REVIEWING CONTEMPORARY ANGLOPHONE FICTION

AND NONFICTION

Sara Martín (ed.)

Reviewing Contemporary Anglophone

Fiction and Nonfiction

Sara Martín (ed.)

FIRST EDITION 2024-2025

Contents

Preface: An Experiment in Teaching

1990. Holy Wood Dreams and Discworld Schemes: A Satire of Cinema in Terry Pratchett’s Moving Pictures, Sheila Raurell Marín

1990. The Dynamics of Friendship, Betrayal and Journalistic Ethics: Janet Malcolm’s The Journalist and the Murderer, Natalia Aleksandra Mermela

1990. Karim’s Journey: The Struggle of Belonging in Hanif Kureishi’s The Buddha of Suburbia, David Taló Rubio

1990. Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park: An Entrapping Novel for the Reluctant Sci-Fi Reader, Mariam Dvali

1991. A House, Two Families, and a Touch of the Surreal: Tim Winton’s Cloudstreet. Marc Silva i Muñoz

1991. A Powerful Story of Adaptation and Identity: Julia Alvarez’s How the García Girls Lost Their Accents, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

1991. Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander: Time-travelling Romance (and the Issue of Rape) , Marta Fernández Carrillo

1991. Trauma and Treatment: The Duality of Pat Barker’s Regeneration, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

1992. Defying Conventions: Gender Autonomy and Character Complexity in Alasdair Gray’s Poor Things, Eva Moreno Cruañez

1993. Quoyle’s Knots: Untangling Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News, Natàlia López Arenas

1993. On Surviving and Paving One’s Way: Octavia E. Butler’s Gripping and Complex Parable of the Sower, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

1994. Alice Munro’s Open Secrets: A Critical Review of Characterization and Setting, Marc Zarcos García

1994. A Fresh Take on Criminal Psychology: Caleb Carr’s Brilliant and Darkly Mysterious The Alienist, Diana Hurtado Galvis

1995. Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Blue Flower: A Realist Love-Letter(?) to Romanticism, Amine Imran Tecimen

1996. The Conflicted Journey of Self-Empowerment in Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding, Tània Márquez Fernández

1996. George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones: A Very Realistic Fantasy without a Hero to Save the Day, Ysabella Pachano Contreras

1996. Chaos and Identity: Exploring the Brutal World of Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club, Gerard Alegre Prat

1996. Layers of Struggle: Historical and Personal Insights in Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

1996. Lost in London Below: Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

1997. Beyond the Battlefield: Love and Overemphasis in Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain, Rebecca Carey Arribas

1997. Ian Rankin’s Black and Blue: Engaging Characters and Unmet Expectations, Kenmy Fong Vega

1997. Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things: The Literary Excellence of Devastating Family Tragedy, Alba Batalla

1997. Sebastian Junger’s The Perfect Storm: Against the Fury of Nature, Lidia Domínguez López

1998. Susan Orlean’s The Orchid Thief: Robbing Readers of the Flower of Time, Mariam Dvali

1998. Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods: Humor, Friendship, and Wonders, Sheila Raurell Marín

1998. Pussy’s Delusional Adventures in Patrick McCabe’s Breakfast On Pluto, David Taló Rubio

1998. Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible: Narrating Historical Remorse and Self-growth, Valeria Rodas Zúñiga

1999. Unspoken Battles: Trauma, Family and Healing in Melvyn Bragg’s The Soldier’s Return, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

1999. A Story of Privilege, Power and Trauma: J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

1999. A Journey Through Imperfect Lives: Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Marc Silva i Muñoz

1999. Master and Servant: Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, Natalia Aleksandra Mermela

1999. The Duality of Cultural Expectations: Anita Desai’s Fasting, Feasting, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

1999. Joanne Harris’s Chocolat: A Sweet Tale of Progress and Tradition, Nihade El Habbaj

1999. Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Laura Hillenbrand: Romanticizing Horse Riding, Marta Fernández Carrillo

2000. The Outlaw as National Hero: True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey, Eva Moreno Cruañez

2000. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon: Too Much, Mar Álvarez Ridao

2001. An Exploitative Low-Wage Investigation: Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

2001. Truth, Religion, and Survival in Yann Martel’s Life of Pi, Natàlia López Arenas

2001. Atonement: Ian McEwan’s Art, Maria Olivé Manzano

2002. Joseph O’Connor’s Star of the Sea: Successful yet Overdone, Víctor López Domínguez

2002. Jennifer Worth’s Celebration of Life and Humanity in The Midwife, Diana Hurtado Galvis

2002. Beyond Death: Richard K. Morgan’s Dystopian Future in Altered Carbon, Marc Zarcos García

2003. Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner: A Childhood Lost to Guilt, Dayana Da Silva Fernández

2004. Love, Loss, and Tradition: Nadeem Aslam’s Maps for Lost Lovers, Gerard Alegre Prat

2004 (2016). Rebecca Solnit’s Essential Act of Creating Hope in the Dark, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

2005. Unpacking Jeannette Walls’s The Glass Castle: Resilience and Transformation, Ysabella Pachano Contreras

2005. Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking: A Journey Through Grief and Healing, Kenmy Fong Vega

2006. My Name Was Judas: C.K. Stead’s Rewriting of Christianity, Valeria Rodas Zúñiga

2006. Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love: A Romanticized Inspirational Journey, Nihade El Habbaj

2006. A Fragile Flame: Why Cormac McCarthy’s The Road Remains a Powerful Reflection on Resilience, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

2007. The Mythos of the Self: Kvothe’s Journey in Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

2007. The Voice of the Marginalized: Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

2007. Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policemen’s Union: The Mystery of Identity and Place, Sheila Raurell Marín

2007. Exploring a Post-Human Planet: Insights from Alan Weisman’s The World Without Us, Marc Silva i Muñoz

2007. Junot Díaz’ The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: Fukú, Family Issues and Societal Struggles, Lidia Domínguez López

2008. Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth: Short Story Treats for the Unaccustomed Mind, Mariam Dvali

2008. Aravind Adiga’s The White Tiger: Let Time Decide Its Absolute Value, Mar Álvarez Ridao

2008. Survival and Subversion: An Analysis of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

2008. Survival, Power, and Rebellion: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

2009. Brooklyn: A Demonstration of Colm Tóibín’s Authorial Talent, Maria Olivé Manzano

2009. Action and Deep Bonds: Exploring James Dashner’s The Maze Runner, Eva Moreno Cruañez

2010. Ethics, Exploitation and Duality in The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot, Marc Zarcos García

2010. Life’s Cruelty and the Loss of Hope in Lauren Beukes’ Zoo City, Natàlia López Arenas

2011. Divergent by Veronica Roth: More Popular Dystopian YA Fiction, Amine Imran Tecimen

2011. The Power of Language: Embassytown by China Miéville, Gerard Alegre Prat

2011. Life through Time: Stephen King’s Gripping and Profound Exploration of Time and Life in 11/22/63, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

2012. John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars: A Heartbreaking Time Capsule, Dayana Da Silva Fernández

2012. Home Sweet Home?: A Raw Journey Through Trauma and Redemption in Toni Morrison’s Home, Diana Hurtado Galvis

2013. Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life: The Endless Circle of Rebirth

2013. The Dream of a New Life: Darling’s Fall from Paradise in NoViolet Bulawayo’s We Need New Names, Max Cònsul Salvador

2013. The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown: When Nonfiction Adopts the Spirit of Fiction, Alba Batalla

2013. The Haunting Scars of War: Richard Flanagan’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

2014. Navigating Loss Through Nature: Helen Macdonald’s H is for Hawk, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

2014. Phil Klay’s Redeployment: The Impact of the Iraq War, Ysabella Pachano Contreras

2014. Decoratively Depicting Destruction in Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

2015. Viet Thanh Nguyen’s The Sympathizer: The Dualities of War, Kenmy Fong Vega

2015. Prophecy and Paranoia: Chigozie Obioma’s The Fishermen, a Brilliant Nigerian Tragedy, Sheila Raurell Marín

2015. Naomi Novik’s Uprooted: Between Folklore and Fantasy Fiction, Natalia Aleksandra Mermela

2015. The Fragility of the Black Body in Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me, David Taló Rubio

2015. Leila Aboulela’s The Kindness of Enemies: The Complexities of Identity and History, Lidia Domínguez López

2016. Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing: A Novel Overflowing with Everything, Mariam Dvali

2016. Breaking the Cycle: The Emotional Depths of Colleen Hoover’s It Ends with Us, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

2016. Beyond Comedy: Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime, Eva Moreno Cruañez

2017. Love, Loss, and the Afterlife in George Sanders’s Lincoln in the Bardo, Marc Silva i Muñoz

2017. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo: Brilliant, Problematic, and Everything in Between, Mar Álvarez Ridao

2017. Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad: A Story about Struggle and the Search for Freedom, Nihade El Habbaj

2017. Loyalty, Identity, and Contemporary Tragedy in Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire, Marta Fernández Carrillo

2018. Sleeping to Forget: Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Ariadna Litzell Aleix

2019. Fascism: A Warning by Madeleine K. Albright, a Convenient Heads Up, Víctor López Domínguez

2019. Black, British, Other: Beyond the Checkboxes in Bernardine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other, Hannah Kleinman

2019. Undying Love: Favel Parrett’s Masterful and Emotional There Was Still Love, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

2019. Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House: An Innovative Chronicle of Abuse, Dayana Da Silva Fernández

2020. Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet: A Feminist Reimagining of Shakespeare’s Legacy, Marc Zarcos García

2020. Breaking Boundaries: A Review of G.M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-manifesto, Gerard Alegre Prat

2020. The Powerful Voice of the Dead: The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

2020. A Tale of Love, Struggle, and Healing in Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason, Diana Hurtado Galvis

2020. Matthew McConaughey’s Greenlights: Interesting Story, Unoriginal Message, Amine Imran Tecimen

2021. The Struggle of Politics and Communication in Space: A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine, Max Cònsul Salvador

2021. Patrick Radden Keefe’s Empire of Pain: When Wealth Becomes an Addiction, Rebecca Carey Arribas

2021. Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H-Mart: Cooking to Overcome Pain, Miriam Paciencia

2022. Language, Imperialism, and Resistance in Rebecca F. Kuang’s Babel: Or the Necessity of Violence, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

2023. Spare by Prince Harry: The Depths of Grief and Societal Pressure of the Privileged, Valeria Rodas Zúñiga

2023. Rebecca Yarros’s Fourth Wing: A Story of Wars, Love, and Dragons, Lidia Domínguez López

2023. Rebecca F. Kuang’s Yellowface: Anything to Achieve Literary Fame, Alba Batalla

2023. An Irish Mother’s Journey Through Resilience and Grief: Paul Lynch’s Prophet Song, Kenmy Fong Vega

2023. In the Shadow of the Double: Naomi Klein’s Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

Disclaimer and Creative Commons License

Preface: An Experiment in Teaching

The book now in the hands of the reader is the result of the work carried out by the students enrolled in the first edition of the fourth-year core subject ‘Contemporary Anglophone Literature: The 20th and the 21st Centuries’ of the BA in English Studies of the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. This is the fourteenth project of this nature that I produce with BA and MA students, following a teaching methodology I first used in 2013-14 for a course on Harry Potter. As I have often narrated,[1] I realized then that the articles and papers written by students could and should be published, and I found in the digital repository of my university (http://ddd.uab.cat) the perfect solution to the problem of who would want to publish this type of text.

