Tag: Book

REVIEW: Michelle Zauner in Conversation

Sappy Leave a comment

Michelle Zauner’s last stop for her book tour was yesterday night at the Michigan Theater. I arrived an hour early for the event, but the line was already so long that I couldn’t get a front-row seat… understandable because the tickets sold out within a week.

Michelle was interviewed by one of the University’s professors, Kiley Reid, and they touched on a variety of topics such as how the cover of Crying in H Mart was designed, how her book came to be published, what kind of scenes she wishes she could’ve included, and many more. I can’t capture all the details of their conversation, but here’s a quick summary of how Crying in H Mart came to be:

After her mother died, she found a ‘real’ job in New York advertising wallpapers. During that time Michelle found herself deeply engrossed in cooking Korean food. This experience inspired her to write an essay that she submitted to thousands of agencies. It was only after a year of rejections that an agent reached out to her, which was also around the same time her band, Japanese Breakfast, began to grow popular.

She prioritized her music career, but as she traveled around the world she strived to write 1,000 words a day during plane rides or as she waited backstage. Most of the book was written during her world tour for Japanese Breakfast. After reading her first draft, though, Michelle realized that her writing was so full of anger: anger at every person and anger at all her experiences, which wasn’t the kind of memoir Michelle wanted to write. Once she reached her last destination in South Korea however, the place where her mother grew up, she learned that there was more to write about outside her grief, and after continuously cutting down, editing, and revising her work, she had her final product: the first chapter titled Crying in H Mart.

After her interview with Kiley, there was also a Q&A session. Many people asked Michelle for advice on how to connect with their culture and progress their careers as a writer. She advised people to continuously interact with aspects of their heritage, whether it be learning history, taking language classes, or cooking food until it becomes a part of them. She also emphasized that to be a good writer, you have to write a lot of shit.

Overall, it was a super inspirational experience. It was also the first time I met an author, and Michelle was so humorous and down to earth. I initially thought the event would be a serious discussion due to the topic of the memoir, but it turned out to have a light-hearted atmosphere. There will also be a movie adaptation of the book!

I can’t wait to see what Michelle has planned for us in the future.

PREVIEW: Michelle Zauner in Conversation

Sappy Leave a comment

The author of the 2021 American Book Award, Crying in H Mart, is coming to the Michigan theater on April 23rd, Sunday, at 7:00 PM. There will be pre-signed books with potential personalized signatures as well as a speech about the background of her memoir. Michelle Zauner wrote about her experience growing up as a Korean American, specifically focusing on her tumultuous relationship with her mother.

I highly recommend reading this book. It was the first book I read as a college student and a game-changer in my journey as both a reader and writer. Her expression of emotion and vulnerability regarding culture, food, and family had me crying toward the end. It also is the first memoir I read that inspired a whole new genre for me to explore in my own writing.

Although I first learned of Michelle Zauner through Crying in H Mart, she’s also famous as the lead vocalist for a band named Japanese Breakfast that creates alternative pop songs. In fact, before she was an author, she made a living off of music.

Since many of this event’s tickets have been sold out, it may be difficult to attend. However, I’ll do my best in writing a thorough review to give others the same learning experience!

UPDATE: DUE TO SEVERE WEATHER CONDITIONS, MICHELLE ZAUNER MOVED THIS EVENT FROM APRIL 5th TO APRIL 23rd.

REVIEW: The Hurting Kind By Ada Limón

Sabrina Kliza Leave a comment

 

Poetry is for people who see the human in the inhuman. Poets can look at a wheelbarrow and see a meaning beyond hauling dirt and bricks. They see the memories, the origin of such an object, and something deeper that I can’t name. The Hurting Kind by Ada Limon is a prime example of this phenomenon.

As peak reading season approaches with rainy, cool days and changing leaves, I headed to the Ann Arbor District Library. Poetry drew me towards it because I knew the books tended to be short and sweet and mid semester I needed the satisfaction of completing something. The title, The Hurting Kind, seemed like the perfect mix of melancholy and deep that fits poetry so well and the author has gathered some acclaim at least from the short blurb that I read. 

However, I must admit I’ve never read a poetry book before. I found myself speeding through the book at my normal speed. It seemed wrong. After years of spending an entire class period on a poem and sometimes two classes, I felt like I shouldn’t just be flipping through the pages to reach the end. The more I read, the more I realized that the gift of a poetry book is that you’re able to pick the poems that resonate with you. You don’t have to tread the ones with top shelf names. 

