficial, but even in those cases, that birth parent deserves to find out information in a more humane and dignified way) 

 

“By hyper-individualizing the story - making it about one woman with dark psychological problems - the media largely let the state systems that failed the birth mothers off the hook. It let listeners and readers off the hook, too - free to enjoy the wacky and bizarre tale without thinking of how it came to occur.” 

 

"It's possible that a major reason the Harts escaped accountability for so long, and the children were not saved, is that many people, both inside and outside the child welfare system, held a common assumption: that these six Black children must be better off with the white women who adopted the, that whatever issues they were having as a family must have been an improvement for the children over the poor conditions of their early childhood homes." 

 

“The children’s birth families were not beating their children, or starving them; they were clearly struggling with substance use and mental illness, but instead of receiving help, the parents were punished. On the other hand, authorities consistently projected a halo of goodness onto the adoptive mothers, throughout a decade of abuse allegations and even after the murder of their children, with cops and other officials bending over backward to interpret their actions in the kindest possible light.” 

 

“The state’s response to parental harm, though, is not meted out equally.” 

 

“In a society that resorts to individual punishment as a response to many of its systemic ills, this concept is deeply embedded into our psyches, and it is hard to let go.” (a comment on all abolition advocacy work) 

 

“But children both young and older exist in the context of their own families, their own histories.” 

 

This one made a lot of (early) end-of-year lists, and was recommended to me by a coworker, and (above all) just looked really up my alley. Science fiction and romance and spy thriller and workplace comedy all mashed together?! Yes, please. I am always here for a genre-bending read. 

 

In London, in the near future, a government worker gets a top secret job. She'll be working as a "bridge," essentially a guide/caseworker for an "expat" newly arrived from a historical time. Time travel has just been...found...and the Ministry of Time is trying to figure out whether it's actually possible (both physically, for the body, and metaphysically, for the fabric of space-time). Our (unnamed) narrator's assignee is Graham Gore, brought to the future from 1847, one of the members of Sir John Franklin's ill-fated (everyone died, of starvation and exposure, and there was probably cannibalism involved) 1845 Arctic exploration team. As the two spend all their time together, with Graham adjusting to all aspects of modern life (household appliances, streaming music, world wars, etc.), our MC finds herself falling for his self-assured and suave ways. And they both make friends with the cast of (mostly) charming and uniquely-voiced fellow "expats" and their bridges. When the full scope of the Ministry's time travel project/plans start coming to light, our MC, Graham, and the other expats/bridges find their lives in danger, with threats of moles, spies and conspiracies coming at them from (from within the Ministry) across time. 

 

This definitely delivered on the genre mix-match in the blurb. The time travel aspects were some hardcore scifi...to the extent that as a few points, I did my normal "zone out and just go with it" on the details because I was super into the plot but didn't care as much about the specifics of how it was working. Personal preference. But do know that, if you are someone that does care about those details, you may have to pay some very real attention. The romance piece was slowwwwww burn and I was here for it. Such a fantastic build in connection, the heat was hot, and, when the betrayal hit as part of the plot (spoiler-ish, but also the foreshadowing throughout was strong, so it's not really a surprise), it was just right. PLus, an ending of promise and distant, but possible, hope. Yes, yes. The tension build and spy thriller pieces also had a slower build (which I was ready for, when it hit, but glad for the delay on, because it allowed for a great depth of character build prior to its introduction), and came on strong at the end. To be honest, this was perhaps the most uneven part. There were a few hints that were dropped or that the MC figured out, that were so vaguely addressed/explained, that I didn't quite catch them. It all came together in the end, but it was the weakest written part, IMO. 

 

I have a ton of other things I want to say. Because, despite some of the confusing/less clear things, I really liked this book. First of all, I was captivated by the narrative as the MC and Gore’s relationship grows. Even though nothing really happens, for a long time, it was so compelling. And I mean, I have read my fair share of time travel (like Kindred and Outlander), but this is such a theoretical/philosophical perspective of it. Really thoughtful. Relatedly, the insights into humanity, with some moral and scientific musings (reminiscent of Real Americans, a bit), and cultural and social critique added a lot of depth to the story, but all of it is delivered with a dryly humorous edge (like an older Victorian or classic lit vibe, Austen-esque, which also fits the vibes of the expat characters well). 