In all the elective courses that followed the one on Harry Potter, I have organized my teaching around the target of publishing a book, which has resulted, as I have noted, in thirteen previous volumes generating thousands of downloads (see https://webs.uab.cat/saramartinalegre/books/). Students react with puzzlement and surprise to my announcement on the first day of class that we will be writing a book together, but all respond wonderfully to the teacher’s crazy proposal. This has been the case in this volume again, though its purpose is quite different from the rest, being part of my latest experiment in teaching.

When we decided to introduce ‘Contemporary Anglophone Literature: The 20th and the 21st Centuries’ in the BA,[2] I volunteered to teach this semestral subject, after almost thirty years teaching Victorian Literature, happy at last to focus on my own area of research. I knew from the beginning that the period 1990-2023 could not be taught on the basis of four books, or equivalent, as we do in other core subjects. I decided then to use a variation on the method I follow in the elective subjects, in which each student has different texts to study and presents them to the rest, later writing an essay for the corresponding book.

I assigned, therefore, to each student four different volumes: a) a US or UK literary novel; b) a literary novel from other Anglophone areas excluding the US and the UK; c) a popular genre novel and d) a nonfiction volume. Then I turned the second half of our 80-minute sessions together into a time for interaction in which students told each other (in pairs) about the books they were reading. In this way, apart from their own four books, students heard from their classmates about 70-80 more. Next, students turned their interaction into an 800-1000 word review. I have marked 152 reviews in total, of which slightly more than 100 are here gathered.

We don’t teach students how to review and they were initially a bit lost (as I was!). I brought to class as many reviews as I could, and we even wrote one together (on the Harry Potter series). I also produced a template for them. The first batch was hopeful enough and all in all most students have done remarkably well, avoiding the pitfalls of simply enthusing over a favorite book or destroying the ones they loathed as too boring or overlong. They knew, of course, that the aim of teaching them to write reviews was publication and also that not all their reviews were to be published. In the end, however, the number I considered apt enough for publication is quite substantial and I thank all the 38 students for their efforts at handling a type of exercise completely new for them.[3]

My intention is to continue teaching ‘Contemporary Anglophone Literature’ until I retire, which means that, if all goes well, there will be a different edition of this book each academic year in the following decade. I intend this book to grow into a solid guide to the period and its works though, of course, it might well be that some books are represented with more than one review and other key works get none. I am assigning the sets of four books at random, and there is no guarantee that all the relevant books will be covered, taking into account how amazingly rich the recent decades are in outstanding volumes of books of all kinds. Finally, the reviews are organized chronologically by year of publication of the book reviewed because I wish to avoid separating the four categories I have used into different sections. It’s about time we consider them together.

Enjoy!

Sara Martín

Sara.Martin@uab.cat

Barcelona, February-April 2025

SHEILA RAURELL MARÍN

1990. Holy Wood Dreams and Discworld Schemes: A Satire of Cinema in Terry Pratchett’s Moving Pictures

Moving Pictures is a fantasy novel published in 1990 by the renowned British author Terry Pratchett. Born in Beaconsfield, England in 1948, Pratchett, who died in 2015 of a particularly cruel form of Alzheimer’s disease, was one of the most successful contemporary British authors, to the point of receiving a knighthood in 2009. He is most celebrated for the Discworld series, of which Moving Pictures is the tenth installment. This novel is also one of the first works in the series in which the author dealt with a real-world phenomenon, in this case the creation of movies, and translated it into this fantasy world. Through humor, fantasy, and satire Pratchett approaches and subtly criticizes the appeal and absurdity of Hollywood and the film industry.

In Moving Pictures, Terry Pratchett takes the readers to Holy Wood, a new and mysterious part of the Discworld, where the sudden creation of moving pictures has begun a change in this universe. The story centers on Victor Tugelbend, a clever but lazy wizard student, and Theda ‘Ginger’ Withel, an aspiring actress, as they find themselves inexplicably drawn into the mysterious world of the “clicks” (their word for movies, inspired by real-life ‘flicks’). Without intending to and moved by some strange force to which they refer as the magic of Holy Wood, Victor and Ginger become the stars of the clicks. Soon they realize that there is something darker and sinister about this newly emerged industry. Ancient and powerful forces, disturbed by the arrival of the moving pictures, begin to break into reality, threatening to tear the fabric of the Discworld apart. Along with a talking dog named Gaspode and a bunch of eccentric and bizarre characters, the protagonists must uncover the truth about Holy Wood and stop its dangerous influence from consuming the world.

One of the greatest strengths of this novel lies in its worldbuilding, replete of interweaved layers that come together to form the unique universe of the Discworld. The narrator describes this universe noting it is as “unreal as it is possible to be while still being just real enough to exist” (4) capturing the blend of fantasy and reality that makes the Discworld so compelling. Holy Wood is a place where trolls, elves, gnomes, humans and even talking animals pursue stardom and recognition. It is interesting how all these characters are moved by an idea that thinks, and feels, and moves around, infusing the reader with the sense that it is one more character. “The idea of Holy Wood,” the narrator comments, “leaked innocently and joyfully into the Discworld” (3). This intangible thing dominates the actions of the characters at key points, as it can be seen in Victor and Ginger’s first scene together when neither of them knows what happened, but definitely realize that their lives have changed forever: “In retrospect, Victor was always a little unclear about those few next minutes. That’s the way it goes. The moments that change your life forever are the ones that happen suddenly” (51).

The idea of cinema is constantly moving the plot forward and contributing to the Discworld equivalent of the reader’s actual Hollywood. The correspondence between Holy Wood and the real world runs through every part of the book, from the eccentric characters drawn by dreams of stardom such as Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, obsessed by making money and spectacular clicks, to the clever and witty talent detector that Gaspode turns out to be. Additionally, there are little details such as the big pay the protagonists receive, the signing of a contract, the royal treatment Victor and Ginger receive when Dibbler realizes the potential they have or the capitalist perspective pushed onto the cinema, when the theatre owner rises the price of the tickets once he sees the opportunity to make more money: “If they’re queueing for the fivepenny seats, they’ll queue for tenpence!” (66). Everyone feels the feverish need to be part of this slowly growing, toxic world and quickly lose touch with reality as Holy Wood casts its magic over them, making them believe in the impossible dreams and empty promises it offers.

It must be noted that when reading Moving Pictures, the readers may find themselves confused and disoriented by the flood of information that greets you from the beginning. The author introduces readers to an unfamiliar setting with numerous strange characters, from wizards and alchemists to trolls and talking animals and other Discworld specific items, something that is common in the fantasy genre. Furthering this initial confusion, the fact that the novel does not have chapters, but scenes, contributes to the disorientation. However, as the story progresses all these confusing details begin making sense and the story takes a fast pace that keeps the reader on the edge of the seat until the end.

Pratchett’s satire is sharp and playful, making fun of iconic elements of early cinema and alluding to classic films, while also delving into darker aspects of the film industry, such as the obsession with fame and money or the commercialization of dreams among others. The humorous scenes serve to make fun of these problematic elements, allowing the reader to reflect on them, revealing Pratchett’s cynical commentary in between the lines and behind all the glitz and glam of Holy Wood. By the novel’s conclusion, readers have not only enjoyed a humorous take on the fantasy genre but also encountered a thought-provoking exploration of the real-life film industry’s charm.

Moving Pictures is a satirical look at Hollywood and the film industry, filled with Pratchett’s signature humor, an original and imaginative setting and interesting characters. The author delivers an entertaining story and at the same time provides a text that encourages the readers to read critically about the media and celebrity culture. This novel is, besides, a great introduction to the comic fantasy Discworld series; it leaves the reader with the appetite to expand their knowledge about this vast universe created by the now very much missed Sir Terry Pratchett.

NATALIA ALEKSANDRA MERMELA

1990. The Dynamics of Friendship, Betrayal and Journalistic Ethics: Janet Malcolm’s The Journalist and the Murderer

Imagine you are sentenced to prison for life for murdering your pregnant wife and two daughters. Proclaiming your innocence, you decide to hire a writer that will narrate your side of the story. You become close friends, or so you think, except he ends up betraying you by writing a bestselling book arguing that you are a cold-blooded killer. Although it may sound like a plot for a thriller, the story is a true case that occurred in the 1970s, inspiring Janet Malcolm’s The Journalist and the Murderer, an extremely influential nonfiction volume first published in 1990. Born in Prague, Malcolm (1934-2021), emigrated to the States escaping from the Nazi persecution in World War II, alongside her family. Her nonfiction classic has been both acclaimed and criticized as the most controversial yet influential book regarding the relationship between journalist and subject.

The story is focused on the case of Jeffrey MacDonald, a man convicted of murder in the 1970s, and his complicated relationship with Joe McGinnis, a journalist who wrote a bestselling nonfiction volume, Fatal Vision (1983), exposing the guilt of his apparent friend. By the time this case interests Malcolm, over a decade has passed since MacDonald heard from the jury that he would be serving three consecutive life sentences. But the story does not end here; after the publication of Fatal Vision, MacDonald filed a lawsuit against McGinnis for not keeping his ‘essential integrity’, the only condition specified in their agreement to write the book. The role of Janet Malcolm is not only to bring justice to this seemingly closed case, but also to discuss the often tangled and complex relationship between the subject and the journalist, who according to her claims “Is a kind of confidence man, preying on people’s vanity, ignorance, or loneliness, gaining their trust and betraying them without remorse” (9). This remark gives way to critical thinking on the part of the reader, by challenging the current presuppositions regarding the subject-journalist dynamic.

One of the main factors that makes this book so compelling is the use of strong arguments that not only attract the attention of those who agree with Malcolm’s position but also those who might defend the role of the journalist. From the very start, it is known that the writer, herself also a journalist, will adopt a quite critical position against the figure of the journalist and will to some extent defend the subject who in her eyes is the victim of betrayal. However, there are several notable questions worth raising. Did McGinnis owe any loyalty to MacDonald? If he did not, is he not in his full right to express his own opinion after realizing that his subject is guilty? Malcolm’s constant claim is that the subject becomes vulnerable to the journalist who as a wolf in disguise extracts all the valuable information to sell it to the media later and obtain its profit. Yet, while trying to restore a sense of justice in the case of McGinnis v. MacDonald, the author seems to forget that the verdict by the jury has already been proclaimed. She cannot single-handedly resolve a case that has reached its end and most importantly, she cannot erase the accusation against MacDonald. This tension between her own assessment and the known facts raises crucial questions regarding the ethics of journalism as well as the final court decisions.

