theskyboi's reviews
81 reviews

I consider myself lucky to have this novel be my first thriller ever. The Only Good Indians bridges together the stylized and individualized stories of its bold characters within the familiar trappings of modern horror. Where others may see tropes, I see a textured blend of cultural identity, timeless folklore, and frightening storytelling.

Years after hunting on forbidden grounds, four friends find their lives interspersed with paranoia, guilt, and trauma as they begin wondering whether the mysterious elk they see are truly haunting them in the periphery of their seemingly established lives. Taking place mostly on the Blackfeet Reservation and surrounding areas in Montana, the snow-covered ground sets a blank canvas for the fears of each member of the original hunting party. Drawing from Blackfeet and Crow folklore, Stephen Graham Jones' novel is as impactful and greusome as it is pensive and lighthearted.

I won't spoil much of what happens since suspense is a key element of the story, but if you like impactful stories written from a culturally immersive perspective that include elements of male friendships, basketball, creepy elk, and all-around terror, this should be your next read.

Having seen the movie first, I think I was somewhat scared to change my perception of a story I considered to be flawless in its candid telling of the gay experience. However, by the end of page one, I already knew my fear would be displaced by the magnetism of Simon Spier and his very personal story.

Anyone who has had to come out to themselves before saying it aloud to others can relate to the feelings bubbling just below the surface in Simon's life as Martin threatens to expose his identity to the world. Simon, caught between love, family, identity, and fear, must endure Martin's blackmail for fear of losing his new email-penpal love interest: Blue.

As it differs from the film, the novel manages to capture the same magic, intrigue, and allure as Jacques and Blue try to find a romance worthy of coming out for. I found myself anxiously awaiting each email chapter, hoping for a little more of a glimpse into their flirting, reliving that rush of emotion that comes from digitally falling in love. Blue has a much more readily apparent style and identity in the novel than in the film, which made the ending so satisfying.

Simon vs. the Homo sapiens Agenda is the gay story I needed when I was in high school, yet reading it somehow gave me the chance to revisit some of that past turbulence and paint the memories with a brighter brush, dipped in every color imaginable. There is something to be said about YA fiction that can capture the adult heart. It goes without saying that this is a new literary classic worthy of every accolade possible, but I'll say it anyhow.

Posthumously published, Afterparties is a collection of nine short stories by Anthony Veasna So. Mixing the personal perspective with more omniscient and third-person points of view, these stories weave through the lives of So's Khmer relatives and friends with a certain irreverent yet poignant voice. Being that this was my first audiobook, I will note that the conversational delivery of the dialogue and prose alike framed this story collection in a way that I liken to a limited yet passionate oral history of the Cambodian diaspora.

By far, the best stories were "Superking Son Scores Again," "The Shop," and "Somaly Serey, Serey Somaly." In these narratives, So inhabits the lives of others, giving us a glimpse into how he interpreted the quotidian lives of his community and family members. In the shoes of different narrators, So left me enraptured by a candid yet blend of ethnic history and town gossip.

However, this edition's pitfalls lie in both the spoken delivery overall and the original written text of some of the weakest stories of the bunch. For all the insight and wit that So was able to weave into his image of others, the stories focused on the experience of being young, gay, and Cambodian felt lackluster in their heavy reliance on tropes. Additionally, the audiobook's quality improved at 1.5x speed, making up for the somewhat stilted reading that was recorded.

Perhaps saddest of all is that Anthony Veasna So can never surpass this initially published work with subsequent entries into his literary catalog. Haunted by the author's passing through some fault of my own, Afterparties was a memorable yet somewhat unpolished debut that frustratingly could have been so much more on its own or as a jumping-off point for even deeper works. It's hard to say whether I fully recommend this book; it comes down to preference at the end of the day. For me, a repeat read is only in order for a select few stories.

Thank you to Book Club Favorites at Simon & Schuster for the free copy for review.

JJ Bola's second novel, The Selfless Act of Breathing, is prose with a poetic sensibility. It relates the story of a teacher from London, Michael Kabongo, who is battling a crisis of identity and desire as he decides to quit his job before embarking to the United States. Plagued by his own inability to sort through the most pressing collateral effects of mental illness, Michael prefers the impulsive yet decisive trip that he hopes will punctuate this chapter of his life.

As intense as it is challenging, Bola's prose accurately reflects how depression can consume the self, leaving fewer doubts clarified than not. For those of us who have dealt with the lowest valleys of depression, Michael's inner monologue and interpersonal interactions are something of a mirror to peer into. Even those not afflicted by this disorder can sympathize with Michael's trip halfway across the world to cope with grief, identity, and mortality.

