welcome to the azalea garden!

Now that I’ve gotten this written, I’ll be trying to write about what I read throughout the month instead of pulling my thoughts together once the month is over.

March was a good reading month! One of the books I read sucked pretty bad but I’m glad it exists and didn’t consider it a waste of time. There was, unfortunately, a bad poetry collection; I kept expecting to find something in it that justified the accolades the poet received, but I reached the end and every last poem was just… not good. But aside from that? No complaints.

In total, I read eight books: We by Yevgeny Zamyatin, translated by Clarence Brown; Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz; […]: Poems by Fady Joudah; I Was a Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones; The Color Purple by Alice Walker; Pieces of Me by Kaye McLaughlin; Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors by Jenny Nimmo; and Forest of Noise by Mosab Abu Toha.

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We was spectacular. Even in otherwise competent dystopian fiction, the most difficult thing to be sold on, in my opinion, is a protagonist that begins the story with an understanding the oppressive nature of the society they live in or comes to understand it over the course of the story and thus behave in a way defiant to the state—it’s not inherently unrealistic, but often an author can’t simultaneously convince me of a character’s understanding of the reality of the dystopia and others’ willingness to fully buy into it. The question is always either “why is everyone else totally sold on this?” or “how did this character specifically come to break free from the indoctrination inflicted on them from birth?”; even if I can remain engaged and entertained overall, one of those questions is always present.

We doesn’t have that problem. From the start, the OneState is clearly a highly oppressive, inhumane, dystopian state, but it doesn’t take long to understand why D-503, the protagonist, and the other Numbers—citizens are not people, but numbers, because mathematics is clean, consistent, and reliable and humanity is inconsistent unless rigidly structured and imperfect—understand it to be utopian. Predictability guarantees safety and stability; a lack of privacy prevents anyone from keeping secrets that could endanger others, themselves, and/or society; state-mandated healthy habits and strict timetables maximize efficiency, and efficiency is the most important thing for the greater good of everyone; and so on. Possessing imagination is an illness because it threatens the efficiency, rationality, and consistency that makes the OneState a near-perfect utopia, and thus should be cured. As I read, I became so entrenched in D-503’s mind and character that I lost the ability to instantly identify awful, oppressive laws, regulations, etc as such; at a point, much of the OneState’s control over its citizens seemed not just appealing, but necessary to keep society functioning optimally. At several points, I cringed at D-503’s secretiveness and refusal to adhere to certain laws for a time before it occurred to me a moment later that the laws he, for a time, didn’t abide by were indefensible under any circumstances. And even while I wasn’t sold on the necessity of the illegitimate “election,” I understood the appeal of it.

And the ending? I don’t say this lightly: the ending was, in every way, perfect. I’m not sure yet, but this might become one of my favorite books of all time.

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Postcolonial Love Poem is… a difficult one to talk about. So I won’t, really. It resonates deeply with me, just as When My Brother Was an Aztec does, and feels a little too personally to detail my thoughts about it much. You know?

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[…]: Poems was an incredible read. Joudah’s choice of words consistently creates a rich picture of whatever he’s describing, and masterfully evokes emotion. Not to mention the beauty in the phrasing overall. I also have nothing but respect and admiration for Palestinian artists and writers with the courage to publicly put out works about their own experiences being Palestinian and/or the horrors of the genocide that Palestinians are being subjected to, and have been subjected to since long before 7 October 2023. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be so close to the horrors that inspired each poem in this collection, and I wish the beauty in every word could have been spent on a different subject—not because he shouldn’t be detailing Palestinian suffering, but because the Palestinian suffering he details should never have happened and shouldn’t continue happening.

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I Was a Teenage Slasher made me wish I liked slashers. I read it because The Only Good Indians is one of my favorite books, and I’d like to read everything Stephen Graham Jones has to offer. I get why people like slashers, especially since my dad loves them and tried to get me to like them based on my love of horror (slashers aren’t horror, if you ask me; violence and gore do not alone make horror), but they’re not for me. My love of violent, gory media doesn’t extend to cases where it feels pointless, excessive, or for shock value; and honestly, in cases where it feels like one or more of those things, I’m not able to feel anything but boredom. Maybe this speaks to a degree of desensitization but even the most grotesque displays of gore and violence evoke nothing from me if it feels meaningless or unearned (not as in victims deserving it, but in whether the narrative “earned” such extensive or detailed brutality), or if I get the sense it’s meant to shock me. All that to say, the slasher genre is as absolutely not for me as anything can get. And I’m cool with that, not everything exists for me and there’s plenty out there that is for me, but by god did this book make me wish I liked slashers.

It was fun from start to finish. There were lots of references to slasher tropes and “rules” applicable to the characters who do the slashing that went over my head, but I enjoyed it regardless. It was a creative, interesting take on a genre the author clearly loves, and every scene took itself only as seriously as it needed to, which kept the tone exactly perfect. Until around the 80% mark, I had a difficult time getting through it despite my enjoyment due to my disinterest in the genre. But the final 15-20% is the most important and impactful part, so fortunately it flowed quickly and easily for me. And I’m so, so glad I was able to get into the end so well, because it was wonderful. Stephen Graham Jones appears to be, based on what I’ve read thus far, incredibly good at concluding a story. It was wonderful. And little takes me out of a story that’s meant to be typed/written directly from the narrator when it’s told the way I Was a Teenage Slasher is but it didn’t bother me. In any other book I would’ve absolutely despised how the ending is executed, but it worked so well for me. It’s so fucking good.