The publication of Malcolm’s book has had a significant impact, especially in the field of journalism and how the figure of the journalist was interpreted. One reason the book became so thought-provoking, is that McGinnis’s true crime volume and later movie adaptation Fatal Vision, already set a standard that had acquired the aura of a definitive narrative, meaning it was hard to challenge something that over the years has become an unquestionable version. And still, Malcolm not only manages to do that, but she does so in a way that questions the ethical foundations on which McGinnis’ whole narration has been built. Another strong point is the cautious approach to different groups of people, with Malcolm making sure to obtain as many opinions as possible. From interviews with the protagonists themselves to the jury and psychiatrists, Malcolm offers a wide range of perspectives about the McGinnis v. MacDonald case. This proves that this unique truth which Fatal Vision claimed to possess is a much more complex matter, while the writing style of the text forces readers to question their notions regarding this case and open up to the possibility of a much different scenario, namely insinuating that McGinnis is in fact a liar.

To sum up, Malcolm’s position is quite strong since her arguments do not seem biased as she seeks multiple perspectives from people involved in the case. This offers a narrative that is rich in opinions from a wide range of first-hand sources while at the same time questioning the narrative so far provided by McGinnis. Overall, The Journalist and the Murderer serves as a revision regarding the dynamics of friendship and betrayal.

DAVID TALÓ RUBIO

1990. Karim’s Journey: The Struggle of Belonging in Hanif Kureishi’s The Buddha of Suburbia

The Buddha of Suburbia is a novel published in 1990 by Hanif Kureishi, a British author of Pakistani descent born in Bromley, London, in 1954. Kureishi’s novel has been widely recognized for exploring themes of race, class, and multiculturalism in the suburbs of South London during the 1970s. It won the Whitbread Award for Best First Novel. This work intermingles comedy and social inequality elements to depict the discrimination immigrants faced (and still face) in London. Kureishi was among the first British writers in London to address issues of multiculturalism in his work.

Buddha follows the life of Karim, a mixed-raced teenager growing up in the London suburbs, obsessed with the idea of leaving them and moving to the center of London to find a better life. Karim navigates the racial and social complexities of British society, experimenting with love, sex, and ambition. Eventually, he gets the opportunity to achieve his goal of moving out to the city center, revealing the diverse political movements that were taking place during the 1970s. The narrator uses consistent humor to describe Karim’s journey and struggles in life, which are seen as a process of self-discovery.

The story is told through a first-person narrator. Readers might perceive this narration to be reliable since it recounts Karim’s experiences and observations quite candidly. However, the narrative is told from Karim’s perspective in a way that the narration can also be seen to be manipulative or biased. Readers will likely sympathize with Karim and empathize with his challenges. Despite all of this, there are some moments when he receives criticism from his friends and family, suggesting that Karim might not always tell the truth. Furthermore, he often portrays himself as intelligent and superior to others. This sense of superiority is evident from the very beginning of the novel as he considers himself to be unique and special compared to a regular Englishman due to his complex identity: “I am an Englishman born and bred, almost. I am often considered to be a funny kind of Englishman, a new breed as it were, having emerged from two old histories. But I don’t care—Englishman I am (though not proud of it)” (3). Nevertheless, Karim’s sense of superiority comes into conflict because of his marginalized status as a person of color in England. His racial and cultural identity makes him feel as an outsider due to the constant discrimination he faces from white English society.

The themes of identity and belonging are central to Kureishi’s novel. There is a significant contrast between the son and his father. Haroon has been raised in India and is extremely attached to his Indian heritage and culture. Therefore, he decides to devote his life to sharing his culture through meditation and yoga. Karim, on the other hand, was born and raised in England to a white mother, and lives surrounded by English language and culture. He is a mixed-raced teenager who does not speak any Indian language. Even though his father sometimes speaks in Hindi with relatives, Karim has never made the effort to learn the language. Therefore, Karim speaks English as native speakers do.

Nevertheless, because of his skin color—he constantly described as either “black” or “brown”—Karim frequently experiences criticism and rejection. For example, his girlfriend’s father, an Englishman, insults him due to his race: “‘You can’t see my daughter again,’ said Hairy Back. ‘She doesn’t go out with boys. Or with wogs’ (…) ‘We don’t want you blackies coming to the house’” (40). Another incident that illustrates the pervading racism happens when Karim plays the character of Mowgli from The Jungle Book and is forced to be covered in mud to perform; here he pleas to the play’s director, his teacher:

I undressed.

‘Please don’t put this on me,’ I said, shivering.

‘Got to,’ she said. ‘Be a big boy.’ As she covered me from toe to head in the brown muck I thought of Julien Sorel in The Red and the Black, dissimulating and silent for the sake of ambition, his pride often shattered, but beneath it all solid in his superiority. So I kept my mouth shut even as her hands lathered me in the colour of dirt. (146)

Additionally, Karim is forced to change his accent in order to sound more “authentic,” which highlights the stereotypes and prejudices prevalent in 1970s London:

‘A word about the accent, Karim. I think it should be an authentic accent’

‘What d’you mean authentic?’

‘Where was our Mowgli born?’

‘India.’

‘Yes. Not Orpington. What accent do they have in India?’

‘Indian accents.’

‘Ten out of ten.’

‘No, Jeremy. Please, no.’

‘Karim, you have been cast for authenticity and not for experience.’

I could hardly believe it. Even when I did believe it we discussed it several times, but he wouldn’t change his mind. (147)

Readers who have experienced immigration may identify with some of the previous examples. Kureishi’s novel not only describes an immigrant facing discrimination due to his race and culture, but also encourages readers to reflect on their own behavior when interacting with immigrants and to understand the challenges immigrants face when living in other countries. Ultimately, it gives a voice to immigrants who, even in our contemporary society with a significant awareness of equality, continue to experience discrimination based on race, culture and language.

In conclusion, The Buddha of Suburbia is a powerful novel that explores identity, belonging, and cultural conflict in the setting of London in the 1970s. Through Karim’s journey, Kureishi sheds light on the complexities of growing up as a mixed-raced individual, clashing his Indian inheritances with the desire to fit in British society. The novel is both humorous and poignant, highlighting Karim’s experiences with racism, discrimination, and the internal struggles of self-perception. This work offers an exploration of multiculturalism, identity, and tension between self-acceptance and societal expectations, making it a pioneer work in British literature that continues to have a significant influence in our society.

MARIAM DVALI

1990. Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park: An Entrapping Novel for the Reluctant Sci-Fi Reader

Jurassic Park is a 1990 science-fiction thriller by the late American author Michael Crichton (1942-2008, b. Chicago, Illinois). Known for merging scientific facts with suspense in his cautionary tales, Crichton became an acclaimed author and screenwriter with works such as The Andromeda Strain and The Thirteenth Warrior, even winning a Primetime Emmy for his contributions to television (he was the creator of ER (1994-2009). Jurassic Park is among his widely-known work, and was considered his best novel by the New York Times. The novel inspired the 1993 blockbuster by Steven Spielberg, and the ensuing franchise which brought dinosaurs back into pop culture like never before. With its mix of adventure, ethics, morality, terror and biotechnology, Crichton’s novel offers an exciting example of the limits of science and its effects on nature.

Jurassic Park presents to the reader a timely cautionary narrative that explores the risks and moral dilemmas of genetic manipulation. The story follows billionaire John Hammond, an ambitious elderly businessman who creates a dinosaur theme park on a remote Costa Rican island, Isla Nublar, using prehistoric DNA extracted from mosquitoes trapped in amber. Eager to demonstrate that the park functions perfectly, Hammond invites a team of scientists, a lawyer, and his grandchildren for a preview tour. However, things quickly spiral out of control due to some unforeseen events, the naivety of the workers and the arrogance of the scientists. This forces all the visitors and staff to survive as well as they can and makes the reader wonder if anyone will escape unscathed. Crichton unfolds the plot through multiple perspectives and narrators successfully creating a complex and entertaining picture in which tension and terror build up as science and the forces of nature crash into inevitable disaster.

One of the novel’s most powerful features is its immersive world-building. Crichton brings Jurassic Park to life with vivid descriptions of its lush jungle landscapes, high-tech laboratories, and control rooms, constructing an island that feels thrillingly real. The detailed scientific explanations of DNA extraction from amber and genetic technology make the concept of cloning dinosaurs feel strangely possible and successfully attracts the reader’s attention. Furthermore, the use of foreshadowing is very clever. Malcolm, the mathematician, is a refreshing and original character who always warns the others about possible negative consequences: “Life is actually a series of encounters in which one event may change those that follow in a wholly unpredictable, even devastating way. That’s a deep truth about the structure of our universe. But, for some reason, we insist on behaving as if it were not true” (121). Everything that comes from this character’s mouth is engaging and intellectually elevated. Malcolm manages to infuse the story with a sense of chaotic unpredictability which eventually culminates in a thought-provoking cautionary message. Crichton’s detached, third-person narration allows readers to objectively see the implications of Hammond’s park while still strangely rooting for its success, adding an unexpected touch of suspenseful horror which makes the novel exciting and entertaining. Last, but certainly not least, it is important to mention that the narrative shifts among numerous points of view, which, although this can be challenging at first, is a crucial device in order to weave an intricate and multi-layered plot.

Although the novel is engaging, it is true that the introduction sounds like an academic essay and is not at all interesting (however it is only a couple of pages long). The prologue rapidly manages to re-capture the reader’s attention, though it introduces a character (Doctor Roberta) who never again appears in the story’s course. Crichton’s characters, while generally compelling, can sometimes feel inconsistent. Indubitably, Hammond surfaces as a deeply unlikable figure as he shows little to no care for his grandkids or staff, prioritizing his pursuit of wealth and fame over everything else. His facade as a loving grandfather with a beautiful dream for the kids in the world serves only to mask his true motive as he chillingly remarks. Referring to a new drug he remarks that selling it “at a lower cost (…) makes helping mankind a very risky business. Personally, I would never help mankind” (140). Some characters, however, are less consistently developed than others, most notably Hammond’s granddaughter Lex, who, despite facing life-threatening situations, is often depicted as whiny and focused on trivial matters such as hunger, which disrupts the story’s tension. Besides, Crichton frequently switches between characters’ formal and informal names (e.g., Roberta to Bobbie, Christina to Tina) immediately after he introduces them to the story, which can be confusing as narrators and points of view shift rapidly between chapters. Also disheartening is the speed with which the novel is wrapped up, after such careful and organized development of the plot.

To sum up, Jurassic Park successfully mingles science, suspense, and ethical dilemmas into a thrilling SF narration that captivates the readers’ imagination forever taking into account that “discovery is always a rape of the natural world” (199), The novel manages to educate, engage and appeal not only those fascinated by science fiction, but any kind of reader. Crichton’s Jurassic Park is and will continue to be an exploration of humanity’s relationship with nature and the ethical responsibilities that come with discovery and the scary possibility of bringing back extinct species to life.