 

Speaking of the expats, the character development, relationally and internally, was just fantastic. Each expat's voice was so unique. There was such emotional depth across such a range of experiences. And the diversity of takes on the ways people might adjust across time, based on changes in gender and racial and sexuality equality and how it’s different nowadays than in previous eras, plus what jobs/roles they had and how those equate to existences in the present day (what skills/identities are useful/transferable and what makes people feel obsolete) was so fully explored. As far as the bridges, there was an interesting moral dilemma...as part of their job was to track and report on the expats, yet (especially with our narrator) the emotional connections (and hints about more nefarious purposes for the work) were in opposition to the job requirements. So, how do you navigate that? What’s for a person's safety and what is a transgression? Just really, character development was a hugeeee highlight for me. 

 

I also appreciated some of the heavier thematic pieces. This look at refugee reality, through a sci-fi out-of-time look, is so original, but still has the familiar, clear and present (but not overhanded) truth of the parallels with the geographical version of refugees as we understand them. Similarly, what a fascinating exploration of the interplay of racial understanding and political correctness now versus in history. I always appreciate when an author can take a step back from something so recognizable, everyday, "normal," as see/describe it as an outsider would. Bradley does so in a spellbinding way (the Austen-esque vibes of the social writing hit well here too). And, the questions: Do we hope/work for change for the future or despair? And what route do we take to achieve whichever end we want? They hit pretty hard at the end.       

 

Finally, I loved the focus on the small people, the relationships that history forgets or doesn’t care about, the way that their stories can be altered, be made better...because the larger story of history will not change even if they get their happier endings, because history is written by those with power, who will continue to not care about those individuals and their loves and lives. Those small people are us and we see ourselves in them. What a message, what feelings for the reader. 

 

Phew, this was some real mind bending conceptualization of time travel, wrapped in a spy thriller, slow burn romance, character development piece.  What scope. What an undertaking. I’m so impressed it was all that and a page-turner. 

 

“I’d sat with the term "internally displaced person" until I'd broken it down semantically. I was wrestling with a ghost meaning: a person whose interiority was at odds with their exteriority, who was internally (in themselves) displaced.” 

 

“One of the many hypotheses coagulating in these early days of time-travel was that language informed experience - that we did not simply describe but create our world through language..." 

 

“History is not a series of causes and effects which may be changed like switching trains on a track. It is a narrative agreement about what has happened and what is happening. [...] History is what we need to happen. You talk about changing history, but you're trying to change the future. It's an important semantic differentiation in this field.” 

 

“Ah, love, life’s greatest catastrophe.” 

 

“This was one of my first lessons in how you make the future: moment by moment, you seal the doors of possibility behind you.” 

 

“It was so hard not to treat the expats like blank slates onto which I might write my opinions. […] There was something hauntingly young about all of them, a scarcity of cultural context that felt teenaged, and I didn’t know if my fascination with it was maternal or predatory.” 

 

“Her reasons were bad, half-veiled. Then again, whose upper management am I not describing? Who trusts their workplace? Who thinks their job is on the side of right? They fed us all poison from a bottle marked “prestige,” and we developed a high tolerance for bitterness.” 

 

***“You can’t trauma-proof life, and you can’t hurt-proof your relationships. You have to accept you will cause harm to yourself and others. But you can also fuck up, really badly, and not learn anything from it except that you fucked up. It’s the same with oppression. You don’t gain any special knowledge from being marginalized. But you do gain something from stepping outside your hurt and examining the scaffolding of your oppression.” 

 

“People liked him and so they imagined that he agreed with them - all likable people know how to be a flattering mirror…” 

 

“What was it like growing up with that? […] I don’t know […] What was it like growing up without it?” (so much exploration of the concept of how can we possibly, ever, understand/conceptualize another’s experiences) 

 

“Everything that has ever been could have been prevented, and none of it was. The only thing you can mend is the future.” (I mean, hot damn, this is hitting so hard.) 

 

“…after all, the things that happen between lovers are lost to the work of history anyway.” 

 

“I had always thought of joy as a shouting…know what to do.” 

 

“When something changes you constitutionally, you say: ‘The earth moved.’ But the earth stays the same. It’s your relationship with the ground that shifts.” 

