October Reading Wrap Up!

Labyrinth Lost, by Zoraida Cordova – 3 stars

I was into this book the moment I heard the premise – I mean, Latina witches in Brooklyn? I am down. Alejandra is a bruja with remarkable powers, but she wants nothing to do with her magic. She knows that all magic has brought to her family is pain and suffering, so she decides to be rid of it once and for all by rejecting her magical birthright at her Deathday ceremony. But instead of banishing her powers, her entire family disappears instead. Alex has to journey through the mystical land of Los Lagos to rescue her family and confront the evil that is haunting her. Although this book was fun and the world had some really interesting elements, unfortunately it felt a bit ‘flat’ to me. I enjoyed it to a certain degree, but sadly it felt just a little too typical of its genre to be a truly engrossing read.

The Bloody Chamber, by Angela Carter – 5 stars

I don’t read a lot of short story collections, but this was amazing! (With the necessary caveat that in short story collections, some stories are always better than others.) Angela Carter is a masterful storyteller with gorgeous writing, and ‘dark creepy feminist fairy tale retellings’ is the definition of my wheelhouse. My favourite story was The Erl King, but I also loved The Bloody Chamber, The Courtship of Mr Lyon, The Tiger’s Bride, and The Lady of the House of Love. (In summary, lots of bad ass ladies either dealing with violent men or falling in love.) I also really enjoyed that she was also open with sharing a couple of different variations with how she would play with the same fairy tale – it showed her creativity and breadth, and each story was so imaginatively told that it never felt stale. I don’t know how, but I need more of this in my life.

Monstress: Volume One, written by Marjorie Liu and illustrated by Sana Takeda – 5 stars

Sitting to write this review, I legitimately just want to say “I. LOVE. THIS. BOOK.” (Complete with clapping emojis, if I could be bothered to figure out how to get them in WordPress.) This is an epic fantasy graphic novel, set in a matriarchal world where humans and Arcanics (half-human, half-‘Ancients’) are trying to maintain an uneasy peace after the devastation of war. But Arcanics are captured and enslaved by humans, and their bodies used by a human order of sorceresses known as the Cumaea to fuel their powers. In the midst of this, Maika Halfwolf is trying to come to terms with her difficult past and control her volatile abilities. The story addresses themes of persecution, slavery, and institutional corruption as well as intimately portraying the struggles Maika faces in her relationships with others and within herself.

In addition to having incredibly gorgeous art, the plot was gripping and the world is fascinating. Although it could be brutal and gory at times, which isn’t usually my thing, it never felt sensationalised. There were a couple of plot twists that were really well used to develop our understanding of the world. (I’m still not over our introduction to the Cumaean Inquisitorixes.) There’s also an effect I love in stories like this where, although I may be totally confused about parts of the worldbuilding or the plot, I can also sense that I am in very safe storytelling hands – that the author knows exactly what they are doing, and that the story will come together in a satisfying way. (If I am confused and think the author has no idea what they are doing, it stresses me out.) It’s funny that when I bought this, I didn’t realise it had only been out for a few months. I thought it had been out for ages, so now I am sorely disappointed that I’m going to have to wait almost a year for the next collected edition. That last plot twist… man, I need answers. (I know that issue #7 is out, but I am trying to exercise self-control. It’s damn hard right now.)

Bird Box, by Josh Malerman – 4 stars

Bird Box is an apocalyptic novel where something has broken into our world. And these creatures, whatever they may be, drive the people who have seen them to attack others and fatally harm themselves. What started as a few isolated incidents in Russia quickly snowballs until finally the few remaining humans alive have learned how to live without looking outside. And because humans can’t investigate without succumbing to the madness, they have no choice but to focus solely on survival. The book, predominantly from the perspective of a young woman named Malorie, alternates between her memories of the first year of life with this calamity, and her decision four years later to take her children and attempt to escape the home they have been trapped in all that time. The suspense steadily builds throughout the novel as you wait to see how the past will become the present. The climax of the book was brilliantly done, terrifying and brutal to the extent that I may have cried on the bus – not from sadness (although, frankly, that would not be out of character for me or out of place for those chapters) but from the sheer feeling of being so overwhelmed by the intensity of what was happening. This book definitely earned all its hype.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, by Catherynne M. Valente – 3 stars

I don’t really know how to describe this book. A twelve year old girl is plucked out of her kitchen by the Green Wind and goes on adventures in fairyland? This book has received a lot of attention, and given that I had (for months!) taken to randomly stalking the children’s section of bookstores in an effort to find it, I’m disappointed I didn’t love it more. That said, I think this was very much a ‘me’ problem – I’ve been noticing that I’m very particular when it comes to the ‘whimsy:solid plot’ ratio of a story. This was just too much whimsy for me and, given that it’s for middle grade readers, I think that’s fair enough. That said, it had a strong and interesting ending that set up the rest of the series nicely. Although I don’t think I’ll be continuing with these books, I’m still a little curious about Valente’s adult fiction so if I ever get the chance I might pick those up.

September Reading Wrap Up!

World War Z, by Max Brooks – 3 stars

This is a book that I listened to on audio to complete the ‘audiobook that had won an Audie Award’ for Book Riot’s Read Harder challenge – although I’m not an audiobook person at all, I really enjoyed the format. The story itself was fascinating. It’s essentially one long, incredibly intense and detailed, thought exercise – how would our world fare if the zombie apocalypse struck tomorrow? The main character gathers survivors’ accounts of the Zombie War – everybody from the Vice President of the United States, to some random student in Japan. It extensively explores political, social, and cultural dynamics, and imaginatively considers everything from international relations, geopolitics, history, and military strategy to governance, emergency management, and social policy. I will note that I did feel a certain kind of way about the all-white narration cast, given that the characters themselves were so diverse in race and nationality. I was also a bit annoyed at the relative lack of female characters – while there may be a bit of an excuse for the more male-dominated fields of expertise, the majority of the generic interviews were with men (some of whom, let’s be honest, weren’t even that interesting). On the whole though, it was a really interesting story and a great listening experience.

Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth, by Warsan Shire – 5 stars

I don’t read a lot of poetry, but I have been looking to get into it a little bit more so I was excited to pick this up – both as part of the #diverseathon and for the ‘Read a book aloud to someone’ portion of the Read Harder Challenge. (My cat is a someone, and I’m sure he enjoyed it very much.) Honestly I hardly know how to talk about poetry, but I will say that this collection was a gorgeous, though often painful, reflection of the life of a young immigrant woman. She mostly explores women and girls’ most intimate moments and their resilience in the face of a cruel world and unforgiving social expectations – everything from sexual awakenings and eating disorders to domestic violence and coping with a partner’s infidelity. There is also a remarkable poem addressing the devastation of the refugee crisis in a profoundly personal voice. (This is the same poem that includes the famous line “no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.”) Although it’s a very short volume, it was well worth it and I look forward to returning to it again.