MARC SILVA I MUÑOZ

1991. A House, Two Families, and a Touch of the Surreal: Tim Winton’s Cloudstreet

The novel Cloudstreet (1991) by the renowned Australian author Tim Winton (b. 1960, Perth) moves away from the fantastic and the fictitious to give us a glimpse of reality and everyday life. Nonetheless, Winton incorporates a few brushstrokes of magical realism by weaving certain surreal experiences into the fabric of reality. He presents us with two very different families—the Lambs and the Pickles—whose only commonality is the space they share: the house named Cloudstreet. Set initially in rural Australia in the 1940s, the novel captures a distinct, gritty atmosphere, one that moves away from the romanticized visions of the time, even as the shadow of the Second World War lingers on in the background. Winton plays with the contrasting lifestyles and philosophies of the two families over twenty years, exploring how their shared space shapes and transforms them. With poetic nuance, Winton uses Cloudstreet as a silent witness to their struggles, triumphs, and gradual acceptance of one another. In the last pages of the novel it can be stated that Cloudstreet turns out to be the safe space where both families have decided to call home.

Life in Cloudstreet—with all its difficulties—and how it marks, shapes, and changes the characters over the years is central to the atmospheric narrative. This evolution gives the novel a tone of redemption, especially in the final chapters. Winton does not choose their personalities at random but seeks to represent each family and character in a way opposite their counterparts. For instance, consider the two fathers: Sam Pickles and Lester Lamb. Both share the role of heading their families, but their behaviors and actions are totally opposite. Sam is a man given to leisure and gambling, which leads to financial and marital problems. In contrast, Lester is a devoted and hardworking family man who is often too gentle with his children; still, his function is to maintain the stability of his household, making the latter the opposite of what Sam Pickles does. This contrast is not limited to the fathers but extends to the entire families, as the Lambs and the Pickles represent different lifestyles and philosophies. With all these characters representing counterparts and sharing a single point in common, the house which the Pickles own, and the Lambs rent, but both families share, the author intentionally gives the house as much importance as if it were a main protagonist. By doing so, Winton gives Cloudstreet symbolic importance, used to illustrate how each family evolves over time, facing their own challenges, learning from past experiences, and ultimately reconciling with the house.

Throughout the reading readers may glimpse moments when it seems as though nothing significant is happening, and then, within just a few pages, an unimaginable or practically impossible event occurs. Tim Winston skilfully displays an incredible ability to alter mundane reality, with an incredible naturalness that makes the reader not even be surprised by such events. A clear example would be the Fish Lamb’s drowning accident, which occurs in the early chapters of the novel, not so much due to the accident itself, but for the consequences it triggers and how the subsequent mystical elements surrounding Fish and his connection to water add a layer of the surreal. Another surreal occurrence is the strange and unsettling presence that seems to inhabit Cloudstreet, manifested in the form of eerie sounds or a sense of history pressing down on its occupants. This ghostly element adds a sense of mystery, suggesting that the house holds secrets and memories that affect the lives of the families that inhabit it. Returning to Fish, his journey undoubtedly comes to a spiritual conclusion, intertwining his fate with the house and the water, bringing the story full circle in a transcendent yet tragic way.       These surreal elements illustrate how Cloudstreet weaves magical realism with the everyday, ultimately creating a link in the fates of Lambs and Pickles in unexpected ways. Readers may find indeed certain similarities between Winston’s way of writing and Gabriel García Marquez’s narrative style in One Hundred Years of Solitude. That ability to include magical realism, to weave the surreal into the everyday, has made me intertwine the two titles and make both authors similar in terms of how Winton introduces the fantastic into a realistic narrative.

Nevertheless, unlike García Márquez’s, Winton’s writing is dense and evocative, which can make it challenging for some readers. Winton, clearly, wants readers to work hard to follow his family saga perhaps because he is worried that he is using a worn-out format, and he compensates for that by using literary prose that does not always work. The lack of punctuation to present dialogue and the fragmentary nature of the chapters can be unsurmountable difficulties. Cloudstreet is a novel best suited for those who appreciate a slower, more reflective journey rather than immediate action or excitement. Yet, Tim Winton does an impressive job of drawing readers into the lives of his characters, making the house at Cloudstreet feel, as noted, like a character in its own right. Through vivid, sometimes lengthy descriptions of nature, emotions, and the tensions between the families, he adds layers of depth to the story. However, while these rich details enrich the narrative, they can also slow the pace, which might be a bit frustrating for readers who prefer a faster-moving plot.

The novel’s themes, such as the complex dynamics of two families living together and the romance between Quick and Rose, are particularly brilliant. Yet, one aspect that I found somewhat difficult was Fish’s relationship with the surreal. While I understand the reflections Winton seeks to provoke through these elements, they occasionally felt too dense or challenging, making it harder for readers to fully connect with his otherwise highly appreciated literary work.

NATÀLIA SAUS PRZESTAWSKA

1991. A Powerful Story of Adaptation and Identity: Julia Alvarez’s How the García Girls Lost Their Accents

‌      How the García Girls Lost Their Accents, published in 1991, is a novel by the Dominican-American writer Julia Alvarez, who was born in New York in 1950 but was raised in the Dominican Republic itself. This historical fiction novel tells the story of four sisters who, due to political turmoil, have to move with their family from the Dominican Republic to the United States. Through each sister’s perspective, Alvarez explores themes of cultural identity, immigration, acceptance, and coming of age. Honored for her contribution to multicultural literature, Julia Alvarez has won the PEN Oakland/Josephine Miles Award with this novel, highlighting her influence on American Literature.

‌How the García Girls Lost Their Accents follows the lives of four sisters named Carla, Sandra, Yolanda, and Sofía who migrate with their family to the United States because their father, Carlos García, opposes Rafael Leónidas Trujillo’s dictatorship. The story is narrated in reverse chronological order; thus, it starts in the year 1989 and it ends in 1956. It is divided into three parts and each of them describes the sisters’ journey through different stages of their lives. The novel starts when the four sisters are already adults and have ‘lost’ their accents, having spent more of their lives in the USA than in the Dominican Republic. This demonstrates how, as they become more settled in American society, they shift away from their native roots. The novel addresses the complexity of cultural identity and the difficulty of finding a sense of belonging in a new life through the narratives of the four sisters. When they lived in the Dominican Republic the sisters enjoyed a happy and comfortable life; however, in the USA, they face social and cultural challenges, such as racism, language barriers and financial difficulties. All these obstacles shape the sisters’ lives and who they become as persons in a foreign country.

One of the most enjoyable traits of Alvarez’s novel is the use of multiple perspectives, as this makes readers get close to each of the characters and to the novel itself. By shifting focus between each of the García sisters, the author allows readers to understand their thoughts, and emotional journeys. This approach gives the story a deeper meaning, creating an exploration of the sisters’ individual experiences while capturing the shared complexities of their family. The use of multiple perspectives allows the characters to feel more authentic and relatable to the reader. In addition, the shift between the Dominican Republic and the United States immerses the readers in the narrative. Both sceneries emphasize the contrast between the sisters’ family home and the challenges faced in the USA, as portrayed in this quote from a neighbor’s complaint: “The Garcías should be evicted. Their food smelled. They spoke too loudly and not in English” (135). The prejudices and cultural obstacles they encounter when adjusting to life in the United States are encapsulated in this passage. The fact that the novel is based on true historical events is also enjoyable, even though the characters and plot are fictional. Julia Alvarez’s inspiration to write the novel was her own experiences as an immigrant, as she and her family went through a similar situation when she was younger. For that reason, the story is more authentic, bringing together her personal experiences with the sociopolitical background of the Dominican Republic under Trujillo’s dictatorship. This combination of fictional and historical accounts not only enhances the reader’s experience but also serves to better comprehend the difficulties faced by immigrant families during that time.

On the other hand, one of the novel’s less effective elements is its frequent language-switching between English and Spanish, especially in the early chapters, as seen in this example: “In my campo we say a person has an antojo when they are taken over by un santo who wants something” (7). Although this linguistic shift reflects the characters’ bilingual lives and highlights the tension between their Dominican roots and their new life in America, the transitions can sometimes be upsetting. This technique, while authentic in regard to the García sisters’ experience, it may limit accessibility for non-Spanish speakers who might struggle to fully comprehend some passages. The frequent, sudden shifts sometimes even interrupt the flow of the story. Moreover, the structure of the novel is unconventional and may pose challenges for some readers. In How the García Girls Lost their Accents, Alvarez begins the story at the end of the García sisters’ journey, describing them as adults living in the United States, and works backward to their childhood experiences when they were in the Dominican Republic. Although this structure adds suspense to the novel, it may be at times confusing. In any case, the novel’s structure makes the readers pay attention to the timeline, as each chapter goes back in time, describing the character’s pasts in fragments and how the events connect between one another.

All in all, How the García Girls Lost Their Accents is a captivating novel that delves into issues that are closely tied to historical occurrences: identity, cultural struggle, and the experience of immigrants. The story is enhanced by Julia Alvarez’s portrayal of her personal experiences and the use of different points of view. Even though there are some challenges related to language-switching and an unusual structure, this novel is a powerful and insightful portrayal of persistence and a good reflection on the journey of adjusting to a new life in a foreign country.

MARTA FERNÁNDEZ CARRILLO

1991. Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander: Time-travelling Romance (and the Issue of Rape)

Outlander, the first novel in the ongoing series written by American author Diana Gabaldon (b. 1952, Arizona), was published in 1991. Gabaldon presents a historical fiction that combines elements of fantasy and romance, as the main character, US nurse Claire Randall, travels back to 18th century Scotland. The novel became a bestseller, and so did the following eight books in the series. Its popularity has remained steady to the extent that a highly acclaimed TV series adaptation was released in 2014 (it’s now in its eighth season). Outlander appeals to a wide range of mainly female audiences, from young adults to mature readers. Nevertheless, this first novel already presents the elements that makes the series controversial, since it includes several explicit sexual passages and quite aggressive scenes connected to assault and rape.

The novel begins in 1945, right after World War II, when Claire Randall, who used to be a nurse during the war, and her ex combatant husband Frank, travel to the Scottish Highlands in an attempt to reconnect after being separated by the war. The plot takes an unforeseen twist when Claire is exploring an ancient stone monument, Craigh na Dun, and accidentally travels back to the 18th century, specifically to 1743, two years before the doomed Jacobite rebellion lead by Bonnie Prince Charles. Once there and stranded, she struggles to adapt to the unfamiliar society in which she must live. The experience becomes even more challenging as she must survive both historical conflicts and a deeply patriarchal society while developing a new romantic interest which complicates her moral and emotional perspective.

