Homegoing is family epic by Ghanaian-American author Yaa Gyasi. It follows the descendants of two half-sisters in Ghana in the 18th century: One, Effia, marries a British governor there. The other, Esi, is captured in raids and sold into slavery in America by that same governor. Gyasi's novel traces the story of their family from there. 

As I'm sure you can imagine just by the novel's description, Homegoing is a heavy book. It's not long--only 300 pages--but the subjects it deals with are dark. Homegoing shines a very personal, intimate light on historical atrocities and it is unflinching in the stark reality of those things. However, it is not sensationalist--the things that happen, particularly to Esi's family, are shocking, but not because Gyasi is playing a gotcha game with the reader, simply because we know these things really happened. This isn't a story about real people, but it is true, in that sense--these things did happen, to generations of people. 

Each chapter is a generation of the family--chapter 1 is Effia's story about marrying the governor, chapter 2 is Esi's story about her capture and imprisonment, chapter 3 is the story of Effia's son Quey, etc.--which allows Gyasi to span centuries of history, shining a light both on the development of Ghana first as it is brought under the yoke of colonialism, through its fight for independence, to regaining its sovereignty; as well as the struggle of Black Americans first against slavery and then on the successive attempts to maintain racism in the state: Jim Crow, chain gangs, the war on drugs. 

While there is great suffering in Homegoing, Gyasi also shows, I think, that joy exists even in the worst times. Even the hardest-suffering of Gyasi's characters still have hopes and dreams; they still fall in love; they still have inside jokes with friends; they still dance and sing and teach children to walk and try to preserve the memories of their loved ones. Homegoing documents an almost unfathomable amount of hardship, but it also knows that life will always try to find a way.

The novel is obviously very well-researched. Gyasi has put a lot of effort into a holistic understanding of both Ghanaian and American history and it shows.  

Although we don't get long with most of the characters, each of them stands out as distinct from one another. Gyasi does a wonderful job of showing their own mindsets, opinions, virtues and vices, relationships with their family and their history, and how that intersects with that character's particular struggle. 

Really a very well-done book. I know I'm going to be thinking about this one for a long time, and I think it has undoubtedly earned its place on the various recommendation lists where it sits. If you are squeamish about the subject material, or not someone who usually goes for books that deal with such heavy issues, I would strongly suggest giving this one a try anyway. It matters that we remember not only that these things were wrong, but why they were wrong, and Gyasi shows that here in vivid detail. It's really worth the read.

Brahma's Dream by Shree Ghatage was a book I snatched out of a pile of stuff my sister was giving away last year, but she'd never gotten around to reading it herself, so she couldn't give me a preview. Brahma's Dream is set in India just before it gains self-rule, and concerns the family of Mohini, a child whose serious illness dominates her life.

This is one of those middle-of-the-road books that was neither amazingly good nor offensively bad, and therefore I struggle to come up with much to say about it. That makes it sound bad, but it isn't--I enjoyed my time with it. I thought Ghatage did a good job with exploring life on the precipice of great political change, although the history and politics of 1940s India is more backdrop to the family drama than central to the story. I liked Mohini and her family; because the nature of her illness necessitates a lot of rest and down time, Mohini is naturally a thoughtful child, as her thoughts are sometimes all she has to amuse herself. However, she never crosses the line into being precocious, which was a relief.

Neither did I feel like the book leaned too hard on Mohini's illness to elicit sentimentality from the reader. Obviously, an illness like hers is the biggest influence on her life, and on the lives of her immediate family, and there are many moments you sympathize with her because she can't just be a child the way she wants to be, but I didn't feel like Ghatage was plucking heartstrings just for the sake of it.

Reading the relationships between Mohini and her family was heartwarming, especially with her grandfather, who takes great joy in Mohini's intellect and is often there to discuss the import of various societal events with her. 

Ghatage's descriptive writing really brings to life the India of the time, with the colors, smells, sounds, and sights that are a part of Mohini's every day.

It reminded me of another book I read about a significant event in Indian history (the separation of India and Pakistan) told through the perspective of a young ill girl, Cracking India. 

On the whole, this was a sweet, heartfelt book. It's not heavy on plot, but if you enjoy watching the story of a family unfold and the little dramas that play out, it's enjoyable.

I picked this out of the free book box and October seemed like a good time to buckle down with a gruesome murder mystery, so I started into Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn (if you recognize her name, it's probably because she also wrote Gone Girl). This book is about a newspaper reporter, Camille, who returns to her tiny, rural Midwest hometown of Wind Gap to investigate a missing girl.

What to say about this one? I'm struggling. It wasn't great, it wasn't terrible. I was engaged enough to finish it, but I also dropped it back in the free book box right after finishing it. I don't feel like I wasted my time, but I also don't feel inspired to read more of Flynn's work.

The book definitely goes hard on portraying women with capital I Issues, as well as the effects of generational trauma, be it from bad parenting, mental health problems, or misogyny. The toxicity of life in a small town is also a strong element, and the claustrophobia the protagonist Camille feels being back there, seeing all these teenage girls who seem doomed to follow the same dour, unhappy paths their predecessors did. The misery that these unhappy girls and women inflict on each other, perhaps in absence of a healthier outlet, also features prominently and heartbreakingly.

Camille herself I didn't care for. She's aggravatingly passive for most of the book and her own emotional distance (as well as perhaps the writing) keep the reader at arms' length from everything that's happening. Hated her love interest too; exactly the kind of arrogant, presumptuous type I can't stand. I kept hoping she'd tell him to fuck off, but regrettably she found him charming.

Flynn's writing style was fine, although I didn't always love her choppy sentences.