Jesus and the Disinherited, by Howard Thurman – 5 stars

I don’t know quite what I was expecting, but this book surprised me. Thurman’s central question is ‘what is the message of Jesus to the poor and the marginalised?’ From that point, he goes through a few key emotional responses to oppression – fear, deception, hate, and love. The explores the psychological underpinnings of these responses of the marginalised to their oppression, and then uses the gospels and Jesus’ teachings to highlight a path beyond these responses to more liberating and empowering possibilities. In its emphasis on the mindset of the marginalised as a key element for transformation and liberation, this book is certainly out of step with a lot of modern day social justice thinking. But I think it offers a lot of valuable insight to those who are willing to engage with and be challenged by Thurman’s ideas.

Mr Fox, by Helen Oyeyemi – 4 stars

Going into this book, I knew it was going to be an interesting read – regardless of whether they love it or they hate it, most people will admit that this book is kind of bonkers. The premise is that renown author Mr Fox is inspired by a muse who he is madly in love with, Mary Foxe. Out of the blue, she shows up one day – and she is sick and tired of the brutal way he kills off his female characters, claiming that they all represent her. From there, the book is a whirlwind of unreliable narration, magical realism, and all out absurdity. It alternates between the main story arc, and a range of short stories which Mr Fox and Mary Foxe are supposedly telling (read: using to manipulate) each other. Some are almost indistinguishable from the main arc until you hit a wild plot twist. Others are clearly separate stories – until a subtle reference emerges again several chapters later. Personally, my favourite parts were the short stories, especially towards the end – ‘hide, seek’, ‘my daughter the racist’, and ‘some foxes’ – they weren’t directly tied back to the main narrative arc, but they were so beautiful and often devastating. Although the conceit of the book was obviously interesting, I think the most profound and memorable moments lay in the emotional climaxes of the short stories. People’s reactions to Oyeyemi’s books are often mixed, but I’m glad I picked this up and I’m curious to check out more of her work.

The Glass Sentence, by S.E. Grove – 4.5 stars

I picked up this book because it was recommended by my beloved Megan Whalen Turner, and she didn’t lead me astray. (Which is a good thing, because waiting for new books from her for soon-to-be seven years now has been difficult enough as is. But I digress.)

Set in a world that has been torn apart at the hinges of time by a mysterious natural disaster, Sophia Timms is the niece of renown cartographer Shadrack who studies this new, strange world with an incredible collection of maps. After he is abducted by a dangerous shadowy sect, Sophia and her new friend Theo have to travel across this unpredictable world to rescue Shadrack and save the world. I went into this ready and raring to go on an exciting adventure, and I wasn’t disappointed. The plot and worldbuilding were remarkably imaginative. Although nothing could really hit the Harry Potter mark, the way Grove populated her world with such a fascinating history and with so many interesting characters and creatures reminded me a lot of J.K. Rowling’s boundless creativity. There were so many bits and pieces which weren’t quite necessary to the plot, but they weren’t overwrought and served to make the universe richer and more captivating. It was also interesting, given the current political climate in many developed countries, how S.E. Grove chose to foreground the story with political strife due to peoples’ anxieties about immigration and a changing world. I’m always curious about how children’s books choose to engage with political issues, and I’ll be interested to see if she takes these ideas further in the rest of the trilogy.

Kindred, by Octavia Butler – 5 stars

My first Octavia Butler! It was about time, I’ve had this one waiting on my shelves for ages, and flitting in and out of ‘I’m going to get to these SO SOON’ book piles since May. Kindred is the most famous novel of acclaimed black science fiction writer Octavia Butler. It tells the story of Dana, a black woman living in the 1970’s who is sent back in time to the era of slavery to save the life of a white boy. This book was harrowing, painful, and often overwhelming – its representation of slavery is unflinching. The characterization, especially of Rufus and his father, was confronting and remarkably nuanced. And for the record, for these slaveholders, nuance here does not mean sympathetic. Butler shows with disturbing insight how corrupting privilege is when accompanied with such absolute social power. These men are undoubtedly men, not monsters, with all the fears and insecurities that come with being human – but with this context, these fears and insecurities inevitably manifest in terrifyingly dangerous and monstrous ways. It is particularly upsetting watching Rufus grow from an ignorant but well-meaning boy into a young man who could not more vividly embody racist entitlement and violence. (And honestly, I don’t know if I have ever genuinely hated a character like I do Rufus Weylin.) Despite how challenging parts of this book are to read, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

In which I have a lot of feelings about the U.S. Vice Presidential debate

So, this is a bit of an unusual post for this blog but I am deep in my feels about the Vice Presidential debate and wanted to vent somewhere. I should admit from the outset – not only am I not an American citizen, but my following of this particular election as been mostly spotty. (Which is what happens when your presidential races run for over a year. Get it together, America.) But I have been watching the debates and renewing my eternal love for The Rachel Maddow Show for the last couple of weeks, so let’s do this.

On one hand, I did enjoy some parts of Tim Kaine’s debate performance. Was he excessively interrupty? Yeah, probably – and while he landed a few good hits, it wasn’t particularly impressive in most instances. Was the debate hugely unsatisfying on the whole, save for the short discussion at the end about how faith informed their politics? Definitely. But Kaine was a team player, and he did his job as an attack dog against Donald Trump.

However, the thing that was very notable – and ultimately disappointing – to me, is that the campaign seems to have taken the unique opportunity of the vice presidential debate and decided to exclusively attack the many inappropriate comments that Trump has made, and how those comments reflect the intellect and character of someone who is not fit to be President of the United States, Commander in Chief, or really, to hold any public office whatsoever. And while I firmly agree with that premise, and I recognise that, yes, it’s the VP’s job to front for the top of the ticket… I’m just really dissatisfied with that.

Because here’s the thing – Trump has never held public office. (Thank God.) Which means we don’t have a policy record to confront him with – all we have are his ridiculous and incendiary comments. But you know who does have a policy record, one that is probably one of our best indications of what a Trump administration would be like in office (especially given his disinterest in governance), one that needs a thorough and unapologetic repudiation by the Democratic Party? Governor Mike Pence.