Gabaldon’s novel attracts readers with its richly developed setting and its exploration of complex issues such as the defiance of traditional gender constructions and overcoming traumatic experiences. Outlander provides the reader with a detailed picture of 18th century Scotland through Claire’s perspective, that of an extremely independent and resilient woman who navigates and criticizes a deeply patriarchal society. Even though she is forced to marry aristocratic Highland warrior Jaime to secure her survival in this society, for alone she can’t survive, Claire does not allow him to treat her as chattel or to deny her equality, displaying all her anger. This passage belongs to the scene after Jaime and Claire’s fight because of her unwillingness to obey him: “No! I’m only a woman, why should you pay any attention to what I say? Women are only fit to do as they’re told, and for low orders, and sit meekly around with their hands folded, waiting for the men to come back and tell them what to do!” (670). Claire finally manages to help Jaime overcome their clashes and find the balance between his protective and patriarchal instincts and Claire’s modern views on equality and freedom.

Gabaldon’s very long yet entertaining novel deals with psychological implications as well, in encompassing traumatic experiences, including rape and kidnapping. Jaime, who is taken captive by his English rival Jack Randall and is both sexually and mentally abused for a long period, represents what the healing process is like and how challenging it can be to overcome such a situation. As he tells Claire, the ‘Sassenach’ or outlander:

“I don’t know, Sassenach. I’ve never felt like this. I seem to want to do a number of things, all at once, but my mind’s at war wi’ me, and my body’s turned traitor. I want to get out of here at once, and run as fast and as far as I can. I want to hit someone. God, I want to hit someone! I want to burn Wentworth Prison to the ground” (1331).

In this passage, by showing a chaotic mixture of emotions, Gabaldon skillfully portrays Jaime’s traumatic response, emphasizing the intensity of his anger and pain, as he struggles with the humiliation he feels, though he is not even able to admit that he is badly hurt.

While Outlander was widely well-received and praised, some readers may find that certain scenes and characters rather problematic, for instance, the scene in which Jaime punishes Claire physically after she disregards his orders, and he tries to show who is in control in this relationship: “You’ve done considerable damage by crossing my orders, and I’m going to punish ye for it, Claire (…) Kneel down by the bed and lift your skirts, lass” (40). Besides, in some scenes Jaime makes awful remarks which later Claire quickly forgives; Jaime’s excuse for saying such things is that he was angry, and he did not mean what he said. This is how he reacts to her rape: “It is your fault! Did ye stay put where I ordered ye to stay this mornin’, this would never have happened! But no, ye won’t listen to me, I’m no but your husband, why mind me?” (499). This passage is especially problematic for two reasons: first, Jaime is blaming his wife for men’s inability to control themselves. Secondly, the fact that Jaime’s remarks are quickly forgotten contrasts with his later experience of assault, that is to say, he is easily forgiven for excusing rape and considering his wife’s disobedience as the reason, and then, he ends up being a victim, which makes even more clear how wrong he was before. Besides, while he delivers this speech, he seeks to victimize himself and make Claire feel miserable for her disobediences. Jack Randall is another character who has attracted plenty of criticism as he embodies everything that is wrong in a man. In the first book, the character is underdeveloped and quite poor in that we can only see a villain who is obsessed with power and control and who is extremely sadistic and cruel. His character only develops for the worse, however, his sadistic behaviour is never explained or rationalized.

In conclusion, Outlander skillfully combines historical fiction and romance featuring an intriguing plot and an accurate historical setting, while thoroughly exploring themes such as gender roles and traumatic experiences. Nevertheless, the novel’s depiction of delicate issues such as rape, is controversial and might offend readers. Despite these flaws, Outlander has become a widespread phenomenon due to its popularity in print and audiovisual media, leaving a significant impact on both areas.

ADRIÀ DULCET PARDO

1991. Trauma and Treatment: The Duality of Pat Barker’s Regeneration

Pat Barker’s Regeneration (1991) is a critically acclaimed historical novel that kickstarts the first part of her renowned Regeneration Trilogy. Born in Yorkshire, England, in 1943, Barker is celebrated for her unflinching exploration of war, trauma, and the human psyche. Regeneration is set during World War I and focuses on the treatment of shell-shocked soldiers at Craiglockhart War Hospital in Scotland. The novel masterfully blends fact and fiction, featuring historical figures like Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen alongside fictional characters. Barker’s work earned her numerous accolades, including the Booker Prize for the trilogy’s final book, The Ghost Road, in 1995.

The narrative weaves together historical figures and fictional characters, delving into their personal struggles, relationships, and the broader societal implications of the war. Regeneration unfolds primarily at Craiglockhart War Hospital, focusing on the relationship between Dr. Rivers, a real-life army psychiatrist, and his patients, particularly the war poet Siegfried Sassoon. Barker’s novel explores the psychological impact of war as Rivers treats soldiers suffering from shellshock, hallucinations, recurrent nightmares and even mental blocks that affect the physical wellbeing of the patients. Sassoon, who has been sent to the hospital after publishing an anti-war declaration, is one of them, as well as the mute Billy Prior and the traumatized David Burns, who cannot eat practically anything. Rivers grapples with the ethics of treating soldiers to return them to combat and the implications on doing so. Through Rivers’ evolving perspective and his patients’ experiences, Barker examines themes of masculinity, duty, and the human cost of conflict, ultimately questioning the nature of sanity in the face of war’s horrors.

Pat Barker’s Regeneration excels in its psychological depth, particularly in the relationships between Dr. Rivers and his patients. The novel’s strength lies in its exploration of the complex psychological effects of war trauma and the ethical dilemmas faced by those treating shell-shocked soldiers. The plot’s interest stems from its focus on the intricate dynamics between Rivers and his patients, especially Sassoon and Prior. The story’s tension builds as Rivers grapples with his duty to “cure” soldiers and return them to combat, conflicting with his growing understanding of the war’s psychological toll. As he treats his patients, Rivers undergoes his own transformation, questioning the ethics of his role and the nature of the war itself. This internal conflict adds depth to his character and drives much of the novel’s psychological exploration. Rivers “was used to being adopted as a father figure (…) but it was rare for it to happen as quickly as this in a man of Sassoon’s age” (34). This paternal dynamic is complex and evolving, changing from patient to patient, reflecting the novel’s themes of masculinity, duty, and emotional vulnerability, and even sometimes, sexual frustration or desire, like Prior having his grotesque nightmares “muddled up with sex” (100).

The contrast between Dr. Rivers and Dr. Lewis Yealland, the London-based doctor who employs electroshock therapy, is a crucial element in Regeneration that highlights the novel’s exploration of different approaches to treating shellshock and the ethical implications of these methods. Rivers represents a humane and progressive approach to treating psychological trauma. His methods, primarily based on talk therapy and auto diagnosis, emphasize understanding and addressing the root causes of his patients’ distress. Rivers believes in the importance of allowing patients to confront their traumatic experiences rather than repressing them. And as stated before, he develops close, almost paternal relationships with them, fostering an environment of trust and empathy. In contrast, during his visit to London, Dr. Rivers discovers that Dr. Yealland uses a harsh, authoritarian and even sadistic approach to treatment. He employs electroshock therapy in a cruel manner, enjoying the pain that he is causing, something that Rivers finds incredibly troubling and disturbing. Yealland’s philosophy is based on the belief that some patients are reluctant to be cured, and that pain is the most effective treatment for such cases. He views shell-shocked soldiers as ‘“degenerates” whose weakness would have eventually caused them to break down even in civilian life, and since they do not “want” to go back to war, he must force them into being cured.

The juxtaposition of these two approaches serves, firstly, as a start for sparking an ethical debate, raising questions about the ethics of medical treatment, particularly in the context of war. While Rivers is clearly presented as the more sympathetic figure, the novel also acknowledges the pressures and expectations placed on doctors to quickly return soldiers to combat to suffer further damage or even die. This tension between humane treatment and military necessity is a central conflict in the novel, embodied in the impactful differences between Rivers and Yealland’s approaches. The contrast culminates in Rivers’ visit to Yealland’s clinic, where he witnesses a very graphic and brutal treatment session. This scene serves as a turning point for Rivers, solidifying his commitment to more humane methods and deepening his internal conflict about his role in treating soldiers to return them to war.

In conclusion, Regeneration serves as a powerful exploration of war, trauma and the psychological impact that it has on people. The different patients at Craiglockhart as well as the civilians represent multiple possible effects that war can have on individuals, traumatizing them or even causing them to disassociate from reality. The perfect blend of historical facts with fiction makes this novel a compelling narrative that resonates beyond its WWI setting.

EVA MORENO CRUAÑEZ

1992. Defying Conventions: Gender Autonomy and Character Complexity in Alasdair Gray’s Poor Things

Alasdair Gray’s Poor Things (1992) is a fantasy novel heavily influenced by the gothic genre, which takes clear inspiration from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Arguably one of Gray’s most celebrated and commercial works alongside Lanark, it won the Whitbread Novel Award and The Guardian Fiction Prize for its ingenious storytelling. Though the use of real historical settings and fantastical elements, Gray (1934-2019) blurs the line between the plausible and the impossible. By effectively blending, fantasy, gothic elements and satire, the Scottish author offers a unique approach to Victorian society in Britain. The novel inspired a highly successful adaptation in 2024, directed by Giórgos Lánthimos, which earned Emma Stone an Oscar for her bold performance of Bella Baxter.

Poor Things is mainly set in Glasgow, and occasionally London, but it also explores many cultures, such as Egypt and different European countries. The story revolves around Bella Baxter, a woman created by Dr. Godwin Baxter by fusing the body of a pregnant woman who committed suicide and the brain of her fetus. He treats Bella as his daughter, telling her that she is an orphan. However, she quickly goes from a naïve, childlike girl into a curious and independent woman. Another physician, Archibald McCandless, that Baxter employs as his assistant instantly becomes infatuated with her. Bella constantly questions social norms, such as gender and class hierarchies, not caring what others may think of her. She is interested in knowledge, medicine, sexuality and even politics. She travels through Europe and engages with different cultures and lifestyles, including witnessing and discussing colonialism in Alexandria and working for a brothel in Paris, always committed to a life of independence. One of her lovers, the maddened Duncan Wedderburn, even states that she must be working for Satan. When Bella returns to Glasgow, she eventually marries McCandless, but the relationship ultimately fails, as he struggles to accept her unconventional behavior. Supposing, that is, that what McCandless narrates about Bella’s origins is true at all.

One of the most distinctive features of Gray’s novel is its diverse narrative structure, which employs various forms of narration to enhance the storytelling. While it may be initially confusing due to its complexity, Gray’s combination of different perspectives reinforces the reader’s attachment and support of Bella’s behavior. The text consists of McCandless’s manuscript, which recounts Bella’s experiences, alongside her diary entries with personal reflections. Additionally, it also includes letters exchanged between the characters and an editor’s note, which is the most fascinating narrative device. In the introduction, Gray claims that he did not write the novel, but merely edited the manuscripts, assessing that the story may not be told truthfully. This approach encourages deeper commitment and invites the reader to question the integrity of the points of view.