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The Color Purple was phenomenal and enthralling. I love historical fiction when it’s good, and especially when it’s not white. I enjoyed Walker’s choice to write it as an epistolary, with Celie’s writing style reflecting her degree of education and way of speaking; it’s all the more immersive for it, and brought me as close to Celie and her mentality as possible. From the start, it was clear why it’s considered a modern classic and an essential read, and I regret not having read it sooner—but as far as clear, complete compilations of thoughts regarding it and its importance go, there are a million people who could make one better.

Unfortunately, it’s not a book that I feel right giving it a star rating, so I haven’t. I hate nothing more than an epistolary that contains too many direct quotes in it, because it shatters my immersion fully. Conversations written in such a way that I can believe someone would realistically write it out with estimations of what was said are perfectly fine, I don’t mind that at all, but when it comes to long conversations or needlessly long quotations, I can’t fucking stand it. It pisses me off so bad. You think I can read all that as a character’s own writing when it no longer resembles the way people retell events and interactions? The end of The Color Purple, for some reason, is very quote-heavy and conversation-heavy, and while it was otherwise a wonderful ending, I couldn’t properly enjoy it. You know, on account of the immersion being fully broken.

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Pieces of Me sucked pretty bad, but less than most depictions of DID I’ve seen in media, and as someone with DID, I’m overall glad it exists. However, the author references in the text and shouts out as a helpful resource a YouTuber with a long history of abusing others; her victims’ testimonies unambiguously demonstrate that her ideal targets are those her fans (and so predisposed to want to trust her and inclined to overlook red flags) and both have DID and experiencing significant mental health issues (and so especially vulnerable; having DID and being in the midst of severe mental/emotional distress both make a person highly vulnerable, and she preferred both of these things in her victims). This abuse says nothing of the horrendous details—ie., using her reputation/status to coerce others to share their childhood trauma with her, then weaving their experiences into her own reported trauma history—nor the laundry list of awful things she’s guilty of aside from abuse. McLaughlin, however, references the controversy around her as if it’s solely speculation about whether she truly has DID, which is highly irresponsible. To write a book about DID, the life-altering nature of childhood trauma, and the importance of victims having space to tell their stories and seek justice, and in any way endorse an abuser undercuts the message a bit, especially when the abuser in question took advantage of her victims’ DID and histories of childhood trauma to abuse them.

But my thoughts on the contents of the book are here.

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Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors is the fourth volume in the Children of the Red King series, which I decided to reread of last year for nostalgia reasons, but for some reason just… did not follow through? No clue why not. I’m having a lot of fun with it. It’s certainly better for children than Harry Potter by a landslide. It isn’t perfect but it’s much better than could apparently be expected from an English children’s author in the early 2000s.

The Red King all endowed (magically gifted) children are descended from was African, and this isn’t treated as shocking or strange; he was an African man who, through his travels, ended up on the present-day British Isles centuries ago. His descendants are all over the world, and there are schools for them worldwide; the details aren’t expanded on heavily, but there seems to be at least one school per country, and likely more depending on country size. This is far better than, say, a handful of impossibly large schools with Google Translated names that are placed illogically and without with no regard for the the geopolitics of the regions they’re in. (And when one boy remarks that one of the foreign school headmasters, a man in a turban, doesn’t look like a real headmaster, his friend is quick to point out that headmasters in other countries might look different from British ones.)

Characters of color have regular names and are just people. Poverty exists beyond set dressing; Charlie’s mother can’t come up with extra money if needed, and is apologetic that she can’t afford to move herself, her mother, and Charlie into a home of their own, meaning they’re beholden to Charlie’s much wealthier paternal grandmother who houses them and treats them poorly. Albinism isn’t treated as the cool, fascinating thing children (and many adults) without it often think it is; the boy who has it gets bullied for it and is therefore insecure about his appearance (ie., wondering if the reason he hasn’t been adopted is because no parents want/could love an albino child); he is also visually impaired due to his albinism, and his glasses improve his vision but don’t “correct” it. Children are not put in positions where they need to look after the welfare of trusted adults (ie., moderating alcohol intake). Children (and many adults) who aren’t orphans and aren’t(/were never) in the foster care system often have odd views of and ideas about orphans, but this series weaves the the orphaned character’s unfortunate backstory with the evils of the man, and by extension the school, that has custody of him in a way that feels grounded (unlike how orphans in other children’s media feel); his parents died in an accident, and while he had family who desperately wanted him after the fact, the family with control over him signed him over to the school’s headmaster, and his desire for parental love is frequently used to manipulate him. Both of my parents are alive and I have no experience with the foster care system in any country, so I can’t speak to whether it’s a fully sensitive and mindful portrayal, but it’s far more sensitive and mindful than what I’m used to encountering.

And even all of that—and more that I’m certain I must be forgetting—aside, it’s a solid series for helping children learn about and explore compassion and empathy. The text clearly connects characters’ actions/behaviors with how they’re feeling, and there are several minor interpersonal conflicts between friends that demonstrate these things are normal, and offer clear, direct things to say in order to resolve them (ie., apologizing specifically: “I’m sorry I got mad at you/snapped/acted like [xyz]/etc”). I also appreciate that, while hurting others isn’t nice and you shouldn’t go around doing it, self-defense is okay if you can’t immediately go to a trusted adult. I’m so sick of children’s media that presents going to trusted adults as always a viable option and fighting back against bullies rather than going to a trusted adult as always the wrong thing to do. Kids should be told they aren’t bad for defending themselves in situations they can’t leave, or in situations where they don’t have trusted adults who can help them.

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Forest of Noise isn’t good at all. But please refer back to what I said previously about my admiration for Palestinians artists and writers putting out works related to the unfathomable suffering Palestinians have been subjected to since the unjust and entirely morally bankrupt establishment of the state of “Israel.” This extends to works that suck.