Admittedly, it’s easier to cast Trump as a particular evil that needs to be exorcised from the GOP and political landscape rather than fully confronting the Republican Party, which at least appears more moderate. It allows for Democrats to feign respect for Mike Pence as a politician while ripping into their current adversary. But the danger is that this lets the Republican Party off the hook. The real dangers of Republican governance are most evident at the state level, where governors like Mike Pence have been continuously attacking union rights, women’s rights, LGBT rights, the environment, and welfare. And this isn’t irrelevant to the bile Trump usually spews – in fact, we have seen the policy ends to which his extreme political views can be taken, and we have seen them in Republican states.

I admit, I felt validated when Rachel Maddow noted her surprise that Pence’s record on women’s and LGBT rights were not addressed, either by the debate moderator or by Kaine.

While filling Tim Kaine to the brim with ugly Trump comments to regurgitate certainly had some merit as a debate strategy, it ultimately made it feel like your basic annoying and shallow debate performance, filled with only spin and soundbites, when it could have been so much more.

In contrast, my absolute favourite moment in the debate was when Pence started talking about abortion in the context of faith, and Kaine unapologetically invited the conversation, stating “Let’s talk about abortion and choice. Let’s talk about that.” It’s easy, especially as people of faith, to be sheepish when we talk about the importance of reproductive rights and health care. Kaine’s eagerness to not only confront the Republican position on a core issue head-on, but also stand firmly in the values that the Democratic party upholds, was the most impressive and engaging point of the night. It was also the most important – demonstrating a clear contrast between the candidates rather the mostly-incomprehensible back and forth over comments made by an ignorant, overgrown toddler. (Even if he could, admittedly, could be President someday very soon. Someone find me my smelling salts.) But even here, there were a few moments where addressing Mike Pence’s record would have not only been very relevant, but would have substantively challenged the policy vision that Pence was painting for the American people.

I also can’t help but think that this could have been the perfect chance to emphasise to American voters that it’s not just the presidential election that counts. We know that some voters like to vote a split-ticket where they may, for example, vote for the Democratic presidential candidate but the Republican gubernatorial candidate. Why not use this opportunity to make a clear and impassioned argument to the American people about the values your party holds against your opponents? To showcase the horrible impact of Republican legislation at the state level and make an impassioned argument against it? Clearly, there was a strategic choice here by the Clinton campaign. One I don’t understand at all, but in fairness, her staffers are paid very well to be a lot smarter than me about what will work with the American people. I readily admit that the political strategies that I find more engaging wouldn’t necessarily be effective with a general electorate.

In the end, despite how unimpressive I found this debate, I’m disappointed that we won’t be seeing the Vice Presidential candidates head-to-head again. I think with another showing, having learned the lessons of this debate, Tim Kaine could have given a far more impressive performance, at least in terms of his demeanour – but I’m curious if they would use a different debate strategy, having seen how poorly this one played out. (Though this ad is pretty good, so it’s very possible the actual debate was never the real point.) While I’m sure the next two presidential debates will be entertaining (5 days til the next!) – I’m also pretty sure they will continue to be quite predictable. Here’s hoping the election result will also be the predictable choice.

Diversifying your media life

This week on the bookish internet, it was #diverseathon – a readathon where people were encouraged to pick up diverse books. To me the controversy which caused #diverseathon to be born (a ranting, incoherent, hate-filled video which is definitely not worth your time) is in part a testament to the incredible work that has been done in the book community – especially online and with younger audiences. The virulent response against advocacy for diverse authors and books reflects the frustration of some people that conversations about diversity in literature are having a meaningful impact on the community, as well as the publishing and books industry.

While I follow conversations about social inequality in a range of contexts, I honestly feel like the book community is pretty unique in how it addresses this issue. There is a greater emphasis on the personal responsibility to ensure that we are reading diversely and actively supporting diverse authors which I haven’t seen as much elsewhere. This isn’t to say that the community doesn’t face numerous issues in its attempts to increase diversity, of course it is nowhere near perfect. But outside of this community, having a sustained personal commitment to diverse media consumption isn’t really something we talk about all that often.

I think it’s important for individuals who care about social issues to have a commitment to equality and representation reflected in what media we consume. I’ve been passionate about diversity in media for a long time, but I only really started putting in effort to make sure that I was giving creators of and works about people of colour and the LGBTIQ community their due space in my media consumption a little over a year ago. It’s not that there wasn’t any diversity in what I read, watched, and listened to – but diversity was the exception rather than the rule. Because it was based on whim rather than made a priority, I was still mostly hearing from white and straight voices.

So, as we come to the end of #diverseathon, I wanted to write this post to provide some pointers on how we can continue to integrate and prioritise diversity as an everyday part of our media lives. These are strategies and methods that I’ve found helpful, and that I hope it will also be helpful to people who are new to this conversation and are unsure of where to start. And while many of my examples will focus on books, I hope that my experiences will be transferable and valuable to other media as well.

Figure out where the problem lies

The truth is that it’s everywhere. You are going to find barriers to encountering diverse media at every stage of the process you use to select whatever you’re going to read, watch, or listen to next. There are certainly structural issues that are incredibly difficult to overcome – who’s work is chosen and whether it’s released by a big conglomerate or a tiny independent company, what work gets a strong promotional push and what doesn’t, so on and so forth. But as a modern day consumer who has access to a wonderful thing called the internet, you also have a lot of power to overcome these barriers.

I have used a couple of strategies to improve the diversity of the books I read. The first was changing how I discovered books. You may have noticed from my previous posts that I’m a little obsessed with Book Riot. That’s because they have a great track record of promoting diverse authors and having meaningful conversations about diversity in the publishing industry. By choosing to follow publications that prioritise diversity, it improves my chances of being introduced to diverse authors and their books. I also follow a lot of creators and commentators on Twitter who are committed to diversity in all kinds of media, and will signal boost anything that look great.

Another was changing how I acquire books. I am a big fan of buying books in person – not only are bookstores one of the closest things to heaven on earth, but the ability to screen physical copies for any flaws before I purchase them also satisfies my perfectionist tendencies. But unfortunately, even when I had a sizable list of books by authors of colour and LGBTQ authors that I was interested in reading, they often weren’t stocked in my local bookstores. There were books that I was desperate to get my hands on but didn’t pick up for years for this reason. So I started to use online shopping to get my hands on these books, and it’s been a great help in diversifying the books I buy and read. I also try to keep track of the books that I’ve bought in the year, and if it looks like I’m a bit short on books by authors of colour, I’ll use online shopping to even up the scales. I have also started to pay closer attention to how well the bookstores that I frequent have been doing on the diversity front –  some seem to actively try to ensure that they are carrying and supporting books by diverse authors, while others do not.