This narrative style reveals that the novel’s implicit focus is how the male characters attempt and fail to limit Bella, trying to fit her into their preconceived notions and idealizations of her person and her autonomy. Nevertheless, she constantly resists them and claims her own narrative. This suggests that Gray’s is cleverly using satire to make a feminist commentary about societal constraint, highlighting men’s inaccuracy in their storytelling and the absurdity of their attempts to control Bella. Furthermore, even though this narrative is highly engaging, there are some slower, less interesting sections, particularly during Bella’s journey. Her travels introduce different subplots and minor characters, political conversations, friends she makes and their backstories, and different lovers. Although they showcase Bella’s need for this journey to gain knowledge and agency, many of them feel excessively lengthy and irrelevant to the main plot. This may lead to readers’ disengaging from the story, as some of these interactions could have been omitted or significantly summarized without affecting the plot’s depth.

Given the novel’s multiple points of views, variety of situations and scenery, it may surprise the reader that Bella is the only genuinely complex character. While she is allowed to explore herself, question her ideals, embark on a journey through the world and evolve, all the other characters appear to be noticeably one-dimensional. They are presented exclusively as good or evil. Dr. Baxter, for instance, comes across (perhaps deliberately) as a stereotypical villainous father figure, controlling and manipulating his child without any apparent reason other than egocentrism. Readers might expect Dr. McCandles, the most central character besides Bella, to exhibit greater complexity. However, upon closer analysis, especially after considering the novel’s emphasis on the ambiguity of his narration, it becomes apparent that his character serves little purpose beyond his narrative function. Therefore, one may perceive these male characters as narrative tools, only designed to embody the manipulation and misogyny of Victorian Britain, and how Bella, an agent of reason and curiosity, would respond to this society. Nonetheless, they ultimately lack depth and are insufficiently developed, which could disappoint readers who seek complex, multifaceted characters.

The commentary on Victorian society and the demands and expectations placed on women by men makes Poor Things an entreating and gratifying read, even a memorable one. Although the novel’s narrative structure is multi-layered and successfully conveys the message of defying social standards and highlights the need for women’s independence, it may leave readers somewhat unsatisfied due to the lack of nuance of all characters except for Bella.

NATÀLIA LÓPEZ ARENAS

1993. Quoyle’s Knots: Untangling Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News

The Shipping News (1993) is one of the most remarkable novels written by Annie Proulx (b. 1935, Norwich, Connecticut, USA). Proulx is an acknowledged American author, and the first woman in history to win the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction for her first novel Postcards. However, it was because of The Shipping News that she was awarded the most important award of her career, the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. The book also won the National Book Award for Fiction and the Irish Times International Fiction Prize. Proulx’s novel was adapted by Lasse Hallström in 2001, with a stellar cast including Julianne Moore, Kevin Spacey and Judy Dench.

The plot follows Quoyle, an American reporter whose life is shattered to pieces once his wife dies in a car accident while being with another man, and his parents commit suicide. After their deaths, and discovering his wife had sold her daughters to another man, he saves them and decides to move to Newfoundland in Canada with his aunt. There, Quoyle’s friend Partridge helps him to find a job as a writer in the local newspaper, The Gammy Bird. He is assigned to write the shipping news and the car wreck stories, a commission extremely delicate to him, as these stories remind him of his deceased wife.

In this town, Quoyle discovers the intricate mysteries his family, originally from Newfoundland, has hidden silently throughout generations. He also meets Wavey Prowse, who becomes his romantic partner. The whole novel revolves around Quoyle’s development. His own relationship with his daughters keeps on improving throughout the novel, allowing him to understand Bunny, the elder, better. He also meets very interesting local characters, such as Jack Buggit or Billy Pretty. Regardless of his traumatic past, Quoyle starts facing his fears while living in Canada. He even improves his self-esteem, devastated because of his father’s constant disrespectful comments.

One of the most impressive aspects of the novel is its setting. Proulx manages to portray Newfoundland impressively, allowing the reader to imagine its surroundings and landscapes perfectly. Both nature and weather are repeatedly used by Proulx to enhance the atmosphere of the story. Rain always foreshadows difficult news in the novel, and sunny days are accompanied by outstanding descriptions of the region’s beauty. Undoubtedly, the author matches her poetic writing with the scenery in the book, making it even more compelling to read. However, it is not only through panorama that Proulx makes a faithful description of Newfoundland, but also through the representation of the inhabitants’ dialect. At first, it may seem challenging to the reader, but once one gets used to it, the experience becomes intensively immersive and thrilling. Initially, Quoyle feels out of place at first in Newfoundland, but he slowly manages to create a space for himself in the community. This society is very picturesque, with very powerful personalities that Proulx develops amazingly well. None of the characters lack charm, and all of them have an important role in shaping Quoyle’s narrative. Even Partridge, his best friend and a man who does not even live in Canada, has significant importance in helping Quoyle throughout the novel’s plot. It is undeniable, then, that world building and character development are two of the most significant aspects of the book, making it very appealing for the reader.

However, there are some aspects that may be challenging for the readers. Firstly, pacing tends to be slow. While it is true that it helps Proulx match the tranquility of Newfoundland, the reader may get the impression that not much is happening in the plot. This novel may be the perfect choice for fans of cozy literature, then. While it is true that very interesting events happen, sometimes they are left behind too quickly. Some challenging situations Quoyle faces are explained without much consideration, and this could make the reader feel uncomfortable with the plot’s rhythm. Apart from that, dialogues are also complicated to read because of the realistic use, as noted, of dialect, though at the same time this trait may appeal to readers who enjoy linguistic challenges. Regardless of these inconvenients, Proulx made a very intelligent decision when she chose the headings of the chapters. The most interesting aspect of these headings is that they are extracts from “how-to” guides and books. They are mostly taken from The Ashley Book of Knots (1993) by Clifford W. Ashley, and help the author foreshadow what is going to happen in each part of the book. They are, in a certain way, selected by Proulx to teach the reader how to read the novel. This is an intriguing approach to mixing fiction with nonfiction.

Overall, The Shipping News is a thrilling read for those who love fiction with plenty of natural descriptions and reliable information about Canada. You must be prepared to do some research and also be willing to learn a lot about Newfoundland and life itself. As for its plot, this novel teaches the reader about the meaning of suffering and its effects on personal development.

JUAN DIEGO FALZONE AUBERY

1993. On Surviving and Paving One’s Way: Octavia E. Butler’s Gripping and Complex Parable of the Sower

“God is Change.” With this sentence, encapsulating a main theme in the 1993 dystopian novel Parable of the Sower, the story of Lauren Oya Olamina begins. Selected as a 1994 New York Times Notable Book of the Year and written by Octavia E. Butler (b. 1947, California, d. 2006, Washington), an author best-known for her 1979 novel Kindred, this novel tells the story of a young Black girl, forced to grow up and exist in a world made hostile due to societal collapse and climate change, along with the multiple difficulties she must endure in order to pave her own way, both within and outside her community. Accompanied by numerous characters with distinct backgrounds and experiences—some from her past, some unknown—Lauren is forced to confront her beliefs and adapt in order to survive, which will lead her to question the way of the world and by extension, the role of God, culminating in the conception of her own religion, Earthseed.

First of all, it is relevant to note that Butler’s novel evokes its themes of religion from the moment one reads its title, which references the Bible’s own parable, also known in some cases as the Parable of the Soils, in which Jesus, through the imagery of a man who sows seed aimlessly, explains to his disciples the different responses people may demonstrate towards the Gospel. This serves as an intelligent reflection of the various responses Lauren obtains when spreading her Earthseed doctrine, while also conveying a sense of biblical epic storytelling, representative of the odyssey the main character must endure during the second part of the novel in order to find a safe haven for her and her companions. In contrast, the first part of the novel mostly concerns itself with life within the community and the obstacles for survival, which can often generate a feeling of aimlessness in the story. This, along with the overwhelming angst and misery depicted in the novel’s world, allow for a few moments of levity, which can make reading a difficult experience that one may want to abandon at some points, a feeling that diminishes the more one advances in the story.

An interesting aspect of the novel is that of its fragmentary form, as it is written in the form of diary entries written by Lauren, with each chapter commencing with a quote from Earthseed: The Book of the Living, reflecting the beliefs of the religion Lauren herself has originated. The form in which the novel is written allows for an interesting observation of Lauren’s ideas, thoughts, prejudices and feelings, as well as of the toll her ‘hyperempathy’ takes on her, a fictional syndrome which makes her what is commonly known as a “sharer,” in other words, someone who feels what the people around her are feeling, pleasure and pain alike. Moreover, the reader is a witness to Lauren’s reflections on the state of her world, as well as her doubts regarding why, if a God exists, they would allow such disgraces to occur to the people. Nevertheless, despite the richness of Lauren’s psyche, the diary structure can generate a sense of missing parts of the plot due to the rapid succession in which multiple events, separated by hours, days or months in real time, may appear reflected on the pages. Furthermore, the point of view can feel quite limited at times, since the readers are only allowed to observe this world and the circumstances that occur through Lauren’s point of view.

Another particularly stellar aspect of the novel is that of world building, along with the relations between the main character and those that surround her. Whether it is with her family inside the community, or with her companions on their journey to a new home, Butler showcases a consummate capacity for fleshing out the connections between these characters, along with their motivations and their pasts, which is even more remarkable due to the differing characteristics each character manifests. Independently of whether readers agree with their ideas or not, one finds themselves caring about this group of survivors by the end of the story. In relation to the latter, it must be admitted that, while emotional and mostly fulfilling, the ending can feel sudden and, in a way, anticlimactic, despite being representative of one of the most remarkable quotes of the novel, “In order to rise from its own ashes a phoenix first must burn” (141).

In consideration of all the evaluated aspects, this novel is highly recommended, due to its gripping narrative and the highly interesting character of Lauren, as well as the deeper aspects of human existence that are explored within its pages. The book may attract readers who feel interested in dystopian works, since this novel reflects a future which has descended into chaos. The story might also be recommended to readers who find themselves interested in more philosophical or abstract aspects of the world and human existence, such as the notion of God, as well as those interested in tales of survival. Finally, it is relevant to note that although it is not YA this might be an interesting book to read during adolescence, since it reflects, in a way, the process of growing up and finding oneself in the world, along with paving one’s own way in life, all through the extensively rich character of Lauren Oya Olamina.

MARC ZARCOS GARCÍA

1994. Alice Munro’s Open Secrets: A Critical Review of Characterization and Setting

The winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2013, Alice Munro is one of the most celebrated Canadian authors. Munro was born in 1931 in Wingham, Ontario, where she died in 2024. During her career as a writer, she stood out among other authors due to her command of time, perspective and characterization, leaving an irreproachable legacy as a short story specialist. Evidently, after the recent controversy regarding her daughter, Andrea, and the sexual abuse she suffered from Munro’s deceased husband, which the author possibly knew about, it may be both difficult and conflictive to keep reading her works and praising her talent as a writer. Yet, this decision now is up to the reader. Next, moving on to the review of Open Secrets: Stories (1994), I will focus on how Munro deals with human psychology and setting in order to awaken the senses of the reader in the compressed form of the short story.