The book is sectioned into the seasons with Spring as the start and Winter as the end. Each one has a subtle different feeling even if the season isn’t explicitly mentioned in the poem. My favorite poems come from spring. One of which is the Good Story. In the Good Story, Limon notices how she loved to hear the bad stories about the rough times her grandfather went through. However, once the days became bad, even the stories of overcoming were no comfort. She craved the stories about human kindness. She mentions one about her grandfather. After a breakup, her grandfather gave her a small pizza and watched her eat it in small pieces until she stopped crying. In the end, she decides that “maybe she was just hungry.”

The hope and familial connection drew me to feel something with this poem which may show my lack of poetry experience. Later in the book, Ada mentions the cliche of grandparent poems. Yet, she calls out her grandmother right after in the namesake poem the Hurting Kind. I think this shows a true sense of voice and the fearlessness to say something that may have been said before but that should continue to be said. Overall, I would recommend the Hurting Kind because it would not be the kind of book to hurt to read.

REVIEW: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

Madison Krumins 3 Comments

“…it is sad, of course, to forget.
But it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten.
To remember when no one else does.” 

Adeline LaRue, a young girl in 18th century France, makes a deal with the devil. Or, something like the devil. She’s given the chance to live and be free–but with all dark deals, there is a catch, and that is that she will live until she wants to give up her soul, but that no one can ever remember her, and in this way she walks through the memory of the world as invisible. She cannot say her name, she cannot write, she cannot create or break things. Until, three hundred years later, someone remembers her. 

I’m surprised at the speed with which I devoured this book. I felt like everywhere I turned I was hearing about this novel–from the internet, from friends, from the UofM Honors Reads program that’s scheduled a discussion of the book for early March. Wanting to get a head start for the Honors Reads session, I picked up the book early. I had not predicted that I would be done with the ~450 page sucker in the matter of a few days.

I didn’t want to like this book as much as I did. The books I tend to gravitate towards are typically dark and almost pretentiously intellectual–think Donna Tartt’s The Secret History or Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go. This bestseller, while still possessing some dark and gothic elements, in tone was relatively fluffy and light-hearted. It still managed to captivate me. 

V.E. Schwab has spun a tale that reads smoothly and effortlessly, though at times the pace is slow and repetitive–a flow fitting for the world of our spirited, immortal heroine Addie.

If you’re like me and romance in books has never really struck your fancy, you may find yourself frustrated with the love story of the novel. Beginning the book, I was intrigued to discover how Addie would choose to handle her curse, and was a little disappointed when the story shifted more than I had hoped into a somewhat cliché love triangle trope (albeit with some interesting twists). However, even I was able to set aside my cynicism and enjoy how love and connection mattered in the life of a girl cursed to never experience any.

Despite the heterosexual romance, the representation of bi, pan, and queer characters in the book was, as NPR’s Caitlyn Paxson describes, “refreshingly casual for fiction.” I also appreciated the use of art to weave together the story of Addie LaRue throughout each of the book’s sections.

If not just a fun and entertaining read that I was begrudgingly sucked into for a few days, this book did cause me to think about the idea of living forever with the curse Addie carried. How would I spend my time if I had as much of it as I wanted? In the end, I realized my answer was still relevant to the finite time we all have living now. No matter how many limited or unlimited years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds we get: it’s not as much about how much time we get, but instead how we choose to savor every bit of it.

3.5/5 stars

REVIEW: New Waves

Kellie M. Beck Leave a comment

Lucas, the main character in Kevin Nguyen’s novel that released early last month, “New Waves”, is a twenty-something, unambitious, mess. Working as the sole customer support representative at tech start-up Nimbus, Lucas and his closest friend Margo, an engineer at the firm, spend the majority of their time outside of working drinking at mediocre bars and complaining about work. When Margo is fired from the company for her lack of “team morale”, Lucas and her hatch a plan to get back at the company by stealing all of their username information.

But what happens when the friend you commit a federal crime against your previous employer with is hit by a car? Lucas is left to pick up the pieces, and as he takes on a job at a competing tech firm, Phantom, curiosity gets the better of him. But diving into Margo’s history and search history leaves Lucas with more questions than answers about the person he thought was his best friend. Nguyen navigates with dexterity Lucas’ grief and the fallout of loss while leading readers down a mysterious trail into Margo’s past.

Lucas is not exactly the kind of character a reader is used to rooting for. He is lazy, messy, and at times cruel. He has no real dreams he is pursuing. He only moved to New York City to escape working at his parents’ bed and breakfast back home in Oregon. His only real friend is Margo, and even the details and seriousness of their relationship is shrouded with a certain apathy. It’s unclear whether or not their friendship continues because of genuine connection, or pure convenience. After her passing, and a handful of discoveries, Lucas admits he was in love with Margo, “but what if I could love someone and not want to f*** them?”. This is where Nguyen falters.