Be reflexive

By this I mean, take a moment to think about how trends in your own media consumption may reflect inequalities in the industry that you want to see changed. For example, at the end of last year I realised that almost all of the books I had read on religion in 2014 and 2015 had been by white men (with two exceptions by men of colour). What?! No women, at all, with one book by a man of colour in each of those years. And unfortunately, there were definitely books by female writers that I was neglecting on my shelves, for no good reason! So this year, I aimed to deliberately include more women and people of colour in the books I read on religion this year. So far, I can happily report that this has been going pretty well!

Another example is, when I began thinking about the diversity in literature, I was prioritising both authorship and representation equally. To my mind, a ‘diverse book’ was any book that had an author and/or a protagonist who is a person of colour, has a disability, or is a member of the LGBTIQ community.

Until I saw this:

What this graph basically shows is that diverse racial representation in youth literature is at least twice as likely to be produced by authors who are not from that racial group. (And by the end of 2015, the gap actually increased.) And, while these statistics can’t confirm this, it’s likely that the majority of the authors that are benefiting from this discrepancy are white. As appearing diverse becomes more lucrative, it becomes an opportunity for privileged writers (and publishers) to exploit rather than fundamentally challenging white supremacy within the publishing industry. (And we’ve certainly seen this dynamic in more shameless ways as well.) This was incredibly disheartening for me, particularly as someone who found so much solace in young adult fiction growing up but didn’t think about the ways that it failed it represent me until much later. Seeing this graph permanently shifted the way I think about ensuring diversity in my reading. While I will still read  books by white, straight, and cisgender authors with diverse protagonists, they don’t count when I’m looking at how diverse my reading is. Authorship, rather than representation, takes priority for me at the moment.

Also, on an anecdotal note, I’ve always felt that it was easier to find authors of colour in contemporary young adult rather than speculative young adult fiction. I much prefer the latter, so I often relied on other genres to find books by authors of colour that I was interested in reading. But as someone who cares deeply about seeing young adult literature improve (for the sake of marginalised communities, as well as all young people) and knows the buying power that the genre has, this graph emphasised for me how that isn’t really enough. With a bit more attentiveness and digging through Goodreads, I have found more books by young adult authors of colour and am really enjoying the ones I’ve been reading so far.

Support what you love

As someone who spent her teenage years deep in fandom I’m pretty enthusiastic when it comes to supporting my faves, whether it’s live-tweeting television and podcasts (sorry not sorry), aggressively liking posts from promotional Facebook pages, or sharing the things I’m enjoying on Instagram. This takes on greater importance when it comes to diverse media.

It may seem like a small thing, but it can snowball to have a pretty significant impact. It’s no coincidence that the overwhelming success of Scandal, in large part powered by its Thursday night domination of Twitter, made room for other television shows with black women in lead roles, such as Sleepy Hollow, Minority Report, Empire, and How To Get Away With Murder. When Scandal began airing, it was the first network drama in almost forty years to star an African American woman. It was only given a seven episode run for its first season. Now, it has encouraged many other networks to consider projects with black female leads. While the progress has certainly been imperfect (Fitz is a garbage monster, I am so glad I stopped watching Sleepy Hollow before they shoved my beloved Abbie to the side, and it is a little disappointing that many of these shows rely on male and often white co-stars), there has been progress here that hopefully can continue being built upon in the future. Smaller-scale creators have also identified this kind of support as being vitally important. Nayyirah Waheed recently raised awareness about the #digitaliscritical campaign, which advocates for people to write and share online reviews for independent writers of colour.

Now, this isn’t some ironclad imperative to take to social media if that’s not your thing. Supporting the media you love can take all sorts of forms and should always be loads of fun. For example, this year I tried to make sure that half of my gifts and personal recommendations to friends and family featured diverse creators. It’s been a fun and interesting way to challenge myself to think more creatively about what the people in my life would enjoy. Just give a bit of thought to how you already share what media you love with others, and make sure that you’re including diverse media in that.

***

Obviously, there’s no perfect way to approach these issues and there are always going to be challenges. For example, authorship and representation are usually relatively easy to make note of, but there are other elements of diversity in media creation which are important too. Unseen contributors to the creative process – such as film and television writers, directors, and producers, or the staff of publishing houses – can make the process of evaluating diversity in media and transforming the landscape of the entertainment industry much more difficult.

But given the significant barriers that diverse creators face to having their work published and publicised on the same scale as white, straight, cis, and able-bodied writers, I think it’s worth our time to think about how we can show our support and play a role in improving diversity in media using the small and imperfect power that we have.

August Reading Wrap Up!

The Cursed Child, by Jack Thorne – 3.5 stars

Oh, The Cursed Child. I’m a little heartbroken that I didn’t get to spend the release day like I used to for a new Harry Potter release (buying the book at the crack of dawn, and then spending the rest of the day ploughing through it) due to silly adult responsibilities. But when I finally got to read it, I really enjoyed it. It certainly had its issues, especially in the beginning. Just after the fifty page mark I was convinced it was going to be a huge mess but, even if it wasn’t anywhere near perfect, I do think it redeemed itself. It gave us a bit more time with the characters we love and a delightful introduction to the next generation of Hogwarts. I’ll admit, I do think JKR probably needs to stop here. But I can’t get over how adorable Scorpius is, and how sweet the relationship between him and Albus is. I also need so much more Rose Granger-Weasley in my life. So, against my better judgement, my heart is very open to seeing more of these precious kids.

Following Jesus in Invaded Space, by Chris Budden – 4 stars

In this book, Chris Budden (a white Australian author) attempts to establish a ‘second people’s theology’ for the non-Indigenous church, exploring our responsibility to the Aboriginal community given our complicity in the invasion, dispossession, and oppression of Australia’s Indigenous peoples. I really appreciate the introductory feeling of this book – it retraced some familiar ground for me, in terms of discussing the social construction of our racial narratives and how racial inequality operates, but also served gave a more detailed understanding of Indigenous history and how these issues operate in an Australian church context. I thought that this could be remarkable tool for introducing a critical perspective to how people go about their lives and approach their faith – and there’s no place more appropriate to start than interrogating colonisation, which is fundamental to how many of us came to be here and defines our relationship with this country’s First Peoples. The book explained complex topics in accessible language, and laid out the foundation for further critical thought in a way that could be useful to many people and communities of faith.

