youreawizardjerry's reviews
114 reviews

god!

I have been reflecting for days over why I can’t seem to fully embrace this for the masterpiece that it is. I enjoyed the visceral writing, I appreciate the melancholy of the story, I have virtually nothing negative to say about it, so why can I not seem to hold the story closer than an arms length away? I figured it out.

It…scares me. It took me so long to pinpoint this because as a frequent consumer of horror, very little media truly frightens me to my core like this has. Harpman resurrected a primordial fear that I've long since locked away. It’s watching Squidward trapped in the white room as a terrified child. It’s the Langoliers when the gang is in the empty airport. It is twilight zone broken glasses. It’s the dead world outside the car in the mist. It is my truest nightmare of old. I can’t even get past this fear long enough to contemplate the beauty of the possible interpretations—because there is a lot of beauty—endless allegories and interpretations could be pulled from this. It’s why it’s powerful. What world do we leave our “child”, which inherent humanities can you never take away from us…etc…there is a lot to get out of it…but I can’t ruminate for too long because I just don’t want to be near this, at least not right now. 

Maybe I’ll return to it willingly (because it certainly haunts me outside of my own accord) some future day. I am not here to dissuade tho, I still did “enjoy” it and devour it in one sitting. Just know before going in that this book is mislabeled and should definitely be in the genre "spookiest tomes of the millennia."

This book fell into my hands at the perfect time. I have desperately been wanting more stories about pockets of queer solace in poverty. About the grime in queerness and the pain that surrounds it in spaces that are inundated with suffering.  It sounds like a hyper-specific want, well yes but mostly no. Poor gays and what we do to live and love.

Douglas Stuart's stories never tip me over the edge with emotion. I always feel like a 7/8ths full glass of (sugary) milk in a cold apartment building, and because of that this rides the 4.5 to 5 line. But it truly is excellent all around. The comedy is brilliant, the construction is one of a kind, and the love is so honest. I most appreciated how Douglas painted ignorance within suffering. There is a complicated leniency we lead with as marginalized people in these marginalized spaces and this book captured that realistically (even up until the end when there exists a shift in what we accept). In places of suffering and struggle of course we hurt, and we'll hurt, but we are not alone—  and in that, there can/will be beauty. A vitally important piece of work.

But it isn't an answer. It's a question.
And I really loved the question. 
where there is asking there is hope yet. because where there is empathy there is hope yet.
ever powerful. RIP to the GOAT. le guin u ate this up

I am a perfect fit for this story as a queerly ambiguous child of small town USA. I am both intimately appreciative and critical of rural America. Despite this perfect matchup, I still didn’t care much for the direction it went. I shifted my expectations to embrace the book in whatever form it was going to take, which initially was dark and intriguing, but ultimately was neither of those things. I rarely felt compelled by the writing. It had it's moments, certainly, but I can't help feel that other authors could have made masterpieces of this premise. If it was treated with different prose, intensity, if only something was different, MORE—and this feeling is not the mark imo of having been a great read. Despite this…I still dug it! +bonus points for atmosphere.

I believe those of us that carry the curse of the small town upbringing can hold an inherent appreciation for Pew. Not because we see something extra within it but because there is nothing extra. I’d be surprised if readers who don't feel sentimental about rural country would be as charitable towards it…because frankly that was all that carried the read for me. At what point am I praising the book for what is materially and purposefully in it vs what I am bringing to the table? I guess that's my eternal question. One that continues beyond. Is it an easy cop-out to write this way? Is this the genre genre-ing? Am I grateful for this mirror regardless? I think if this was a film it could easily be one of my favorites, but it's not and isn't. I don't know what to make of that.

Maybe y'all come from the burbs and will still love it. Or maybe it can be a moment for us rural gothic queers alone, to remember her— the crippling horrors of change and our landlocked legs yearning for it. 

If nothing else... Pew teaches ALL readers alike that radical listening will consistently get you the best chisme, and that I can fully get behind👌🤭

How gentle, this world. How tender, this mercy.
I was invested from page 1, genuinely, but while reading I did quickly note why others might not dig this book. Particularly because of the patience/trust you need to have in the author to weave the divisive nuances in first and then rein in the bigger picture sensitively. I think she does this. But if you aren’t a reader that likes living in that gray area for a while I wouldn't recommend it. Things happen that you won’t like, phrases you don’t agree with, expoundings that make your eyes roll, but it's part of the ride. I was cringed out at some of the opinions I had throughout whenever I learned new information that made me change my tune. I enjoyed those uncomfortable moments though. They challenged me and I appreciated that.

I'm still thinking about this days later. I enjoyed the pacing, prose (actually loved the style, easily one of my favorites), and depth added to the characters through the simplest details. Ex. The twins and their privileges as the vehicle for their willingness or their naïveté with others made so much sense.

Some people say this is a sins of the father/mother story, I felt exactly the opposite.  A murder is the fault of a killer, and thats the book lol the end. We do explore these hard but necessary ideas about missed intervention, trauma, a complicated culpability. You are left with this ripple effect where the fault can be made up of many things, not equally by any means but those factors loom nonetheless. It's a story all about that space where the rippling water circles of onus intersect BUT equally if not more importantly, no shitty manifesto or "theory"🙄 or clinical breakdown will rectify the greatest evils irregardless of the why someone committed them. And thats how the people affected come through in this.

The radical love it takes us to keep going is hard, to bear witness to the ripplings around us is hard, to continually attempt to be more than the pain we've felt is hard but we do it. How do we reckon with such cruelty? vs such kindness? 
We do.

It's not perfect, the last 4th of the book dragged a bit for me and there are a lot of cliches, but I was captivated for most of it and enjoyed the journey. Excellent 🌟 5.

 

casca :( why must my hija suffer so much 

nothing happened lmao 

I had not expected this story to orbit around Agnes as much as it did but I was surprisingly captivated. I thought a lot about my own mother throughout. There were many times I wished she were some abstract idea of “better”--that she would beat all the odds against her, that by some miracle she could wake up unharmed by her sufferings. I wished also that she could keep bigotry from reaching my shores. Both unfair, and impossible to actualize completely. Our mothers live only once just like everyone else.

It felt like I was in the rooms with them the entire time, fully immersed. Parts of this felt violently familiar and the parts that didn’t were deeply moving still. Masterfully melancholic. I wished there was one more chapter at the end, just a tad more time with Hugh, but I’m not disappointed at where it left off either. I was sad by the state, but they, you, we will keep going.

I am on fire. I do not burn.

Finished it and just had to hold the closed book in my arms for a minute, swaying like I’d read a love letter. And maybe it was a little bit of that. I feel like this book was made specifically and intentionally for me—that it said all the things I wanted it to and went in all the directions I didn’t even know to ask for but adored. Mariana Enriquez is incredibly tuned in that way. It’s my 2nd read from her and I could not recommend her work enough. Constantly astounded by her caliber of imagination and nuance to craft not only a uniquely macabre world but a believably paralleling one that hits all the notes and commentary it needs to in order to be as beautifully haunting and compelling as it is.

Simplemente perfecto, I loved it. 🖤