Told in alternating chapters between different points in Michael's recent history, Bola's novel expertly balances exposition with character development, and the reader's experience is all the richer for it. Something of a contemporary adult companion piece to The Little Prince, Michael Kabongo's journey appeals to the wayward soul in us all, especially as we work to determine where we find our homes. At its core, The Selfless Act of Breathing focuses on the fear of loss—loss of self, home, love, and desire. For those seeking some comfort in knowing that they are not alone, this book answers the call.

As for my qualms, the protagonist ascribes to a certain machismo in his interactions with women, which I could not get past. The relationships he establishes are fraught with issues, which are never truly atoned for or addressed; he simply goes about things with no growth but much room for improvement. Overall, it has a redeeming message that is told in a somewhat incomplete way.

As a sequel, Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World not only captures the essence of its predecessor; it amplifies the emotional depth of its characters' motivations and inner musings. Though it is not without levity, much like the first book, this is the very first book to make me cry while reading. Benjamin Alire Sáenz crafts a cast of loving, pensive, and thoughtful characters that are impossible not to fall in love with, and the world they learn to appreciate and discover is grounded in the reality of the human experience.

As Ari & Dante mature, so do their concerns. At the forefront of the novel are their familiar, jovial musings, but they uncover new layers of wonder and fear about what the future may hold as they approach the end of the 20th century. While the story centers on two Mexican-American cis gay teens, Sáenz paints a portrait of a decade steeped in quite a number of social-justice concerns that lie beyond the scope of their lived experiences.

Even in the face of the book's saddest moments, I found myself unable to stop smiling throughout my read. Ari & Dante have a story that can warm even the toughest of hearts. It's with great pleasure that I put another five-star read back on my shelf for safe keeping.

Thank you to Book Club Favorites at Simon & Schuster for the free copy for review.

If you think you know The Elusive Chanteuse, even just a little bit, I wholeheartedly recommend this memoir. It not only aims to set the record straight but does so in a way that undoubtedly captures Mariah's inimitable voice.

The collaboration between Mariah Carey and Michaela Angela Davis is one that merits applause and recognition for the ability to delve into such dense topics as racism, personal identity, police brutality, and emotional trauma. However, the work of these co-authors also successfully blends the serious with the fanciful, lighthearted, and more festive memories from Mariah's career and personal life. In essence, their effort resulted in a memoir with the philosophy of a history book yet the pithy wit of a contemporary novel; the best part is that each page carries an authenticity and sincerity that is hard to duplicate.

A rather quick read for my usual pace, this account of MC's life balances constantly between lifting the veil past what glamour shots and music videos put on display and approaching each vignette with some of her patented festive charm. At times, though she remains private about certain periods and events, Mariah does manage to weave a coherent yet stylized retrospective of her life that captures the mind and elicits a smile.

As for the pitfalls of the book, what prevents me from rating higher than 3.5 stars is the fact that the chapters weigh heavily on Mariah's early childhood, adolescence, and first marriage. Meanwhile, the years after her young adulthood are rather nebulous in their depiction across the book's second half. On one hand, she owes us nothing as readers and fans from the outside looking in; on the other hand, the true meaning of Mariah Carey eludes the reader by skirting around some of the most notable anecdotes for fans and Lambs alike.

For the casual fan and the dyed-in-the-wool Lamb, The Meaning of Mariah Carey is a verbal—and partially visual—scrapbook of a life lived against insurmountable odds. If you're not a member of the Lambily from the first page, you'll at least find yourself thumbing through Mimi's discography the same way I was once she begins to weave the tale of her storied career, enveloping each lyric with a tinge of a heavy yet hopeful heart. Whether you love biographies, memoirs, and nonfiction or are simply looking for an entertaining and reflective story, this book is sure to keep you entertained.

Craig Womack manages to craft a timeless tale set across many shared lifetimes in this queer chronicle of magic realism. Drowning in Fire illuminates the stories often cast aside and left in the shadows, allowing them to glisten with a relevance and an urgency that is stamped with just as much regional flair as universal appeal. Josh and Lucille skillfully switch between owning the responsibility of the novel's narration with such a distaste for chronological storytelling that readers can't help but immerse themselves into a family portrait so rich with vibrant history.

Arresting and enchanting, Lucille anchors the plot to the details of a time much forgotten by the writers of history books yet integral to the fabric of contemporary American society; her antics and musings have just as much to say about her own family as they do about the intertwined histories of all the continent's families. Josh, a dreamer and a spiritual being, levitates above the din of small-town mediocrity to find the best of himself and those who he admires. His apprehension toward other boys his age will no doubt strike a chord with gay readers, but he edifies the sincerity of his Oklahoma upbringing as much as he questions its limitations. Both narrators rewrite the narratives handed to them by others in favor of images of Creek, queer, and feminist identities that set the stepping stones in place for a future worth claiming.