The crimes in the book are quite dark, but held up against the smaller instances of violence, physical and emotional, being perpetrated in this small town day after day, the reader is left to wonder how much difference there really is between them. 

Flynn shows well how the toxicity of Wind Gap impacted Camille, but I felt that not enough attention was paid to Amma, and why she alone among the family turned to such glee over violence and cruelty as an outlet for her trauma. This is one colossally fucked-up 13-year-old and I think the narrative would have benefited from more time in her head. 

On the whole: idk. It was fine? Flynn obviously had things to say about life as a girl in a small town, and I think she said a lot of that effectively, but as for the enjoyability of the book? Eh.

Minor spoilers below for One Dark Window by Rachel Gillig

I didn't pick this book up so much as had it breathlessly thrust into my arms (along with the sequel) by a dear friend who I couldn't disappoint by refusing. I swore to give it a real chance, despite the fact that she and I frequently disagree about what is quality writing, and initially I was able to sink into the conceits of the story. I enjoyed the Nightmare and his relationship with Elspeth (although I suspected I would be disappointed that he did not end up being the love interest, and I was right about that), the general mystery of Blunder, and the way even the characters themselves seem to know little about how the magic of their world works.

The initial set-up chapters were the most enjoyable; once the real plot reared its head, the book started falling apart for me.

A significant part of that is the romance, which had me rolling my eyes at various points. You could make a drinking game out of how often Raven--sorry, Ravyn--is referred to as "the captain of the destriers" instead of his name. I don't mind that Elspeth and Ravyn's romance is telegraphed early and clear--sometimes you're into someone from the get-go--but as a love interest, Ravyn is a surly, controlling killjoy who believes he has the right to demand other people behave the way he wants them to. He intentionally keeps information from Elspeth and then gets angry with her for acting without that knowledge. Then again, maybe they fit, since they both seem to immediately dislike most other people around them.

The book wants Ravyn to be sexy with his competency and knowledge, but he often comes off as infuriatingly patronizing and Elspeth embarrassingly infantile. The hissy fit she throws when he doesn't want to pretend to be courting her was cringe-inducing. Girl maybe it's just not about you, a woman this guy has known for less than 48 hours.

The writing itself quickly becomes repetitive, and the author lives in terror we might forget a single character's eye color. The rhymes which begin each chapter get old, as they themselves are internally repetitive, and not very clever.

None of the characters are ever allowed to do anything embarrassing, because that might render them marginally less sexy. Elspeth is, as are so many female main characters in romance novels, a klutz, which gives her plenty of opportunity to be cutely embarrassed over absolutely nothing without doing anything that might actually be embarrassing. 

Blunder is a mishmash of European cultures and time periods without taking clear inspiration from any of them, which I could almost let pass, except that at any of the times which lend inspiration to Blunder, Elspeth would have scandalized by repeatedly and openly spending time alone with single adult men and no chaperone. The book clearly takes vibes inspiration only.

At the halfway mark where I ended my journey through Blunder, our little gaggle of card thieves does not seem particularly competent, and I can't say I have any interest in how their adventures resolve. I'll have to tell my friend they're just not for me.

In case I haven't worn you all out nattering about Earthsea yet, here's some more. On Friday when I finished the Cycle I went online, as one does, and discovered that last year there was published a graphic novel edition of A Wizard of Earthsea, the first book in the series. So naturally this weekend I had to run out and buy it and read it all at once. The art was done by Fred Fordham and the project was overseen by Le Guin's son, Theo (she having passed away in 2018). 

Theo, like Le Guin herself, was trepidatious about any visual representation of Earthsea, after decades of white character designs; white, middle-aged actors; and general tom-fuckery when it comes to representing Le Guin's work. It wasn't until Theo saw Fordham's work in To Kill a Mockingbird that he first considered it might be worthwhile to consider a graphic novel adaptation of his mother's work, and so here we are.

Fordham appears to have been the right man for the job--this graphic novel edition of A Wizard of Earthsea captures the characters as Le Guin may have envisioned them when she wrote. Theo in his forward acknowledges that one of the beautiful things about how the characters are described in Le Guin's work--enough to give an idea of their appearance, but also vague enough that readers can all use their own imaginations to some degree--becomes limited when creating an "official" visual representation of those characters. So he considers Fordham's designs just one of many possible looks for these characters, but one that cleaves to his mother's original descriptions. 

His expressions neatly capture the shift in Ged's attitude over his schooling at Roke, from the proud, angry boy who first arrives to the sobered, haunted young man who departs.

Nearly all of the wording in the book is lifted directly from the original novel, which means Le Guin's original hard-hitting dialogue and beautiful descriptions of Earthsea survive to accompany Fordham's gorgeous scenic illustrations. He really captures the moody atmosphere of some of the book's darker moments, while also creating some truly stunning vistas of the ocean, which of course is a considerable part of the world for the characters of Earthsea (who live in an archipelago). I particularly enjoyed some of the rainy scenes--felt just like home here in the PNW!

He also does a great job making Ged and the Lookfar feel small on some of Ged's journeys. Looking at it some of these full-page spreads, you really feel that Ged is just one young wizard on his own in a vast and unknowable world. 

If I had any issues, it's only that some of the palettes run quite dark, so that a few panels can be almost impossible to distinguish unless you're looking at the book directly under a light source, and that there is some occasional visual awkwardness (not sure how to describe this--maybe Fordham used a 3D rendering tool and it shows?)

Overall, I was delighted with this, and I really hope Fordham and Theo press on to do Tombs of Atuan as well--I would love to see Tenar and Atuan rendered as well!