Heat and Light, by Ellen Van Neerven – 3 stars

I was hoping to like this a lot more than I did, but judging by all the positive Goodreads reviews, I think that this book and I just weren’t the best match. It was mostly contemporary literary fiction with some magical realism and speculative elements. Literary fiction can be a bit of a hard sell for me so I try to be discerning with my picks, but sadly this one didn’t come through. Of the three novellas in this collection, my favourite was ‘Water’. (Which is unsurprising – I was convinced to buy this book because someone described the story as ‘Orphan Black femslash’, something that we all need more of in our lives.) A really fascinating dystopian vision of an Australian future, exploring colonisation, environmental degradation, institutional corruption, the failures of paternalistic politicians, and Indigenous resistance. I would be curious to see more from this world, or this story told in a more fleshed out way. ‘Water’ was also the most consistent story in the book, staying with the same characters the whole way through. The stories in ‘Heat’ and ‘Light’ followed a range of different characters, and it felt really fragmented to me. In ‘Heat’, I found the first character and Pearl the most compelling, and while Pearl did return in a couple of the later chapters, we also spent a lot of time with other far less interesting members of the Kresinger family. The stories in ‘Light’ were even more disconnected from each other so I found most of the stories dissatisfying, although I really enjoyed the final story. I will keep a curious eye out for more of Ellen Van Neervan’s work.

Otherbound, by Corinne Duyvis – 4 stars

Nolan and Amara share a psychic connection – whenever Nolan, who lives in our world, blinks his eyes, he is inside Amara’s head. He sees what she sees, hears all of her thoughts, and feels everything she experiences. Amara comes from a universe with magic, feuding mages and ministers, and a dethroned princess on the run. When Nolan is suddenly able to exercise greater power over Amara than ever before and his presence becomes known, the two have to work together to save each other and confront the conspiracy engulfing Amara’s world.

Before discussing this book, I have to quote my favourite review because it always makes me smile:

I think we’ve all seen those posts where some douchebro is like “not every thing needs a bisexual low-income mute woman of color who use sign language or a one-legged epileptic Latino guy”. Those examples are done in the spirit of spiteful condescension, like it would be TOTALLY RIDICULOUS to have a story like that. Which is why it gives me exceptional pleasure to say:

Go home boys, Corinne Duyvis has just pwned you all.

I think the best thing about the diversity of the main characters in this book is that it makes perfect sense in the context of their lives, and their identities are fully formed on the page. Their disabilities and racial backgrounds are not the point of the story, but it is impossible to imagine Amara and Nolan without them. And I think it’s doubly special given how ‘difference’ is often represented allegorically in speculative fiction (especially for a younger audience) – instead of having diverse characters, it is not unusual for fantasy novels to use magical creatures to explore issues of discrimination and oppression. And while this isn’t necessarily a bad thing – the potential that speculative fiction has to challenge us through such imaginative storytelling is one of my absolute favourite things about it – it also disappointingly often means that diverse social groups are not given actual representation. Other than this, Otherbound felt like a fairly conventional young adult fantasy novel. Although it didn’t quite hit the mark for me, I also couldn’t put it down. The plot was compelling, the world-building was interesting, and I really enjoyed the time I spent with Amara, Nolan, and Cilla. (But also, I need more Amara/Cilla pls & ty.)

Educating for Action: Strategies to Ignite Social Justice, edited by Jason Del Gandio and Anthony J. Nocella II – 4 stars

A primer on social justice activism and community organising. Some of the content was quite introductory – addressing the basics of things like writing, public speaking, and using social media – but I appreciated how comprehensive a guide this was for beginners. As someone with a little more experience, I don’t believe I’ve seen anything which pulls information on activism together like this before, so I think this is a really valuable and accessible resource.

Flygirl, by Sherri L. Smith – 5 stars

I fell in love with this book almost instantly. Flygirl is the incredible and moving story of a girl in Louisiana who desperately dreams of becoming a pilot. When the Women Airforce Service Pilots are established during World War 2, she sees her chance. There’s just one problem – Ida Mae Jones is black. Because she is light enough to pass as white, she makes the difficult decision to hide her racial identity while contributing to the U.S. war effort for the sake of her older brother, who is deployed in the Philippines.

The book provides a powerful and nuanced portrait of the racial issues facing young black women in U.S. society, from a range of everyday microaggressions to the significant danger Ida would face if her racial identity was discovered. It also beautifully represents her relationships with other women – her mother, and her friends at home and at the WASP. They are complex and challenging, but ultimately, these relationships are sources of comfort, strength and courage. (And speaking of Ida’s friends, I am about this close to making a shrine to Patsy, I loved her so much.)

As someone who is passionate about the empowerment of girls and young women, reading this book made my heart so full of joy and pride in Ida. She faces incredibly difficult choices and circumstances but she is hardworking and always tries to honour her commitments to both her family and her dreams, even as they pull her in different directions. Honestly, I absolutely loved this book.

The Art and Follies of Recentering

If you know me, you know I love self care and personal development. In fact, I’m kind of obsessed with it. My years with depression in my late teens taught me to cherish joy and happiness in a way that I don’t believe I would have developed otherwise, and my journey to building greater emotional health and resilience has given me essential self care tools that I will always draw on. As for the personal development side of things, I can’t really account for my obsession with always learning and growing, it’s just there. When I’m without it and feeling uninspired, I’m always deeply aware that there’s something off, that some vital part of me is just beyond reach.

Unfortunately, in all of this, I have incredible knack for planning rather than doing. I can make myself a schedule like you wouldn’t believe. Implementing it? Well, tonight I’m feeling tired and a little miserable, and would probably be better served by a rewatch of Pride and Prejudice or Harry Potter. Or worse, lying in bed and scrolling through different social media feeds in an endless loop. (At least the former can be decent self care, rather than the totally indulgent and useless nature of the latter.) And on bigger projects, I’m a chronic procrastinator. Despite knowing that I would dearly miss writing after finishing my degree, I let this blog languish for a year and a half before a certain someone got my butt in gear.