“The Jack Randa Hotel” is definitely one of the most dynamic and enjoyable stories that the collection, which gathers together eight pieces, offers to us. The story narrates the journey of Gail, a woman who is clearly devastated after breaking up with her partner, Will, who has left her and moved to Australia with her ex-lover, Sandy. Munro’s talent for shaping complex characters in such short stories shines in “The Jack Randa Hotel.” In Gail, we find a deeply introspective character, with an unhealthy obsession for a man that reveals her vulnerability and emotional fragility. Munro invites us to get into Gail’s mind and witness her internal conflict caused by her insecurities. As readers, it is fair to say that following Gail’s journey may cause us anxiety, since the story oscillates between unrequited love and the refusal to let someone go, keeping us waiting for a moment that never comes: the reencounter of Gail and Will. Nonetheless, this feature makes this short story special, since Munro provides us with the opportunity to decide whether Will really caught that flight to Canada or not. On the other hand, Will is presented in fragments, and portrayed under Gail’s perspective and memories, the method that Munro uses to disclose Gail’s obsession and possessive view of him. Then, it is fair to say that Will’s background is irrelevant per se, because instead of functioning as a portrayal of himself, its function is to reinforce Gail’s.

The rest of the short stories, despite being completely independent in terms of plot, have many features in common; one of them is that Munro’s characters are defined by their complexity and connection to the settings they live in. In “Carried Away,” Louisa, a librarian in a small Canadian town during World War I, becomes infatuated with a soldier she knows only through letters. Her role as a custodian of books in a quiet, communal space mirrors her inner life—ordered and constrained, but filled with unspoken longing. The town itself, with its rigid routines and wartime atmosphere, amplifies her isolation, making her romantic fantasies a poignant escape. In this short story, Munro exploits (maybe too much) the use of letters for the portrayal of the characters, which might lead the readers to an impression of monotony. “A Real Life” portrays Millicent, a pragmatic woman who disrupts her friend Muriel’s romantic notions of marriage. The rustic setting of the story reflects the utilitarian view of relationships that Munro critiques, with the rugged countryside symbolizing the hard realities of Millicent’s worldview. Munro’s characters are never merely products of their settings, but their environments play a vital role in shaping their desires and actions, underscoring the interplay between place and identity.

In other stories, Munro’s use of the setting enhances her exploration of secrecy and trauma. “Open Secrets” unfolds in a small, isolated community concerned by the unresolved disappearance of Heather Bell, a young girl last seen on a camping trip. The rural town, with its collective memory and shared spaces, creates an atmosphere of scrutiny and suspense, where private lives are constantly intersecting with public narratives. Similarly, “A Wilderness Station” uses the harsh, unforgiving wilderness of 19th-century Ontario to underscore the vulnerability of Annie Herron, a woman accused of murdering her abusive husband. The letters and journals that compose the story reveal how the setting imposes limitations on Annie’s freedom and dictates how her story is remembered. In “Vandals,” the isolated home of Bea and Ladner becomes a site of control and predation, its seclusion highlighting the vulnerability of Liza, a young girl they manipulate. Years later, when Liza destroys their possessions, the house transforms into a symbol of her resistance. Munro’s careful depiction of these settings intensifies the emotional weight of her characters’ experiences, grounding their psychological struggles in vivid, meaningful landscapes.

In conclusion, Open Secrets showcases Alice Munro’s skill in exploring human psychology and emotional complexity within the short story format. She manages to create stories that are as emotionally compelling as they are immersive, though some are more so than others. Her ability to portray characters shaped by their environments, whether by the isolation of a remote scenario or the discomfort of a small town, highlights the contrastive difference between inner and outer worlds. Although some readers may not find some stories such as “Carried Away” or the “Albanian Virgin” as enjoyable as “The Jack Randa Hotel” or “Spaceships have Landed,” this collection reaffirms Munro’s legacy as one of literature’s greatest chroniclers of the human condition.

DIANA HURTADO GALVIS

1994. A Fresh Take on Criminal Psychology: Caleb Carr’s Brilliant and Darkly Mysterious The Alienist

The Alienist (1994) is a historical crime novel that became an instant bestseller on its release, even winning the Anthony Award for Best First Novel in 1995. Written by Caleb Carr (born in Manhattan, 1955), an acclaimed author known for his nonfiction and war books, the novel brought Carr to a new level of recognition. The book draws the reader into a psychological criminal investigation so gripping that the reader remains engaged to the end. Set in New York City at the end of the 19th century, the novel offers a fresh take on the psychological thriller that you will want to keep coming back to.

The story, set in 1896, follows John Moore, a freelance journalist for The New York Times. One day, Moore is asked by his eccentric friend, the alienist (an old term for a psychologist) Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, to take part in an investigation into the brutal murders of “boy-whores” (20). Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt, a fictionalized version of the real-life personality and a friend of both Moore and Dr. Kreizler, has been observing the corruption and indifference of the Police force regarding the case. As a result, Roosevelt permits a small team led by the alienist to investigate independently, using progressive forensic techniques. This team includes Moore, Police secretary Sara Howard, and the brilliant Isaacson brothers. As they make progress, the team faces antagonists determined to halt their investigation: bigwigs with selfish interests and gangsters who benefit from the chaos in their territories. Against all odds, the team manages to track down the serial killer, thanks to Roosevelt’s support and their own relentless efforts.

Caleb Carr’s novel has many strengths. One of the great merits of the work is the author’s ability to immerse us in Victorian New York. Through his detailed descriptions of places like Dr. Kreizler’s Institute or Delmonico’s Restaurant, Carr manages to almost physically transport us to that time and space. It is impossible not to feel part of the investigation, accompanying the Isaacson brothers as they explore the complexities of the case. Another notable aspect is the way Carr introduces criminal psychology and serial killer profiling. Although at the time many, including the New York Police, resisted these innovative methods, the author manages to explain them in an accessible way, showing how criminal investigations began to transform. The way Carr presents the mind of the killer from a psychological perspective is intriguing and offers a unique perspective that sets the book apart from other crime novels.

No doubt, character development is one of the novel’s greatest achievements. Each character, although present at different times, is so well-developed that it is impossible to forget them, and many of them manage to win our sympathy. The title of the book might suggest that Dr. Kreizler is the protagonist, but in fact, it is his companion, John Moore, who narrates the story. This may remind readers of the Sherlock Holmes books, where the famous detective never narrates the stories but rather his friend, Dr. Watson. Kreizler, with his brilliant intellect for solving cases, resembles Holmes, but his psychological approach links him more to Sigmund Freud. The Isaacson brothers are undoubtedly very attractive characters. Their brilliance in criminology and forensics is complemented by an eccentricity that makes them irresistible. Every appearance by the brothers is a treat, and their relationship as twins adds an extra layer of complexity to their personalities. Sara Howard, the only woman on the team, also stands out as a strong and brave character. Throughout the novel, she proves to be an independent woman in a male-dominated world, bringing a fresh and determined perspective to the investigation. Her character and contributions to the plot show us a woman who defies the norms of her time, making her a fascinating figure. The tone and atmosphere that Carr creates in the investigation scenes are famously immersive. The suspense, horror, and tension are so well-crafted that the climactic scenes feel like those in a movie. The author’s ability to keep us on edge is admirable and ensures that the reader remains captivated throughout much of the story.

However, there are certain negative aspects that cannot be overlooked. One of them is the pacing of the novel. At times, the narrative becomes excessively slow, especially when nothing relevant to the plot is happening. Although these passages add depth to the characters and the setting, they can be tedious, affecting the overall pace of the book. Similarly, the graphic descriptions of the murders of the child prostitutes, although realistic, can be disturbing. These scenes, although necessary to understand the psychology of the killer, may upset some readers. Another downside is the lack of diversity among female characters. Although Sara Howard has an important role and is well characterized, there are not many other female voices in the novel. While this may be an accurate representation of the period, the lack of female perspectives can feel limited from a modern point of view. Finally, some readers who enjoy this genre may feel disappointed by the ending. Although it is not necessarily to everyone’s liking, it is somewhat predictable, and at certain moments, some situations seem to force a predictable twist in the plot, which can be frustrating.

The Alienist, to sum up, is a high-quality novel for fans of psychology and true crime. Although at times it can be somewhat monotonous, this is compensated for by the depth of the characters, the places described, and the themes explored. Carr manages to transport the reader to a nostalgic 1980s New York that is undoubtedly worth reading about.

AMINE IMRAN TECIMEN

1995. Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Blue Flower: A Realist Love-Letter(?) to Romanticism

The Blue Flower (1995) was the final novel of Penelope Mary Fitzgerald (b. Lincon, England, 1946; d. London, 2000), an author mostly renowned for her Booker Prize winner novel, Offshore, and her biographical fiction works. The Blue Flower is likewise a work of fiction based on a real person’s life: the 18th-century German Romantic poet Friedrich von Hardenberg, better known by his penname, Novalis. The novel mostly revolves around his early twenties, narrating his university days and his life after his graduation, but its interest is clearly not only concerned with Friedrich, comprising as well random fragments of the daily life of his close circle.

The main focus of The Blue Flower is the attraction Friedrich experiences towards 12-year-old orphan Sophie von Kuhn. The ten-year age gap is portrayed as a strong, devotional love, an important point to be aware of for anyone considering reading the novel, because even though it is based on historical reality, this love can be very off-putting for a contemporary reader. Fitzgerald makes sure to include more than one strong, clever and independent female characters too (and well fleshed-out ones for that matter); however this does not compensate for the frustration from having to read Friedrich raving about how much he is in love with, literally, a child.

The major theme of romantic idealism vs. reality sweeps through the novel like a soft wind, without ever making its presence too prominent. The shocking ending, which could be labelled tragic in its strong irony, finally establishes the author’s opinion and, in conclusion, the unexplainable harshness of the world triumphs. However, the shocking aspect of the ending is perhaps only so because of its suddenness. The reader is never led to expect a happy ending, nor a satisfactory resolution that brings everything together since the plot does not have the kind of coherence that builds up. Instead, it quietly goes on to describe the setting, family histories and, most frequently, little, insignificant manifestations of the characters’ personalities through their aspirations, interactions, or even through incorporating fragments written as a diary. The only significant conflict, apart from the occasional misunderstandings and slight arguments between the characters, seems to be the tension from the dichotomy of optimism vs. bitterness or cynicism I mentioned above.