 

“I don’t mean to sound pessimistic. I only do because I can see how wrong my choices were. Don’t do it like this. Don’t enter believing yourself a node in a grand undertaking, that your past and your trauma will define your future, that individuals don’t matter. The most radical thing I ever did was love him, and I wasn’t even the first person in this story to do that. But you can get it right, if you try. You will have hope, and you have been forgiven. Forgiveness, which takes you back to the person you were and lets you reset them. Hope, which exists in a future in which you are new. Forgiveness and hope are miracles. They let you change your life. They are time-travel.” 

 

 

Ahhhhh, Pride & Prejudice. My ultimate and always comfort story. I will always be down for a retelling (especially a queer one, especially one that pulls such a monumental quote for the title). Also, a word: #team2005 movie version. 

 

No need to give a summary of the story. If you don't know it already...that's on you. Lol. But in this case, our retelling has a wonderful and heartwarming trans spin. Oliver Bennet is our MC, the second oldest Bennet sibling, and yet to come out to anyone other than his older sister, Jane (ever the sweetest and most understanding Bennet family member) and bestie, Charlotte (who has a queer secret of her own). Oliver and Darcy's first interactions are, as expected, less than stellar (not at all helped by the fact that Oliver was dressed up as Elizabeth, since it was a public event and that's who most people think he is). But when Oliver runs into Darcy out and dressed as himself, the two seem to really get along. And Oliver finds himself daydreaming about getting to know Darcy more. As the suitors coming to the Bennet's get more numerous (and bolder, and even threatening - that Wickham is even more horrible here than in the original) and Oliver spends more time as himself, he realizes that the time is coming when he'll have to tell everyone who he really is or find himself trapped and living his entire life as someone he isn't.    

 

Y'all, this retelling was just wonderful. The parallels to the original, with the “remix” additions/changes, are balanced well. It’s honestly a very true to origins retelling, and every aspect that is new or adjusted for Oliver is so smoothly shifted (including the queer shifts around that, particularly Charlotte and Darcy). One of my favorite things was the general lining up of the characters here, and their personalities in the original, to how accepting they are of Oliver's identity. For example, Jane and Mr. Bennet, as the closest to Elizabeth in Austen's version, are the first to "see" Oliver, and most vehemently/lovingly supportive of him. (As I am a simp for good sibling relationships, the way Jane supports Oliver had my heart in a chokehold.) Lydia, Kitty and Mary remain mostly unaware of anything. Wickham, ever the terrible human, was obviously still terrible. The sneaky blackmail situation he tries is a great twist on what he pulls in the original, and actually is even icker, really just pure evil, here. That he pulls Collins into it is absolutely not a surprise; he's easily preyed on because he has no backbone of his own, and that fits him as well. Finally, Mrs. Bennet. I have always been a bit annoyed by her character, sensical though her personality is under the circumstances. And I was both curious and worried about how things would play out when Oliver comes out to her. Small spoiler incoming... While it's fully the most hopeful possible outcome (which is how the orginal goes too, so, that fits as well), it also really made sense to me. True to form, her children marrying and being settled/cared for was her primary concern, and she would do anything/use any connections/ approve any matches that made that possible. That that showed itself as full love and acceptance of Oliver in the end is so much the better. What a heartwarming finale. 

 

Tangential to the retelling itself, I was appreciative of the author's note at the end, in which Novoa speaks, a bit, to the historical reality of trans and queer people in regency England (as far as we know/can tell). He talks a bit about how that informed his writing of the queer aspects of this novel, and where some of his writing veered more into speculation and guesswork on that front. With the non-existence of birth certificates and paperwork the way we know them now, less widely available “scientific” knowledge, a different social outlook, and probably other factors as well, the exercise of considering how many trans people may simply have passed and we never knew/never will know, with a similar consideration for queerness hidden by external “straight” relationships (but existing - strongly - under the surface), is uplifting in an unexpected way. Of course, this only works for people and relationships able to pass, but it definitely had me interested and makes me want to read more about it. 

 

All in all, this was just a really tender and hopeful retelling, with the exact balance of homage to the original and new twists of its own. I loved it. 

 

 “It was a special thing, to have one’s reflection in harmony with who they were.” 

 

“He wanted an openness with someone without fear, without worry. He wanted that ease, but it all seemed impossible.” 

 

“Whisper-thin space between them, under the moon and the stars, infinite possibilities laid out ahead of them.” 

 

“No one wants to deny themselves happiness, Oliver […] But many of us have to choose a middle ground if we hope to survive.” 