The admittance comes a little over halfway through the novel. In some ways, it’s incredibly satisfying. From the beginning of my reading of the novel, I wondered if the matter would be addressed. While I was glad to get an answer, the minute I had it I realized I would’ve been better off without it. Lucas’ love for Margo is most interesting when it exists as a Schrodinger’s cat; it both exists and does not exist until this moment, and the novel is better off without Nguyen’s direct address of it. By doing so, Nguyen reveals the primary issue with his novel; it lacks any form of internal engine. Anything interesting in the novel conveniently happens to the characters, as opposed to any action happening based on the choices the characters make. And while it is engrossing initially to see Lucas flounder after the death of his beloved friend, it is apparent fairly early on that the character is aimlessly wandering through life, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. While Lucas does grow somewhat of a spine through the course of the book, it misses the mark for me. My desire for Lucas to grow, to change, to try is never fully met, despite what appears to be Nguyen’s careful cultivation of this feeling in readers.

“New Waves” is far from bad. Nguyen’s writing is admirable, and his form and integration of technology hit a mark that many “modern” books fail to do.  But at the end of the day, “New Waves” is a story about a whole lot of things happening to someone who doesn’t care enough to let it alter their outlook on life.

REVIEW: The Goldfinch

Fareah Fysudeen Leave a comment

I fell in love with The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt this summer. I’ve said this many times after reading her first and cult favorite novel, The Secret History: that I am convinced Donna Tartt is the best novelist of our time, if not only my favorite. The intricacy of her genius is mind-blowing. The Goldfinch has every Fareah-esque theme a book could possibly have: large, sprawling, ambitious plots, a character we see grow and mature and break, glittering prose, an attention to the everyday, philosophical underpinnings, an incredible (!) best friend figure, unrequited love (not essential, but definitely a perk). I love The Goldfinch so much. I’ve reread some of the passages religiously. 

The story follows Theo, a bright and thoughtful young boy who loses his mother to an attack in an art museum in New York City. In his fervor, he takes a painting with him: Fabritius’ The Goldfinch. We follow him throughout his life, the secret possession of this painting threading its way through every milestone. The story is about a lot of things: love for objects, for art, for people; a search for meaning and value, and sometimes the crushing absence of meaning and value. It is a stirring and riveting story.

The narrative of the book is inexplicably tied with words, with prose, with life given form by language. It’s essentially part of the logic of the story, the central thrumming aesthetic question. Without the craft of language, the narrative seems lacking. I used to be a book purist– someone who believed that books were always better than their movie counterparts. I don’t believe this anymore, because I think that movies and books are two essentially different modes of storytelling, and so a movie adaption must be judged differently than the book. This being said, however, my heart still flinches at the injustice inflicted upon many a good book by horrific and painfully bad movie adaptations. The fact that The Goldfinch relied on language as an essential part of the structure of the narrative and in the history of Hollywood movies with bestsellers, I was incredibly weary of the film adaption. This, I believed, was one of the kinds of stories that movies could not capture. 

I went to the film with my friend who had not read the book. It was a nearly three-hour movie, dense and rich with images and motivations, trying too hard to encapsulate the plot of intricately woven nearly thousand-page novel. It is almost adorably endearing to me that any filmmaker would even attempt to grapple with the magnitude of this novel. It’s uncontainable! I wonder how Donna Tartt does it herself! Three hours is not enough! The psychologies of the characters are too complex, the relationship too deep, the philosophical underpinnings too expansive to capture in the form of film. Perhaps it is unfair of me to say this, and perhaps I am being unfair to the form itself, but they were much too ambitious. I think the film would have worked much better if they had focused on a particular aspect of Theo’s life and developed that carefully rather than trying to explain his relationship with Pippa, and Boris, and Hobie, and Mrs. Barbour, and Kitsey, and drugs, and artwork, and depression, etc etc. Choose one! You don’t have enough time!

Thus, in my opinion, the movie feels like a dilution of plot points, racing to the end. I cannot imagine the movie being successful as a standalone; without the book, it withers. Moreover, the images feel artificial to me, too constructed, and obviously symbolic– all in the varnish of a blockbuster-type style with oversaturated gray skies and all-brown and gray tones. I’m not entirely sure how to explain this, probably because I don’t have the proper film vocabulary, but it felt to me like the images were trying too hard to mean something. I would have liked it to all be scaled back, broken down into the elements of its true nature; not glamorized and made larger-than-life. I felt like I was watching a fantasy, like Harry Potter– and this was, intuitively, the wrong feeling for the story. 

My friend, who had not read the book, loved the movie very much, so perhaps this review is irrevocably restrained by my opinion. However, I did love that the movie reminded me more of my love for the book; when I got home, I sat down on the floor of my apartment with our dim lights while my roommates slept and re-read my favorite passages. If it could do that– spark joy and love, and remind me of what I loved– I am still grateful.