I (mostly) recommend and (somewhat) don't recommend this book. It's a pretty good read, but doesn't necessarily achieve what it sets out to do. I love Lisa See's historical novels, which is how I ended up reading the first two books in her mystery series.
You can just imagine the fun of growing up in the Midwest with a name like Bich (not pronounced the way it's spelled) and being so tiny that your peers want to use your head as an armrest, right? That's not what this childhood memoir from a Vietnamese-American whose family moved to Michigan when she was a baby is really about, but details like provide access points for people of all backgrounds, I think. Something else that will appeal to lots of y'all is Nguyen's love for and descriptions of food, especially the 1970s/80s candy that give her in her youth both torment and succor. She is a total foodie and is enraptured by the food writing in the Little House series. Who knew?
While supervising a project to increase the lesbian fiction holdings at Barnard, I discovered this novel by Barnard professor Margaret Vandenburg. To my discredit, I'm kind of cloistered in the library and don't know much about what goes on on campus, but since Teresa Lee (LIS student whose project the lesbian fiction collection is) determined that the book has circulated sixteen times in the last six years, I guess there are plenty of people who know about Dr. Vandenburg's work.
You know how I'm often, perhaps self-righteously, claiming that my favorite authors are women of color? Well, I have to admit that there are a few white male authors in my heart, too. And you can't get much whiter than white Canadian Robertson Davies, eh? I've read, with affection, his three completed trilogies at least twice apiece, but I hadn't yet gotten around to rereading the first two of what Wikipedia surmises would have been called the Toronto Trilogy. The bad news is that I'm now pretty sure that Murther & Walking Spirits is my least favorite of Davies' novels.
I mentioned my preference for books by women of color in a previous post, and Johanna, a friend with I think pretty similar tastes (woc, but also zines and paranormal fiction) recommended Trumpet. I realized that while I do consistently enjoy books by women of color—American, immigrant-American, and Chinese and African (writing in English), I haven't done all that well with books by British women of color. I'm sorry, but Zadie Smith does nothing for me and Monica Ali less than nothing. I'm sure they're lovely women and skilled writers. Their writing styles just don't appeal to me, nor do those of the other women Brits of color I've read. Therefore it was a relief to dig into Johanna's recommendation by Nigerian-Scot Jackie Kay and realize that I was in the right place for once.
From early childhood through high school in upper class Palos Verdes California, Baszile was the only (or rare) African-American girl other than her sister on her street or in her school. This coming-of-age memoir focuses on issues particular to her situation, but that also apply to any young woman growing up in America. The anxieties about how she looks, dating, and her rocky family relationships are pretty universal.
Maybe he finally understood that integration had been as hard on me as segregation had been on him. p.307
This was a quick and somewhat tearful read. The teenage narrator, a talented classical musician in a coma after a car accident, must decide whether to live or die. While this is an affecting book and an interesting premise, I think there could have been more complexity on the death side. But maybe that's just a middle-aged reader of YA lit talking. I think teens will appreciate the drama.
Dick-lit. If I had to write a two word review of this book, that would be it. It's amusing, shallow, the boy gets the girl, and there's a fair amount of gross-out violence along the way. Although frat boys don't do too well in this book, they're a good audience for it. The author reveals himself—or at least the narrator—to be something of a liberal by ragging on Fox News, but really, if your politics go much deeper than Fox's, you might find parts of this book offensive.
Finally, I'm back to some literary fiction by a woman of color. I apologize if that sounds fetishistic, but seriously, other than vampire books, that's what I like to read best! This coming of age novel takes place in Shanghai during the good old days of the Cultural Revolution and is told by Maple, a poor girl from a suspect family. (Her schoolteacher father made some unfortunate comments about Mao that landed him in jail.) Maple makes friends with Wild Ginger, who is one quarter French and therefore also branded counterrevolutionary. But really, Wild Ginger is a hardcore Maoist whose devotion to the man and the cause first elevate and then destroy her.
"Be careful with that statue," she warned as he turned. Toward the entrance there stood a life-size glow-in-the-dark Mao sculpture, its right hand waving above the head in the air. p.106
POTENTIAL SPOILER
"Yes! Do that again Maple, yes!"
"Chairman Mao teaches us…"
"No."
"Come on, Evergreen!"
"'People…people of the world, unite and defeat the U.S. aggressors and all their running dogs! People of the world, be courageous, dare to fight, defy difficulties, and advance wave upon waves.'"
"'Keep pushing the cart,' Maple!"
"'Keep pushing the cart until…until we reach the Communist heaven!'"
"Oh Maple, the blind woman is picking the peaches."
"And the blind woman has caught a fat fish—this is a miracle."
"Do the quotations!"
"You armchair revolutionary!"
He groaned, "Oh! Chairman Mao!" p.151
Love & Lies is billed as a companion to Wittlinger's Hard Love, a YA novel with zine publishers as its main characters. Sadly this installment doesn't involve zines--and weirdly none of the characters seem to be vegetarian, much less vegan--but it is still a compelling read.