 

“He wished it could be like this all the time. More than anything else, this was what he wanted. To be himself, in the open, unabashedly. It could be so easy, but the world made it so difficult.” 

 

In a random coincidence of events, this was an ALC from libro.fm not long ago that I went for, because it looked interesting. And then, as I was browsing a used bookstore not a few weeks later, there it was, on the shelf! That seemed like a sign from the universe that I should read it. So, I bought it, and here I am. 

 

The Mango Tree is a memoir of, as the subtitle indicates, of fruit, Florida, and a felony. Though, while the book opens and closes with the felony aspect, the majority of it really is about the author's life in Florida, growing up as the daughter of a Filipina mother - an immigrant to the US as a young adult - and (for nine years) a white father who was a bit of an uneven presence in her life. And, of course, the fruit: her mentally unwell mother's pride and passion, as a connection to a homeland she left behind. Tometich was moved to write this memoir after receiving a call that her mother was in jail, for shooting at someone (with a BB gun), who was trying to steal mangoes off her prized mango tree (which, incidentally, was located on the front lawn of her yard...private property). In this book, Tometich walks the reader though how we got to that moment, starting with her parent's histories and families, spending quite a bit of time reflecting and remembering her own tumultuous childhood alongside her younger siblings (including trips to visit family in the Philippines and her mother's attempts over the years to bring her family to join them in the US), and then transitions quickly through her college and young adult years (as she is able to leave her childhood home and find her way to becoming her own person, free of her mother's volatility) and finishing with a sort of full circle moment, as her mother completes her probation and Tometich is able to visit the Philippines with her again, this time with her own children. 

 

This ended up being a really interesting memoir, for me. Tometich's writing is clear, precise, and so personable. I just felt really comfortable, almost like she was telling me the stories herself, in conversation, as I was reading. In particular, the way she writes the “normal”/nothing special things of growing up (universal experiences of family deaths, intra-family dramas, new homes and making friends and school, cultural traditions…and even the, hopefully less universal but probably more common than we’d like ones, like domestic abuse, child neglect-abuse and racist grandparents) and makes it fascinating to see the inner workings. The way that each family is the same and unique simultaneously is communicated so well in this memoir. Relatedly, her view of herself as a “nothing” person/family, and still finding in that a story worth telling/sharing in this way, is unexpectedly inspiring.     

 

I was really impressed with the detailed level of the memories Tometich retains from childhood. They are so coherent and authentic in the small things and snagged/replay aspects, like number significance and counting and syllables. I am always so curious about how memory works like that, because I think that if I were to try to remember that much specificity from my own childhood, I wouldn't be able to. It makes me feel like I've lost so much. But I appreciate being able to experience others' details in this way. 

 

A major theme, throughout, was the progression of Tometich's mother's mental health spirals, from when she and her siblings were too young to get her help through their whole lives, as she remains  unready to accept or be open to any hlep they could give. It's a difficult cycle to watch, as their relationship/communication ebbs and flows along with her mother's mental health. In the final sections of the memoir, Tometich gets much more reflective and philosophical. This affects the pacing, as far as skipping chunks of "not as relevant" time passing, as opposed to the more basic memory sharing/story telling of the earlier sections, which set up all the background experiences we need to know, in order to understand the coming of age realizations. And it also plays out in those coming of age realizations themselves. Specifically, we watch Tometich looking back as an adult, recognizing and acknowledging the cyclical patterns of trauma/violence and abuse/temper/family roles and responsibilities, that she (and her mother before her) had lived through. It was a thoughtful circling back within a well-developed framework. 

 

In fact, the entire transformation Tometich goes on as she "grows up," and chooses to share with the reader, is a lovely literary lexical and introspective journey. From her beginnings as a "nobody" and growth into "somebody" (not alone, following her own goals), and further her transition into anybody and everybody (as the anonymous restaurant critic) was striking. It really hits, in a very relatable and yet fully individual, way. And alongside her evolution of views on "normality," makes for a very striking memoir.  

 

 

“We siblings are not three points on a line. We are three far-flung points in a giant triangle. If you squish the situation just right, sometimes two of us will come together. But getting all three of us aligned has proved impossible.” 

 

“They made me realize the fallacy of normality. That abnormal is the norm, and it's something to be treasured. Our abnormalities don't have to define us, but they do shape us. They rough up our edges and give us texture.” 