The folly of constant recentering is as simple as it is ridiculous – there is something in me that, every time I can’t quite execute a plan perfectly, wants to stop, reevaluate and start over. To give myself another chance of ‘getting it right’ – or rather, ‘getting it absolutely perfect’. And accepting that there is no ‘getting it absolutely perfect’ in life, even for something as seemingly simple as nailing down a routine, is a little frustrating. Don’t even get me started on the implications of inevitable non-perfection beyond the day to day. I live in denial of this fact. I was the child who always used the undo button in solitaire to hunt for the optimal path. I can’t help but tear our the pages of old notebooks to start over for a new purpose, no matter the destruction it causes. Despite the impossibility of it all, I would much rather just be perfect from the outset. As silly as it sounds I am not wired for accepting the messiness of growing into something imperfectly.

But in some ways, despite its foolishness, there is a small gift here. The gift of being able to pause and reevaluate – where am I going? what do I want? how am I going to get there? Of finding this process satisfying and fascinating rather than boring or irritating. That feeling of renewal and steadiness that comes when you’re planning and structuring is something that is intrinsic to my ability to be at peace with the world. And I know that becoming the person that I want to be relies on that consistent working towards my goals, even if the progress is small from week to week, even if my efforts are marked with stops and starts, even if there are some dismal failures every once in a while.

So, out of this confession, now have a promise. That I will work through my procrastination and perfectionism. That I will not dismiss even a day because I wasn’t perfect the day before. The week is not lost, and each day is a new gift that we can only cherish all on its own as an opportunity to live and to grow.

A love letter to women’s podcasts

When it comes to podcasts, I have two great loves. The first, as previously discussed, are audiodramas. The second are women’s podcasts, or to be more specific – conversational podcasts hosted by women who are good friends, discussing literally any topic that I am interested in. Self care to Feminism to Literature, I am in. The best thing about conversational podcasts is the intimacy you share with the hosts as they talk about their lives, their interests, and the things that matter to them. Over the course of a half hour or an hour every week or two, you get to be part of their conversations and build a connection with them. And these elements take on a particular significance when it comes to women’s podcasts.

Women have long been underrepresented in podcasting. Men hosted 70% of the 100 most popular podcasts in 2013. My own very quick and dirty, unscientific tally of the top 50 podcasts on the US iTunes charts found that there were 29 male-hosted podcasts (58%), 13 women-hosted podcasts (26%), and eight podcasts with mixed teams. (Dated August 4th in case any of you are particular about your data, which of course you should be.) So the picture may slowly be getting better – but still, two exclusively male-hosted podcasts for every podcast hosted exclusively by women?

It’s also important to note how women’s participate in public conversation is culturally delegitimized in multiple ways. For a start, women’s voices are often deemed irritating – either because they are too high and femininised (up talk), or too low and gravelly (vocal fry). But beyond the surface level, women’s interests and ideas are often treated as vapid and unimportant, when a similar scrutiny is not applied to men’s interests or ideas. Women with an interest in beauty or fashion are treated as vapid, but we hardly blink an eye at men who obsessively follow sport or cars. As a society, we have difficulty reconciling the idea that women who are interested in traditionally feminine pastimes can also be intellectually capable. And of course if a woman is less interested in ‘feminine’ pursuits but is successful in traditionally male fields, such as politics or science, she is either subject to insults and ridicule or assumed to be incompetent.

The beautiful thing about women’s conversational podcasts is that, despite all of this, they make space for women to be fully ourselves. The hosts talk without any regard for pandering to a male audience and make room in public space for a full representation of womanhood. A womanhood unapologetic about her views, unapologetic about the way she sounds, unapologetic about the disinterest of male listeners as she starts to talk about critical feminist theory or periods or anything in between. A womanhood that, unhampered by stifling expectations, is proud and confident and brilliant and joyous.

Whether it’s the ladies of Call Your Girlfriend refusing to apologise for the way they speak, Amanda Nelson of Get Booked rejecting criticism that the show recommends too many female authors, or Marcelle Kosman from Witch Please insisting on including their laughter on the show to celebrate women’s joy and explicitly politicising that decision – every time these women stand up for themselves, or refuse to limit or censor their content, their podcasts become a platform to simply be themselves. And in doing so, they make room for women to see themselves represented and valued in the media they consume.

It is truly hard to overemphasise the value of this in a world where women’s views are dismissed and belittled, where our voices are regularly mocked and derided. Call Your Girlfriend has received messages from women who were inspired to start their own podcasts, and promotes these podcasts on the show. Witch Please recently shared this tweet, which made my heart grow all the sizes:

@samplanett I am literally going to do a masters because of @ohwitchplease

— (((ola))) (@FoolishOla) August 3, 2016

This is the reason why women’s spaces, why women’s culture, why women’s podcasts matter. They provide a meaningful opportunity to create somewhere apart from mainstream patriarchal culture where women’s voices, perspectives, and contributions are valued and celebrated. Obviously, this is important to women and girls on an individual level – as Miss Representation reminds us, “You can’t be what you can’t see.” Representation shifts our understanding of our value and what we are capable of achieving. And as these platforms grow, they begin to shift the cultural landscape. As their reach and influence increases, women’s podcasts challenge our common cultural understanding of the importance of women’s voices and opinions, and broaden our beliefs about which perspectives and subjects are worthy of our attention.

Women changing the world? What’s not to love.

in the midst of harder days

Oh, hey there WordPress.

I know, it’s been a few weeks. Actually, I had something planned for you week before last – a more personal post than usual, but it fell apart a bit.

You see, I wanted to write a little about navigating that tricky space between looking after yourself and wanting to grow. (And you’ll get that post, eventually.) But then Tuesday turned to Wednesday, Wednesday turned to Thursday, and I realised I was in a bit of slump. Not a writing slump but, by Wednesday night, a ‘ugh, I can’t even bring myself to watch TV instead of just lying in bed’ slump.

A ‘I cannot even think about that shit right now’ slump.

A ‘oh, I think this is one of those weeks where my depressive symptoms are coming back a bit’ slump.

One of the biggest challenges I’ve had to face this year – a few years on from when I would say that I stopped continuously cycling in and out of depression – is coming to terms with what it looks like for me to be sad, as opposed to actually experiencing depressive symptoms. I feel like I’m only just starting to be able to identify my red flags for when it’s making its little rebellious comebacks. When I started getting better, I assumed that my emotional infrastructure was just fundamentally broken due to my past. For a long time that belief hid the fact that some of the symptoms I was experiencing weren’t ‘normal’ for me, were not feelings and thoughts that could coexist with my-mind-not-on-depression.

The last week, thankfully, has been a lot better. (Just incredibly busy, but when does life let up?) And for the most part, thankfully, this isn’t something I have to deal with a lot. But instead of pushing myself to try and get straight back into the thick of things and putting all sorts of expectations on myself, I’m trying to create space for myself to be at rest. To breathe. To ground myself in a peaceful but firm center. To slowly ease back into what I love, what matters to me, without allowing static goals or unyielding expectations to undermine the process of becoming exactly who I want to be.

