libraryoflanelle's reviews
749 reviews

Published in 1996, The Membranes is one of those genre bending books that feels all too real in our current world on fire. I knew very little about this one going into it and I would highly recommend doing the same if you’re able. Considering how short this book is, I was incredibly impressed by the depth of which the author managed to explore the horrors of late stage capitalism and bodily autonomy as well as unflinching queerness.

I had the absolute privilege of having this gem of a book read to me by my incredibly eloquent and intelligent Girlfriend. Her review captured everything I could go on to say and so much more, read it here and here!

I had high hopes for this one but ended up DNFing around 45% as it just wasn’t for me. 

 

Technically this book is exactly how it is described, it is in fact a low stakes whimsical fantasy book (with a romance sub plot). Based on early reviews there are many people who love this book for a range of reasons. If the description sounds like your vibe then it may still be worth a shot. 

 

The main things that put me off personally were the insta-love romance (I wasn’t prepared for it to be so romance heavy) in combination with the characters feeling underdeveloped. I also found the narrative to be a little disjointed at times which somewhat reduced the whimsy feelings. 

 

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the e-arc. All opinions are my own. 

Death of the Author  is a novel in two parts. For the majority of the book, we follow Zelu, a Nigerian-American paraplegic author navigating her way through a series of chaotic life events. Interspersed throughout Zelu’s story are chapters from Ankara’s perspective in Rusted Robot, a post-human extinction novel where androids and AI have full autonomy.

This was my first Nnedi Okorafor novel, and I’m so excited to read more of her work. I often struggle with books that switch between two different stories, but my goodness, Okorafor truly pulled it off here. The back-and-forth structure of the novel perfectly enhanced the suspense, creating a sense of building toward an unknown but significant culmination.

I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know Zelu, Ankara, and the rest of the cast of characters, both human and robot. Whilst the overarching story arc and the unique path to the ending were engaging, I found the pacing in the final quarter of the book slightly uneven, leaving me with a hint of dissatisfaction. However, I really appreciated having a fellow reader to discuss the events leading up to the conclusion. This book makes for a perfect buddy read or book club pick!

The novel’s greatest strength lies in the range and depth of the themes it explores. Through following Zelu and Ankara, we are invited to reflect on identity and ‘humanity’, particularly through the lens of Zelu’s disability and her newfound public recognition. The chapters from Rusted Robot and Zelu’s commentary on her writing process prompt thinking about the power and risks of AI in a rapidly evolving world. Additionally, the portrayal of Zelu’s family relationships encourages us as readers to consider family dynamics and individual identity within those connections.

Death of the Author offers a beautiful illustration of, and commentary on, the power of art, technology, and the human condition in an increasingly scary and uncertain world. I’m excited for more people to read it!

Thanks to NetGalley and Gollancz for the e-ARC. All opinions are my own.

We Grow the World Together: Parenting Toward Abolition, edited by Maya Schenwar and Kim Wilson, is an anthology of abolitionist thinkers exploring the critical intersection of abolition and parenting. This collection could not have arrived into the world at a more vital moment. As Maya states in her essay on learning from her toddler: ‘We must imagine outside the bounds of the "possible" because the current reality is, quite literally, lethal’.

Having previously attended a virtual panel discussion featuring Maya, Kim, and two other contributors, I anticipated a thought-provoking read, and my expectations were not only met but exceeded. The range of voices and perspectives contained within this collection is astounding. I learned from, felt moved by, and took something meaningful away from every essay. I frequently found myself pausing in my feelings of appreciation and gratitude for the opportunity to glimpse into the minds and lives of abolitionist thinkers I might never have encountered otherwise. I am deeply thankful to Maya and Kim for imagining this project into existence in a world so desperately in need of it. 

Some essays deeply influenced me, such as hearing from a six-year-old with an incarcerated parent, learning from Maya's toddler about the importance of imagination in transforming society, and gaining insights from Mariame Kaba on using children's books in abolition. As a collection this book offers countless practical examples and compelling calls to action.

As someone with a lot of love for ‘new beginners’ (as Sarah Tyson aptly puts it), who is not currently, and may never be, a ‘parent’ in the traditional sense, I often reflect on my role as a collective ‘co-parent’. Parenting, and specifically abolitionist parenting, is a shared duty. It is a call to action for all adults striving for a better, safer future for everyone. I am confident that this book is, and will continue to be, an essential resource for anyone committed to working collectively toward a freer future, with future adults in the lead.

I was incredibly fortunate to share this paradigm-shifting read with my favourite comrade, in reading, in thinking, in life and in the pursuit of collective freedom. I highly recommend experiencing this essay collection alongside a friend or two. Let’s continue engaging in critical conversations and collective action toward an abolitionist future. Let’s strive to grow the world together.

Thank you to NetGalley and Haymarket for the e-ARC. All opinions are my own.

Trans and Disabled: An Anthology of Identities and Experiences, edited by Alex Iantaffi, reads like being in a room surrounded by countless vulnerable conversations, each distinct from the next yet bound by the realities of life within an intersectional identity so often suppressed by the world. This anthology will no doubt change - and likely save - lives. I feel so grateful to have had the opportunity to read, review and share my love for it.

‘If you’re reading this as a trans and disabled person, I hope you find pieces of you in these pages, no matter how small, and if you feel lonely or isolated, maybe these pages might help you feel a little less so’  (from the introduction).

As a non-binary disabled person, I certainly found small pieces of myself scattered throughout these pages, particularly within reflections on a neuro(queer) identity and on the central theme of the cruciality of community. Within many essays, I undeniably saw traces of others in my community and, beyond that, I found myself learning so much from the range of experiences and identities so vastly different from my own. 

Within this collection, you will find reflections on plurality and liminality, all the way through to rejection and defying binaries. Though this is undoubtedly a difficult and heart-wrenching read at times, I cannot recommend it widely enough. Collections such as this are how we grow and learn individually, yes, but more importantly, together. Essays such as these are a vital part of how we come together to build a safer, freer future for all. 

I will end with a quote from Shanna Katz Kattari that perfectly encapsulates this book. 

Thank you to NetGalley and Jessica Kingsley Publishers for the e-ARC. All opinions are my own.