 

“As a kid raising kids, is it your fault if they fuck up? [...] How do you stop these cycles from repeating?” 

 

“…maybe it’s that we as daughters, as children, tend to flatten our parents, compressing them into the characters we need them to be. We reduce them to the sidekicks, the villains, the kooky court jesters of our life stories. In some cases, we do this because we have to. Because parents are capable of serious soul-crushing harm, and we must minimize that to survive. But in doing so, we forget they have life stories of their own. They have reasons for their actions. Not always justifiable ones, but ones that should at least be considered.” 

 

“Perhaps the US brings out the worst in my mom because that’s the only way she knows how to be taken seriously in this country.” 

 

“I’ve been so afraid of becoming my mother, I’ve failed to recognize  her many strengths.” 

 

I’ve had my eye on this one for a while – thanks to @allisonreadsdc for originally putting it on my radar. And I’ve passed by it a number of times on the shelf at work without checking it out. But I don’t know…just recently, the time felt right. 

 

In this memoir, Vanasco recalls being sexually assaulted – raped, as she gets used to calling it through these pages – by a close friend in college. While comparing it to a number of other instances in which she was sexually harassed, assaulted, and raped over her lifetime (which, take a moment to just sit with how horrible it is that that’s a reality that she just has had to…live with), this one stands out to her. In this case, she felt that the friendship she had with her rapist, prior to that incident, was affecting the way she saw it, affecting her ability to really be angry about it (like she felt like she should be, like she was about the other times), and she wondered if they were, in fact, the friends she thought they were, if he was able to do something like that to her. So, she decides to reach out to him, to ask, to see if his recollections of their relationship match hers, to see what reasons/excuses he has for his actions. After years of no communication, she reaches out to ask him if he’s ok being interviewed for this memoir. And she records it all, along with her process and reactions, in this book.  

 

Let me just start by saying, this was an absolutely stunning reading experience. First, the writing. Vanasco opens and closes with her own memories, process and how she arrived at deciding to write this, and how she imagines things going. Then, she produces exact transcriptions of her phone conversations and in-person meetings with her rapist (pseudonym: Mark), with breaks throughout for her to add in her reflections/remembrances/responses and conversations with friends and mentors about the process and transcriptions, etc. Those sections are written in a sort of a unique poetic prose, with shades of a novel written in verse, but not quite to that extent. The style allows for a cutting to the core of things - the jumbled, scattered, conflicting feelings and reactions - in a way that feels real and to the point, cutting out unnecessary words and transitions. It makes every line hit that much harder. And it was already a hard-hitting read. There so many passages and reflections that I highlighted and noted…you’ll get a taste for it throughout the review and at the end, when my “pull quotes” section hits and there are many examples. Just, phew.  

 

As far as my personal thoughts and reactions while reading…they were legion. I took many breaks while reading to process and take notes on that. It was a really intense and reflective reading experience for me. I want to keep them all together here, for posterity and revisiting, so I am going to just reproduce them all here in a list format. If you are interested, please keep reading! If you aren’t…skip to the end and just know that I really recommend reading this yourself. 

 

-          There were so many key insights into what makes a telling of sexual assault/rape. Vanasco wants to make it unique and believable and worth telling, but she also questions – profoundly – why it’s necessary to meet all those expectations in the first place. Who gets to tell the story and who decides that and to what effect is it told? 

-          The way that Vanasco explores how language and perspective matter is really insightful. She speaks about sexual assault or, as definitions change, a rape…and how regardless of the definitions and language used, the act, and its after affects, remain the same. But she is somehow not confident calling her sexual assault a rape, in this case. That difficulty is refreshing in its openness and self-examination, and comforting in its recognizability (which I’m as uncomfortable admitting as she clearly was to communicate it to begin with). 

-          “We need to hear stories about guys who aren’t be try powerful.” I mean…what a message! Sexual assault is clearly happening at rates high enough that many ‘regular’ people (mostly guys) are perpetrators, but with the airtime celebrities get when their stories come out, are we conditioned to not bother about the regular guys? And are they getting away with more because of it? 

-          “What stories do the men tell themselves?”  This is a perspective we have never really gotten (What rapist/abuser would write a memoir of this on their own?). It’s breaking silences I didn’t even realize were there in a way that is so emotionally complex and reflective and, while perhaps without answers, still quite enlightening. 