Because for me, my goals and planning are a way forward, to cultivating and nurturing myself to grow into someone who can meaningfully live out my values and hopes for the world. Some of that is more ambitious – to work towards positive social change on the issues I deeply care about – and sometimes it looks more modest – to be joyful and at ease in my day to day life.

Although they’re pretty different, in a funny way I think that this post has inadvertently become a kinder, gentler version of the one sitting in my drafts. A few thoughts about how to love ourselves dearly and care for ourselves in the midst of harder days.

Questioning the genius

If you love a good story, and especially super satisfying spooky stories, one of the greatest gifts of the past couple of years is the emergence of narrative podcasts. One of the first and best of these is Pacific Northwest Stories’ The Black Tapes. The show is based in the Unites States, and features local radio/podcast host Alex Regan as she chronicles the unsolved supernatural-seeming mysteries documented by renowned skeptic Dr. Richard Strand. The series has been running for almost two seasons now, but something that immediately grabbed me about the show was the representation of Dr. Strand. Strand is what TV Tropes would call an Insufferable Genius. We are introduced to his character by way of a range of experts in paranormal phenomena, who all express anger at his position within their field of study. He is known for heavily criticising any research affirming the existence of the paranormal, and by extension, these particular researchers. It’s a professional grudge, but due to his characteristic derision, it also runs much deeper than that.

Now, I actually consider portrayals of the Insufferable Genius to be white male intellectual power fantasies. Not merely because these characters are usually white and usually male (especially in their most well known iterations), but because they reflect a supposed ideological commitment to developing knowledge as objective and independent of concerns of gender, race, and other forms of social stratification – but instead end up perpetuating a form of knowledge production which fundamentally centers a privileged white male perspective. Portrayals of the white male ‘Insufferable Genius’ usually rely on being condescending and dismissive towards other people who are considered intellectually inferior, and while almost all other characters will bear the brunt of this, it is women, people of colour, and other marginalised characters that will often experience a particularly potent form of disdain. White and male power fantasies can come in a number of different forms, but in contrast to say, the male power fantasy based on physical strength, the intellectual fantasy is often perceived as comparatively enlightened. We are supposed to believe that these men are superior because they use their brains rather than their (non-existent) brawn, when in reality both are used as tools of power. Both narratives are invested in and valorise exercising power over others.

You may be wondering why this critique is essentially attached to masculinity and to whiteness, why female and non-white characters could not embody the archetype just as fully or with the same problematic implications. It is impossible to untie the Insufferable Genius archetype from our historical beliefs about who is capable of being a critical and knowledgeable thinker. Both women and people of colour have historically been believed to lack the capacity for critical thought, and these beliefs were created and utilised to establish oppressive social systems and undermine claims for equality. Not only have women and people of colour been historically denied access to academic institutions, but in academia knowledge production is fundamentally shaped by white supremacy, patriarchy, and other forms of social stratification. Our understanding of objectivity and what it means to do objective research relies on believing that we can produce unbiased knowledge. Unfortunately, in a society where privileged white masculinity is the norm, we can never truly revert to a ‘default’ perspective – privilege is fundamentally ingrained in how we see the world, and unless challenged by marginalised perspectives, is almost impossible to eradicate. But in the paradigm of objectivity, marginalised perspectives are treated as inherently suspect – another bias to avoid rather than a vital challenge to a system blinkered by privilege.

To be clear though, anybody can find the Insufferable Genius emotionally compelling. In fact, I totally bought into these narratives too. (For some relevant context, I am neither white nor male.) I’ve loved House MD, BBC Sherlock, Artemis Fowl, and I’m sure many others that escape me now. I found the fantasy of putting others in their place with superior knowledge and a hint of disdain fulfilling. Especially as a nerdy girl growing up who didn’t feel like she had much going for her but her brain, but even then sometimes feeling a little insecure in her intellectual abilities. But this is precisely the point – power fantasies help us seek validation for areas in which we both feel insecurity but recognise a potential pathway to greater control over our lives. And even as someone who is deeply passionate about how popular culture can validate our feelings and support our journeys in developing identity and being empowered, I think we can acknowledge that sometimes the narratives that we internalise can be emotionally unhealthy, or even dangerous in particular circumstances. We see endless cases of disaffected men perpetuating violence, especially when denied access to something they feel they deserve as a result of privilege. And this fantasy can result in a particularly vitriolic misogyny in nerd and geek culture, where the appeal of the intellectual power fantasy is most compelling.

Now, back to The Black Tapes. In the second episode we are introduced to our first Black Tapes case. Strand keeps paranormal cases he hasn’t been able to solve yet (in case it isn’t clear, his emphasis) in black VHS cases, and his solved cases in white VHS cases. The first Black Tape is that of the Torres family who have suffered from an inexplicable and disturbing presence haunting their young son, Sebastian. We soon discover that the shadow figure that now follows Sebastian followed his father in the past. However, while Strand provides some scientific explanations for the symptoms of the problem – basically, he speculates that everyone is suffering from something he calls ‘apophenia’ (seeing connections between possibly weird but entirely unrelated events), and that the unhappy couple are externalising the problems within their marriage – but he cannot meaningfully address the problems they are facing. It’s also worth highlighting that Strand implies Sebastian’s mother, Maria, is seeing paranormal signs due to mental illness. (This is notable given that there is a long history of women’s resistance to patriarchal systems and norms being attributed to madness, with women experiencing institutionalisation as a result. Nowadays, this dynamic is often reflected in the way women’s legitimate feelings and experiences are disregarded as “crazy,” “hysterical,” etc.) When we finally meet the Torres family, Sebastian’s parents have separated over this issue, with his mother infuriated at how her concerns have been delegitimised and desperate to protect her son.

What Strand can treat as simply a frustrating intellectual dilemma, his clients are forced to live with their whole lives. Conveniently, few of his cases are like that of the Torres family – many are retrospective looks at phenomena which do not continue to occur in the lives of the survivors. The Torres family are one of the few exceptions who continue to suffer. At the end of the episode, Alex confronts Strand about his dismissive attitude:

Alex: You don’t find that a bit patronizing? To reduce their experiences, which sound frightening to them, to a bad marriage?

Strand: I never find the truth patronizing.