Having read this novel after watching the limited series based on Little Fires Everywhere, I can confidently say that this is a much subtler and richer text than its TV adaptation turned out to be. The book deals heavily in the concept of creating a utopia, so it narrates objectively and allows the reader to decide what has and hasn't worked. For starters, there isn't anything inherently wrong with wanting to create an intentional community, but what has become of Shaker Heights is the product of an intersectional struggle between different strata of race and class. Conversely, the show doesn't have narration; it has Elena Richardson—portrayed by Reese Witherspoon—who just has a knack for playing it a little obtusely when it comes to explaining how she, as a white woman, just wants the best out of life. The show doesn't let you decide where the fog dissipates to reveal a line drawn in the sand; it dries up the fog for you in the dialogue.

As far as the book itself, I'd be doing it a disservice to not speak about the author's voice. Celeste Ng's conversational and casual tone gives readers the best combination of stream-of-consciousness and narrative story structures, blending to create a book much more concerned with universal feelings than minute details. At times, this style does prove somewhat distracting, and it tends to drift more toward the informal side of things, especially in scenes between the Richardson children and Pearl.

For a book about family and identity, the plot arranges all the characters on a playing field where each of their motivations and fears all mix in murky waters, almost dissolving any fixed boundaries between them. No one fully wants to take this first step toward bridging opposing sides because all the characters are busy trying to identify their personal desires before considering those around them. At its core, this novel is about how our family relationships can be much more fragile than we ever thought possible, and it sets this realization against the backdrop of a glimmering suburban utopia in need of serious remodeling.

What a warm and comfortable book to fall into, especially at the end of this year! At first glance, it's rather easy to suspect that everything would fall into a rather predictable rhythm of queer YA literature, especially given the trappings of a reality TV show set against the high-stakes backdrop of a mission to Mars. However, Phil Stamper creates a story that doesn't rely on any harmful tropes; instead, he writes a gay romance grounded in the struggles between both partners. This is a novel about two teenagers who learn to navigate their own turbulent lives while managing to create a love to outlast the death of the brightest stars in the sky.

This is the kind of novel that stays with you, the kind that creates an atmosphere you're willing to dive more deeply into as each page flips. Taking place in the United States during 2020, the novel inadvertently adopts a hopeful tone about the timeline that could've been, but it's written in such an earnest way that it doesn't seem like we could be too far off from living our Martian dream in the next decade or so. What drives the book is truly the romance. Of course, the question of discovering the history of Mars is prescient for the book's characters, but these scientists and astronauts, as well as their families, seem all too confident about getting where they're meant to be. Similarly, Stamper is very secure in the story he's telling about a budding gay romance. Readers aren't confronted with the obstacles of homophobia, or any other prejudice; this is an indulgent and romantic story meant to let the hearts of young readers breathe in a refreshing sense of comfort in their own identities.

What follows are some more in-depth critiques that may spoil some of the novel, so my overall review is a good one. This novel could warm the coldest of hearts with its ecclectic cast of characters, and it tells a story that's more than important in this day and age.

While the conceit of the novel lies in Cal's early career as a live streaming, budding journalist, this takes a backseat to the intimate moments he shares with Leon as they define their relationship. Similarly, the Shooting Stars crew adds some dramatic and tense energy to the plot, the reality TV chapters were not very fleshed out and were, in my eyes, underutilized. This is chiefly a book about romance in the age of modern space exploration, and it's not exactly the Real Housewives of Clear Lake, as Cal himself would probably see it from time to time. As far as other underdeveloped parts of the book go, most of the characters undergo rapid transformations that dodge some pivotal emotional milestones. However, these characters remain charismatic and intruiging up until the book's last pages. What they may lack in plot and emotional range, they make up for the situations that they face, which carry an authenticity that cannot be denied.

At the outset, the novel is an ambitious one; each section of the book is meant to correspond to one of the courses in a lavish dinner between two couples. However, the story quickly loses its initial vision in favor of relying heavily on flashbacks.

The narrator is one of the least charismatic characters in the novel, which would not be an issue if his story was of any actual consequence. He floats aimlessly from assertion to assertion, dragging the reader along through his purportedly factual account of events throughout his life. All the while, the conversation happening during the actual dinner suffers from lack of care from the author.

The mystery of the book—if it can truly be called that—also gets sidelined by the narrator's incessant need to insert himself into every potential scenario, except for one that captivates the reader. Although it can be argued that the protagonist is so stubbornly opinionated in order to mock this myopic behavior in the real world, the author does not ever set up a situation that truly admonishes him for being so problematic.

Do not read this book if moments of graphic violence or racial prejudice are not something you tolerate in your reading. On the whole, the most interesting characters of the book are the wives of the men at the dinner, but their perspectives are limited to what their husbands think of them. Perhaps it was possible to find some enjoyment, but it was in spite of what the author penned.