-          I am found the power dynamics introspection fascinating. I can’t get over it – when Mark had the power, he used it and assaulted Vanasco. Now that she has the power, she’s trying so hard not to abuse it (and is almost angrier at herself about not using it more, about how careful she’s being about his feelings, than she is at him for abusing it in the first place). And yet, she continues softly anyways – an observation, not a criticism, that was fascinating. 

-          The aspect of friendships with other women that come to the forefront, as Vanasco processes the writing of this memoir with them, is a surprise theme that is so tender and really filled me up. 

-          Vanasco’s empathy being sparked by her need to prove that their friendship meant something, and his showing remorse, makes it harder to be angry at Mark than a developmentally flat “big bad” guy. But does that history of friendship and/or having remorse make it more ok for him to get away with what he did? 

-          The way thinking about this one event of rape opens the memory to so many more violations of a sexual nature, “larger” and “smaller,” suffered and survived and forgotten as a matter of course over the years (for self-preservation or due to of the sheer number of and impossibility of remembering them all) is absolutely infuriating. 

-          The repetitiveness of their conversations is interesting. Is that due to tiptoeing around the sensitivity and guilt and embarrassment of the topic or part of the nature of qualitative/interview based research? Or both? 

-          “It’s so much work to come forward. And yet a lot of people blame the victims for not reporting sexual assault, as if it’s entirely their responsibility to rid the world of rapists.” / “We end up identifying with the aggressor. We’ll get angry with the victims because she’s not doing the work of coming forward.” And that includes like, not telling the rapist’s family/friends, so they ‘get away’ clean. But when the only option to avoid that is to do so much work on your own end, after being the victim in the first place…like, of course its underreported and no one wants to deal with that. Also, a great simile about it being the same as when someone has to do all the work to recover from an injury caused by a wreck that was someone else’s fault. Even going after that person for damages doesn’t change how much healing work the victim must do.  

 

I cannot put my finger on how, exactly, but this reminds me of Febos’ writing in Girlhood a bit. Or, at least, the reading experience – a deeply resonant and impactful one – was very similar for me. I’d recommend them as comp reads. It’s captivating, the complexities and nuances and contradictions and perspectives that Vanasco delves into. Her growth, but unresolved “end,” of this memoir is perfectly authentic. Overall, this is an incredibly emotional reading experience. More women than not will find a level of relatability in these pages, yet it is simultaneously specifically one person’s complicated journey. And just…wow. What a stirring book. 

 

“I want this to be artful, but the artistry can’t interfere with the honesty. I’m not sure how to do this, but I want to know how to do this.” 

 

“Sometimes I question whether my feelings are too big for the crime. […] …but I want to be honest here - because I doubt I’m the only woman sexually assaulted by a friend and confused about her feelings.” 

 

“Don’t let them twist what you know is true.” 

 

“I treated men how I treated literature: I feared misinterpreting their intentions.” 

 

“The best I can figure: duplicity, intentional or not, is part of the human experience.” 

 

“I want him to become beside the point. I want him in the past. I want the reader to reappropriate her own narrative. I want her to stop listening to him and recognize that in giving him so much voice, it's a reenactment, in a way, of the rape. Where he talks more than she does.” 

 

“He smiles, and I see where a friend once was.” 

 

 “That it’s easier for the guilty person to move on, or at least to pretend it didn’t happen. It’s harder for the innocent person.” 

 

“But that’s why I’m interested in the project. Because I can’t work out my feelings.” 

 

I always have a romance or two on hand for traveling - they are just great for escapist reading that also doesn't take a lot of concentration (perfect for plane rides and airports and quick pick-up/put-down situations). This was my most recent choice for that exact situation, courtesy of NetGalley. 

 

Ember has been turned down from a lot of jobs, so...she decides to get a little creative with her experience and race/ethnicity. And it works - she lands a perfect job. But after a meet cute with the hot IT guy, Danuwoa, she realizes that maintaining those "lies," while also trying to develop a real relationship, is a bit fraught. And then...between a coworker catching the two in a compromising position and using that to blackmail Ember, family problems (her troublesome brother is back and just can't seem to get his life together), and trying to figure out how to compromise her own life/personal goals with some of the "untruth" pickles she's gotten herself into, things are really about to come to a head for Ember. Can she handle all that and manage to save her relationship with Danuwoa (the one very true thing she's got right now)? 