Alex: Okay, but, in the little time I’ve known you, I’ve heard you talk about the importance of evidence. But there’s very little evidence that they have a bad marriage.

Strand: They’re separated right now, aren’t they?

Alex: Okay. On the subject of evidence, I’ve seen four distinct cases of something strange in photographs and videos surrounding the Torres family. Also, there’s the anecdotal evidence from all three of them.

Strand: I wouldn’t call any of that evidence.

Alex: You know, you’re actually bordering on condescension at this point.

Alex goes on to observe that “I don’t think he’s being purposely smug, it’s just that he seems to have an answer for everything. And those answers are occasionally dismissive of people’s subjective experiences.” (x)

What is so notable to me about this portrayal of the Insufferable Genius archetype is that, not only is Strand challenged on his rudeness and the limitations of his methodology inside the fictional universe of The Black Tapes, but that he is also being fundamentally undermined by the format of the show. We, as an audience listening to what we recognise as a paranormal fantasy podcast, know that something is going on in this universe. Whether it’s demons, ghosts, some vast non-paranormal conspiracy, or another thing entirely – we recognise that the people we meet are telling the truth, that their stories are connected, that something is going down. So the validation that we would normally get from the portrayal of a character like Dr. Strand becomes somewhat empty. That fundamental ingredient – being right, and everybody having to put up with your bullshit because of how clever you are and how effectively you can solve the problem at hand – is taken away. And then all that is left is a total refusal to respect others or their lived experience, despite their clear trauma. All that’s left is a character who is unable to meaningfully address the evidence in front of him or recognise the weaknesses in his arguments due to an arrogant adherence to his intellectual paradigm. All that’s left is a hollow rendering of the white male intellectual power fantasy, flaws laid bare.

June Reading Wrap Up!

I thought it would be nice to include little reviews of all the books I’ve read each month on this blog. Between this and Instagram, I’m hoping to peer pressure myself into reading more consistently. It was pretty successful this month!

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, Benjamin Alire Sáenz – 5 stars

While I enjoy a lot of young adult fiction, contemporary fiction is very hit and miss for me. But I adored this book. Aristotle and Dante become friends as teenagers, and the story follows their relationship over time. The portrayal of all the characters, but especially Aristotle’s inner world, was so vividly explored and revealed so much of the pain and beauty of growing up. If you’re anything like me, prepare for waterworks in the final stretch, but this book is definitely worth it.

By sad coincidence, I finished reading this book just as the news of the Orlando shooting was breaking. Benjamin Alire Sáenz wrote a beautiful post in light of the shooting titled ‘A Safe and Sacred Space’.

Sisters In The Wilderness, Delores S. Williams – 4 stars

For the most part this book was incredible. It is one of the first books written about womanist theology, published in 1993. Delores Williams draws on the story of Hagar to explore African American women’s experiences with regard to exploitation and oppression under and after slavery, and discuss the implications of this for black women’s experiences of faith and the development of womanist theology. The most interesting part of it for me is what Williams calls a ‘survival or quality-of-life’ hermeneutic, which she contrasts to the belief of liberation theology that God is committed to, and actively bringing about, the liberation of the oppressed. It is very difficult to see God’s actions in Hagar’s story as ‘liberating’ Hagar from the oppression she faces, so Williams provides another interpretative framework which claims that God is equally concerned with ensuring the survival and quality of life of those living under oppression. She claims that God is intimately involved with black women’s struggle for survival and quality of life, especially in circumstances where securing full liberation isn’t possible at the time. I had to dock a half star because the last chapter goes in the strangest direction (I skimmed it so you don’t have to – you can and should skip the last half of the final chapter entirely), but other than that I would highly recommend it.

The Queen of Attolia (Book 2 of the Queen’s Thief Series), Megan Whalen Turner – 5 stars

This was a reread for me. I adore this series, and this book is probably my favourite of the four. I could never do it justice, but these two reviews of the series are brilliant. (I should also note that ‘Made Herself Queen’ is a reference to one of my favourite passages of this book.)

Authority (Book 2 of the Southern Reach Trilogy), Jeff Vander Meer – 3 stars

This book, like the first in the series, was pretty bonkers. I thought the thing that was fascinating was that, in the first book, you’re frustrated because you can tell that there is some logic, some underlying principle of (super)natural science governing Area X, but it’s impossible to make sense of. It’s so beyond what we can imagine that you’re left with no real key to interpret the events unfolding in front of you. In this book, while that element remains, most of the intrigue and mystery is related to Southern Reach, the agency responsible for figuring out what the hell is going in Area X, and it’s governing body, Central. Which means a good portion of the frustration you have is at fellow humans who are keeping you in the dark for goodness knows what reasons. Personally, I find stubborn humans more agitating than weirdly creepy and disturbing, so I didn’t love it quite as much as the first book. But I think my favourite elements were the unreliable and strange narration, the haphazard way the writing style went back and forth to disorientate you and create an increasing sense of unease, and the satisfying string of revelations at the end (even if we don’t get ‘answers’ as such). I enjoyed this look behind the curtain of what is going on at Southern Reach. I can’t wait get into Acceptance, the final book in the series.

Redefining Realness, Janet Mock – 4 stars

I was struck by how deeply personal and relatable this book was. Janet Mock masterfully explores how intersections of gender identity, race, and socioeconomic status come together and shape the lives of trans people, particularly young people, low income people, and women of colour. But her openness with her life, with her most painful experiences, with her flaws and mistakes, with her deepest thoughts, is what makes this book so remarkable. This book will break your heart, and then fill it to the brim with its wisdom and courage.

I also posted last week about what this book taught me about reading across difference, if you want to check it out.

Searching for Sunday, Rachel Held Evans – 4 stars

It’s funny now that I was so uncertain about reading this book this month. When I started it I was still reading Redefining Realness, and I was ambivalent about reading it because I have read very few memoirs and wasn’t sure if I liked them enough to read two at a time. But, like Redefining Realness, I was blown away by how open and deeply honest Rachel Held Evans was in this book as she takes us through her journey with the church throughout her life and reflects on her experiences. While she challenges the church and the traditions she was brought up with, she also challenges herself and doesn’t hesitate to share her doubts, her fears, her mistakes, and her pain. She also shows a deep love for the church, its traditions and community, despite recognising its flaws. Rachel also begins a chapter with a quote from one of my (many) favourite Taylor Swift songs, which is always a reliable way to endear yourself to me.

So I might be learning to love memoir. Which is a wonderful thing because I’ve got a couple more eagerly waiting their turn on my shelves.