I had read that author Emily Henry had suffered from terrible writer’s block when she started her 2020 novel, Beach Read. That idea eventually led to a main theme in the book where the main character fails to have any clue what her next book will be about despite a looming deadline. And, boy can I relate.
For a few months in 2021, I also suffered from writer’s block. There are a slew of things I could have blamed it on, but I just didn’t feelt motivated to write and blog. I usually procrastinated until the last possible moment before I started my reviews — which really tested the memory. And worse than that, I hadn’t even felt motivated to read. It’s not that I had read bad books that steered me away from my favorite hobby; in fact, five of the eight that I’ve finished in 2021 have received four flames. There was really no explanation; all I knew is that it was taking much longer to finish books I was enjoying than it normally would. That is, until I met Beach Read.
Just like Henry’s characters, I needed a little something to spark some motivation and creativity. That presented itself in the form of 350 pages of a fun and flirty storyline with something important to say. I read this book in one weekend, and I don’t remember the last time I felt like I just could NOT put down a book. I closed this one and felt a little bit more like myself. Now that is what I call a powerful piece of art.
Immigration is a political and social issue whose solutions have always seemed nebulous to me. It’s immensely complex, and I admit I’ve done little research to understand its intricacies. But from the surface and from a few immigrant friends, I know a few, very general things. First, it’s very hard to obtain citizenship in the U.S. Second, and contradictory to my first point, it’s just as hard to maintain any type of visa. Lastly, and most importantly, the way we treat immigrants — be that through policy or social interaction — is incredibly inhumane, leading to the “othering” effect with unhealthy stereotypes.
The odd thing is that people who set and maintain devastating policies or who speak such harmful words about immigrants likely have never talked to an immigrant — documented or undocumented — to understand their struggle and the heartbreak that led them to pursue the illusive American Dream. This point illustrates how storytelling — or qualitative data if you will — is just as or even more important than statistics and how storytelling can shape our morals and beliefs. Stories like Patsy are integral for our society to progress and for us becoming a little more compassionate.
Patsy tells a story that few of us probably know but one that exists all too frequently, that of the undocumented immigrant. The eponymous main character gives up her heartbreaking and unfair life in Jamaica for love and freedom in the States only to be deceived by those who promised her so much — including Americans and their precious ideals.
If you’re not a Lady Who Lunches, I highly recommend giving it a shot; my own LWL girlfriends have been saviors over the years. I’ve been close friends with Dana, Hilary, Katie, and Kelliann since I moved to New York. We’ve all worked for the same finance company at different points and have enjoyed many lunches, happy hours, and dinners in the Financial District. We are definitely “well-off, well-dressed women who meet for social luncheons, usually during the working week,” though we do still work … even if we spend the majority of our work days chatting one another. A year ago, we started Friday virtual lunches together so we could still see each other and to ease our anxiety about the pandemic. These weekly gatherings were often weekly highlights.
While I read Gabrielle Union’s book, I couldn’t help but think she was gathering with my LWL gang over bottles of wine and numerous cheese plates. That companionship usually didn’t stem from the stories themselves because she’s had such different experiences than any of us have had, especially because she’s a Black woman who’s dealt with so many degrees of racism. It was her writing, which felt so honest, blunt, relatable, and humorous.
Union likely intended for her readers to feel like she was their newest BFF waiting with a drink in hand; the title itself alludes to those long-gone happy hours where the drinks keep pouring. *Oh memories.* The writing certainly lives up to the title’s promises.
All this time at home has given me ample opportunity to think in the past year — probably to my detriment. One thing I can’t help thinking about it is how much I’d love to move to another country — literally any country — to avoid the racism, xenophobia, and ultra-conservative viewpoints in the U.S. I know running away doesn’t fix problems; it just puts them further at bay. And deep down, I know no country is perfect, and every place has its own set of issues. It’s just been so upsetting to see how much our country has reversed in the last five years that it’s easy to think the grass is always greener.
That idea came to me while reading A Burning but probably not for the reason you’d expect. This contemporary fiction book, which takes place in India, certainly demonstrates that no place is perfect. But it made me wonder what someone in another country might think of America, especially after the year we’ve had. I can’t imagine it’s anything too positive. Furthermore, by viewing the parallels with a country we often deem inferior (hell, we deem every country inferior), I was reminded that the ideals the U.S. loves to cling to are shadowed in hypocrisy. I doubt that was author Megha Majumdar’s intention, but it certainly struck a chord, which all great books do.
I admit that I’m pretty impressionable — or at least I thought I was before writing this review. I just googled “impressionable” to make sure I had the definition right, and it defines an impressionable person as someone who is “easily influenced because of a lack of critical ability.” Hey now. I have critical ability. Don’t I?
I guess my point is that I can have strong opinions, especially toward books, music, movies, and TV, but if someone strongly opines in a different way, I can generally be persuaded. I kept this characteristic in mind when I started Ender’s Game. I promised at the beginning of the year that I would try at least two science fiction novels this year. When I asked Kyle — the biggest sci-fi fan I know — to recommend me a book, he chose Ender’s Game and added that it’s one of the premiere books in the genre. Clearly, he loved this book; I needed to recognize his influential opinion so that my own wouldn’t be swayed from the get-go.