 

Ok, let me just get this out of the way first. If I'm being honest, lying as a plot point stresses me. Like, a lot. To the point where I usually steer clear of it. However, I had seen good reviews and wanted to give this a go. So, it's a tough sell for me from that start, just to set expectations here at the beginning. That being said, the stress of this plot, the corporate blackmail and lying, truly is soooo stressful. And it's not just the external stuff. The author parallels it (nicely, as far as writing and character development), with Ember lying to herself too. It applies to her interactions with both her brother and what the actuality is of the feelings between her and Danuwoa. And it extends, deeply, into her work thinking too. She keeps saying “just this one more thing and it’ll go away” to herself and I just...how does she not see that eventually she’s crossed so many work legal/ethic lines that being fired for dating a coworker would actually be the better outcome?? Like some of the stuff she's doing has legit legal consequences, not just a workplace HR issue. I know she felt like she was between a rock and a hard place, but it was just difficult to swallow. On that note, I just don’t love the extremity of her “I don’t need to ask for help” - not just in her, but really in any characters that have this trait to an extreme - because there were multiple people she could have gone to for help, not even all with power imbalances to overcome either, and she chose to just dig herself deeper and hope it would go away. Overall, not my favorite type of character. 

 

And yet...I didn't dislike Ember herself. I actually found her "hot and cold" on Danuwoa, her (low key deserved) grudge holding her back from forgiving her brother, the general direction and situation of her life/job, etc. was all super relatable. She’s prickly and unsure, but her heart is in the right place and her frustrations are all based in very real unfair life situations, and that’s so real. Ember's entire storyline was a really unique coming of age. One that highlights taking life one step at a time, making (and being proud of) achievable goals, and remembering you have a community around you (even if that hurts/has tough memories sometimes too), so you don’t have to do everything alone. It's accessible and, again, super relatable, in a way that not all romcom leads' stories are. For real, the 'learning to ask for help' piece alone was really impactful, and an important lesson for many to learn. I thought her general arc was fantastic. On the other hand, our male MC, Danuwoa, was a bit flat. Maybe too easy? He's a cinnamon roll, which I love, but he could have used maybe just a bit more depth? There wasn't anything wrong, necessarily, I just felt like, for how good Ember's character development was (and really, her brother Sage's as well), his was lacking something.  

 

Last couple thoughts. There was an absolutely hilarious poking at corporate and professional culture BS. Like, how degrees and connections are required for basic level jobs that with reasonable training, literally anyone can competently do (even without the degrees and definitely without the connections). Lolz. Also, the authors note at the end is stunning. Seeing where Nava pulled from her own experiences to craft this story, and seeing where the fire and heart and fight for a happy ending that Ember had was crafted out of, adds such power to the messages in the narrative you just finished. The messages were already strong and necessary, so the added emphasis and strength was extra in the best, intense, way. 

 

I'm coming away from this a fan of Nava's writing and definitely interested in more! While some tropes/plot devices weren't my personal favorite, the effect of the whole overcame that (which possibly makes it even more impressive).   

 

"I was just Ember Lee Cardinal, a sometimes liar, but mostly an overall good person." 

 

"I wanted to feel bad about the lying, but really, I was more worried about getting caught in the lies. It was hard to feel bad about gaming a system that was designed to put people like me down." 

 

"That was the problem with hope. It created expectations, and when they weren't met, you were left feeling crushed." 

 

"That's the way it was for women. We had to suck it up and accept misogyny and sexism so we could get through our business." 

 

"I want you to have all my ugly truths." 

 

This duology - a queer magical historical fantasy compared to Mulan - is one I've absolutely had on my TBR for awhile now. You know I can basically recite that movie word for word. Classic. Plus, since its publication, it has won, or been a finalist for, so many awards. And its moment, for me, is now. 

 

Blurb supplied by Goodreads: " In a famine-stricken village on a dusty yellow plain, two children are given two fates. A boy, greatness. A girl, nothingness…  In 1345, China lies under harsh Mongol rule. For the starving peasants of the Central Plains, greatness is something found only in stories. When the Zhu family’s eighth-born son, Zhu Chongba, is given a fate of greatness, everyone is mystified as to how it will come to pass. The fate of nothingness received by the family’s clever and capable second daughter, on the other hand, is only as expected. When a bandit attack orphans the two children, though, it is Zhu Chongba who succumbs to despair and dies. Desperate to escape her own fated death, the girl uses her brother's identity to enter a monastery as a young male novice. There, propelled by her burning desire to survive, Zhu learns she is capable of doing whatever it takes, no matter how callous, to stay hidden from her fate. After her sanctuary is destroyed for supporting the rebellion against Mongol rule, Zhu takes the chance to claim another future her brother's abandoned greatness." 

 

Well, this was absolutely as epic and superbly wrought as promised. The writing is expert level. The details are so, so good. In particular, the descriptions of the small things, which are the things that really make a realistic rendition of a setting/situation, are phenomenally observed and conveyed. And the politics are incredibly complex. Like, damn. It's clear in every moment how much care Parker-Chan put into the crafting of this story. I mean, the depth of research it must have taken to have this level of conception of the rise to power of the Ming Dynasty's founding emperor, and the preceding struggle against the Mongol empire...extraordinary. And even more so because Parker-Chan is not only able to tell this tale convincingly, rivetingly, with pacing that is a solid pacing balance of slower intrigue/character build (it does lean towards this aspect a bit, heads up) and moments of shock and action (there is definitely no holding back on the violence of war and the violations that come from abuses of power/trying to access power...brutal and brutally accurate). But they also do so while deftly adding magical and gender-bending aspects of this retelling, without a single perceivable loss of grounding in the "truth" of the history. 

 

The other major thing I want to note in this review is the finely tuned way in which Parker-Chan writes about Zhu's experiences with gender. And the way, in the development of their characters, Ouyang plays a counter perspective/experience of gender and its performance. Zhu uses her gender to her advantage, the authority/respect given to someone outwardly a man, and the internal experience of womanhood to connect with allies that need a different touch. She wields both without mercy, and finds power in the fluidity of that. A power that slowly starts to also include a sense of greater comfort, personally, as she has some time/space to explore and come to terms with her own body and her own relationship with it (helped greatly, it should be added, by having one external person who accepts/knows her fully). I loved every bit of it, especially when, by having this equanimity about her identity, she is able to overcome what, in another body's experience, would have been...its end. Oh, and I also loved the way Zhu's presentation as a man, and the power/opportunity that gave her, that a (externally) woman could never achieve, combined with her ability to "tap into a woman’s desires," as it were, allowed her to create the space for other women to recognize what they really wanted, and to reach for that, and become more. And isn’t that SUCH a meaningful example of what male allyship *could* look like, IRL, with just a *little* effort?! Anyways, it's all written with deep emotion, in the uncertainty of it and in the joy...deep in the way that feels personal, and I can only assume reflects, at least in parts, the author's own emotional journey with gender. On the other hand we have Ouyang. Absolutely mired in shame and self-disgust because a societally important aspect of his own gender has been taken from him, and that affects so much of his existence, from his internal understanding of himself to his external treatment. What a juxtaposition. What an exploration of what makes a person who/how they are. Literary excellence.       

 

Just, an incredible first installation of an epic historical (retelling) fantasy, intertwined with a profound coming of age and identity. 

 

“The body became used to exercise, particular sounds and sensations, or even physical pain. But it was strange how shame was something you never became inured to: each time hurt just as much as the first.” 

 

“What someone is means nothing about what kind of person they are. Truth is in actions.” 

 

“But if everything in your life was as preordained as your fate, what point was there in wanting?” 

 

“I thought monks teach that desire is the cause of all suffering. / It is. [...] But you know what's worse than suffering? Not suffering, because you're not alive to feel it.” 

 

“…he had always believed revenge would change something. It was only in having done it that he understood that what had been lost was still lost forever...” 

 

“Not-wanting is a desire too; it yields suffering just as much as wanting.” 

 

“…she saw someone who seemed neither male nor female, but another substance entirely: something wholly and powerfully of its own kind. The promise of difference, made real. With a sensation of vertiginous terror, Ma felt the rigid pattern of her future falling away, until all that was left was the blankness of pure possibility. [...] She was yielding to it, being consumed by it, and it was the most beautiful and frightening thing she'd ever felt. She wanted. She wanted everything Zhu was offering with that promise of difference. Freedom, and desire, and her life to make her own. And if the price of all of that was suffering, why did it matter when she would suffer no matter what she chose?” 

 

“There was no regaining the past.”