I was pretty good about sticking to my opinion throughout the book, but I teetered on a final rating once I finished it. A few days later, Kyle and I had a virtual date night with two friends who brought up the movie version organically. I told them I just finished the novel, and they both started raving about how much they loved the book. As they praised it, I could feel my own opinion changing. Was I misremembering my experience with the novel? Did I enjoy and appreciate it more than what my mind had been telling me? Was I about to be persuaded again? I ruminated over it for a few days before writing this post so that my mind was clear before making a firm decision. I wanted this review to be 100% my own; it would not be influenced by others’ opinions. Although a teeny tiny part of me is still flip-flopping, let me demonstrate my critical ability that led me to my unpopular and average opinion.
I used to be a sucker for the romcom and the romdram. Is that a genre? If not, it should be. The Notebook, Titanic, 27 Dresses, P.S. I Love You, The Wedding Date, 500 Days of Summer, and SO many more filled the days of my youth. (Nora Ephron classics came later in life). I used to peruse the $5 movies at Target looking for any and every cliché romantic movie I could find. In fact, I used to go to Target on Black Friday specifically for this reason and not to buy Christmas presents for other people. I have no shame.
Somewhere along the line, though, I fell out of love with fictional tales that focused on cliché love itself. Maybe it was maturity. Maybe it was a reality check. But now, I can barely sit through five minutes of The Notebook.
*Please do not discount the gravity of this sentence. I used to watch The Notebook or Titanic (or both) every week.*
Every now and then, however — usually when the going gets tough — I crave a little cliché romance. I’m not talking chick lit; I mean pure romance and cliché. Enter: Waiting for Tom Hanks, the novel dedicated to the romcom genre that I have long since avoided. My friend Kelliann sent me this book after a rough week but warned that it was pure fluff and to not have high literary expectations; just be prepared for an escape. A welcome escape was exactly what I got, but did the fluff go too far?
Do you ever feel like a book has it all? Hardly ever. It’s a challenge to find a book that engages you; perfectly utilizes a plethora of literary devices; has poetic writing without seeming over the top or losing you; tells a really good story; and has powerful themes. When you do come across this rare occurrence, you have to pause and think, “Wow. I loved every part of that book.”
Well, I guess you could say 2021 is off to a great start because I’ve already found a book that has everything. And I finished it only 16 days into the year. That greatness came in the form of Marcus Zusak’s historical fiction novel, The Book Thief, which Kyle had — for good reason — been recommending to me for awhile.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t also tell you that this novel somehow made me both laugh and cry. I don’t know how Zusak accomplished so much in 500 pages, but I’m sure glad he did.
I have two favorite literary qualities I seek when I read a book or article: voice and characterization. You’ve read many a post where I either praise a book for having one of these qualities (here’s one for voice and another for characterization), and you’ve certainly seen me complain about the lack of them on more than one occasion.
Voice not only keeps you engaged in a book, but it also allows you to better understand the characters, making it an integral part of characterization, which is such an important quality. Without it, readers cannot fully see who these people are and why and how that motivates their actions. When a book has strong voice and characterization, and its main characters’ experiences completely differ from your own, that’s when empathy, understanding, and — most importantly — change occur.
That was the experience I had with The Kiss Quotient, whose main character, Stella, has Asperger syndrome. Not only was this book funny and sweet, but author Helen Hoang’s portrayal of Stella was so strong that I found myself in awe of the social struggles that someone with Asperger’s endures, which I had only ever experienced from a very far distance before this book. Stella’s story — and the author’s too — is one I’ve never personally witnessed, and I’ve never read about it in a fictional setting either. Hoang puts you face to face with it. By placing me directly inside Stella’s mind, which enhanced the book’s voice, I could feel everything she felt every single day — no matter how difficult.
Let me preface this post by saying I’m hesitant to make any resolutions this year. While I did a pretty good job of obtaining my 2020 goals, hindsight also warns me to saunter into the year rather than dive in head first. Last year taught me to take it easy and not put too much pressure on myself. But I’m also one for self-improvement, so I can’t help but make a few resolutions in this year, which will certainly be better than last … right? RIGHT??
Although I don’t have any crazy projects on the horizon like I did in 2020 or literary goals just spewing out of me, there are a few things I’d like to accomplish this year. Let’s take a look.
No judgment on yet another Swift-inspired book review title. I can’t help who influences me!
OK, so thrillers and mysteries don’t find themselves on Big Little Literature that often. I can’t provide an explanation for this other than I usually get swept up in other genres. So I was looking forward to something different with my latest read, My Sister, the Serial Killer.
Despite what the title says, I didn’t get any thriller or mystery vibes — though a lot of readers and critics certainly did. Yes, there are some murders, and there is tension about the culprit being caught. But this novel, with themes of abuse, family, and loyalty, doesn’t remind me of any other book I’ve read in those genres. In fact, it’s completely different than any book I’ve read.
It’s funny and dark and has just the right amount of f**ked-upness. Do I feel weird saying I appreciated how refreshing this book was? Even if the “refreshment” stems from a serial killer and a sister who takes care of the body? Ehhh I never professed normalcy.