The beautiful and unique writing style, alongside the gentleness and musing quality with which Fitzgerald handles her characters provide this narrative a cozy and homely atmosphere, though it is certainly slow paced. It also is full of mysterious quotes that hang somewhere between spiritual and philosophical, which seems apt considering the main character is a poet-to-be (and more so since a Romantic one). Overall, the fine style leads one to think that the author is on a mission to elevate the mundane. This is supported by another strong feature of the novel, which is how successfully it recreates the historical environment. This feels very realistic, thanks to the author’s clearly diligent research process and experience in fiction based on history; and very alive, thanks to her detailed descriptions of anything and everything trivial, from how they do their laundry to the habits of Friedrich’s old horse. Even though this many seemingly irrelevant details are not expected to be very engaging for the reader, they do still prove interesting to some degree, due to the inclusion of witty remarks that add insight to how the characters view these phenomena or are affected by them. Despite this, at times, the narrative still feels too scattered, since the cast of characters is very wide, and the writing fails to be focused enough to let the reader orient themselves and determine at which point they are of the plot. Another reason for this confusion is that often Fitzgerald does not give the reader enough insight into the minds of the characters to showcase the motivations of their actions. This might be a conscious choice by the author because the characters themselves lack insight. Yet, it makes it even more difficult to engage with the novel after all, turning it into something more “intellectual” (or maybe just overly mysterious), than a book you can enjoy to relax.

Overall, the novel did not capture my attention for long, and I believe most of the readers would share my experience. I would say it is a good novel, but not a good story. Or maybe it is more of a study than a story: it feels like an experiment the author is doing in her mind to test and compare the romantic and the realistic perspectives, but described in a painfully beautiful use of language. It depends on the reader’s expectations to decide whether that makes a waste of literary talent or a successful elevation of the bleak reality.

TÀNIA MÁRQUEZ FERNÁNDEZ

1996. The Conflicted Journey of Self-Empowerment in Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding

Born in 1958, Helen Fielding is a popular English writer, the author of the highly successful novel Bridget Jones’s Diary published in 1996, a novel which took its inspiration from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, and that is also derived from Fielding’s popular column for British Vogue. Fielding’s novel popularized a new genre born in the 90s, ‘chick-lit’, which provided female-centered narratives of young modern women experiencing real life challenges in a humorous way. Although romantic connections are the central topic in the novel, women’s empowerment and messages of personal growth are transmitted in the protagonist’s journey in a way that seems realistic in the context of contemporary women experiences. Fielding’s novel was British Book of the Year in 1998 and was the object of a film adaptation released in 2001, with Reneé Zellweger in the title role. It has originated three other novels and three more film adaptations.

The novel begins with Bridget, the main character, writing her New Year’s resolution. Her main objectives are to lose weight, quit smoking and drinking, to have a boyfriend (or not) and being self-empowered. On the first day of the year, Bridget attends a party at her parents’ friends, who set her up with a successful divorced lawyer named Mark Darcy. However, their first encounter does not develop as planned and they fail to connect with each other. Back to work, Bridget starts a flirtation with her boss Daniel Cleaver, which leads to a tumultuous relationship though he is not interested in a serious relationship and intermittently ignores her. Eventually, Bridget discovers that Daniel is cheating on her and she decides to put an end to their romantic connection. Later on, Bridget and Darcy reunite again and he surprises her by inviting her on a date. As the year comes to an end, she finds herself drawn to Mark Darcy, and she discovers that, despite her initial dislike of him, he is a compassionate man who likes her for who she is, unlike Daniel.

Although, arguably, Bridget Jones’s Diary contain feminist themes, Bridget often waves between self-empowerment and conforming to the pressures imposed on women by a chauvinist society. For instance, while expressing her goals, Bridget states that she wants to “develop inner poise” and cultivate a “sense of self (…) complete without boyfriend” (9). However, she contradicts herself by viewing these qualities as the “best way to obtain a boyfriend” (9). This turns feminism into a tool for achieving attention from men, which undermines the ideal that women should be empowered for themselves and not as a means for seeking male attention. The novel is filled with similar contradictions. On the first day of the year Bridget is already complaining about waking up alone in her parents’ house describing this as “too humiliating at my age” (13); thus she is reinforcing societal expectations suggesting that women should be married by a certain age. Similarly, when Bridget finally enters a formal relationship, she compromises her own values. Earlier in the novel, she and her friends establish that they want to avoid “fuckwittage,” a term that describes men who play with women’s emotions. Nevertheless, Bridget describes Daniel as an “emotional fuckwit” after he invites her to Prague only to cancel the plan at the last minute. Although she tells him she isn’t interested in “emotional fuckwittage” (59), she still continues the relationship, knowing that he lacks in commitment.

The reason why Bridget continues with a man who does not treat her appropriately stems from her low self-esteem, which is evident in her internal dialogue throughout the novel. After Daniel fails to call her, Bridget asks, “Why am I so unattractive?” (25) and later wonders if he might be with “someone thinner” (29). She frequently criticizes her own appearance, calling herself “fat” (18). Her insecurities about her body image are reinforced when Daniel cheats on her with Suki, a “skinny” woman, who pointedly remarks about Bridget “I thought you said she was thin” (130). This betrayal reinforces Bridget’s sense of guilt, as she wonders if her failures in love are due to her physical appearance. Even so, Bridget has a moment of realization near the end of the novel when she reconnects with Mark Darcy. She begins to see that physical appearance may not be as important as she once believed, because Darcy values her for who she is. Bridget’s discovery of what constitutes self-love is a pivotal moment in the narrative, yet her way towards self-love is shaped by the opinions of the men in her life.

While Bridget Jones’s Diary is frequently interpreted as a critique of a chauvinistic society, it fails to send an empowering feminist message. Throughout the story, Bridget’s self-esteem is significantly influenced by men’s actions and attention, and even her realization of her own worth is dependent on being treated appropriately by Mark Darcy. The story lacks a key moment of independence for Bridget, one that would illustrate her worth apart from any male character. By closing the year in a relationship with Darcy, the plot, in short, increases the notion that Bridget’s self-worth is confirmed by her romantic relationships rather than her own self-acceptance, as it should be.

YSABELLA PACHANO CONTRERAS

1996. George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones: A Very Realistic Fantasy without a Hero to Save the Day

A Game of Thrones, written by George R.R Martin (b. 1948, New Jersey), published in 1996, marks the start of the still incomplete saga A Song of Ice and Fire, of which five novels have been published so far. The first novel has been praised for its captivating storyline and received nominations for several awards, winning the Locus Award in 1997. The saga has inspired several TV adaptations and spin-offs; the first series, also called A Game of Thrones, premiered on HBO in 2011, became very popular and sparked a cultural phenomenon, making the novel a bestseller by the end of that year. Martin’s saga also has inspired several video games, comic books and countless types of merchandise.

A Game of Thrones tells a fascinating tale set in the fictional continents of Westeros and Essos in a pseudo-medieval setting. Following three main plot lines, Martin introduces eight main characters belonging to rival noble families. Each chapter is told from the limited third-person point of view of a different character, allowing for a multidimensional and comprehensive experience. Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell, decides to accept a new political office to serve King Robert as his Hand, leaving his family behind in the North. Meanwhile, his bastard son, Jon Snow, heads towards the Border searching for a place to belong as part of the kingdom’s Guard, and Daenerys, a young girl descendant of the Mad King with dragon blood, lives in exile in Essos and learns to cope with Dothraki customs while she convinces herself that she is the rightful monarch of Westeros. The novel begins in a time of peace, but events soon spiral into conflict as each family vies for control of the Iron Throne and by extension the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Besides the main dispute for the throne, the prologue introduces some supernatural creatures that loom over the country in the North; these are warded off by the Wall, an ancient tall stone barrier, and the Night’s Watch, a sworn brotherhood protector of the country against the dangerous Northern wilderness.

At first glance, A Game of Thrones might appear to be a typical fantasy story where a benevolent hero fights evil with extraordinary faith, but soon it reveals itself to be a multi-layered story about flawed characters with ambiguous morals. Under the magical elements and the medieval-hued settings with knights and kings, familial loyalty and betrayal are continuously being discussed, how the desire for power can transform relationships and break even the strongest personalities, which makes this tale as fantastic as it is realistic. This complexity makes the story engaging from the beginning since the characters are strikingly multidimensional. Martin presents us with heroic characters involved in antiheroic moments and vice versa. Just as readers begin to care for some characters, their darker side eventually comes to light. The immoral antiheroes are fortunate and mostly succeed in their plans whereas heroes are often at a disadvantage, highlighting the unpredictability and unfairness that society experiences in the real world, transforming fantasy into a relatable and realistic story.

This patchwork of themes is finely executed through Martin’s striking writing style. Every main character is extremely well-developed and the world-building is exceptional, due to his detailed descriptions. Martin’s style and tone create an atmospheric setting filled with a sense of uneasiness related to a dangerous winter that will soon overtake Westeros. Martin did not write high fantasy composed just of magical battles and creatures; instead, he kept the fantastic beings in the backdrop to focus on domestic and political struggles leaving insightful comments on modern society, all while he enriched the genre. This interaction between former eunuch slave Varys and Ned Stark exemplifies his critique of political dynamics perfectly: “Why is it always the innocents who suffer most when you high lords play your game of thrones?” (578).

Notwithstanding, the multiple narrators Martin employs throughout the novel can feel overwhelming for the first third of the novel, or at least until the reader becomes familiar with their voices. In addition, such variation in perspective can often constrict the narrative pace, as some parts of the novel feel sluggish and barren of excitement. Beyond this, despite being cataloged as a feminist author due to his descriptions of independent and realistic female characters, some of Martin’s characterizations are still implicitly conservative. In this first novel, the Stark sisters are frequently juxtaposed; the younger Arya is rebellious and brave, whereas the older Sansa is docile and adheres to conventional femininity. Their contrast illustrates the continuing problems with how women are portrayed in literature. As Sansa has no desire to fight, readers are led to see her as shallow and passive while accepting Arya as a model of the 21st-century female hero as soon as she learns to use a sword. This constant comparison implicitly perpetuates sexist ideas about how only a certain type of woman can be considered heroic. In contrast, not only in this novel but generally in fantasy literature, male characters are allowed to be multifaceted without persistent judgment from society, while female characters need to possess a set of virtues to be portrayed sympathetically.

Ultimately, in Martin’s work female and male characters are deeply human, encouraging readers to get rid of polar concepts such as good and evil as this is not merely a fantasy tale of humans versus beasts; rather, in A Game of Thrones, the source of evil may not lie with The Others or the dragons, but rather within humanity itself. Having said that, readers who are not fantasy fans or prefer quick reads might find this novel a slow burn, full of intricate stories, political debates, and foreshadowing that requires patience and attention. Yet, Martin starts with this first novel a saga that remains accessible to many fantasy readers (and others) and allows for important philosophical topics to be discussed as it leaves us with memorable lines. When Ned’s youngest son Bran asks, foreshadowing the whole saga, “Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?,” his father replies “That is the only time a man can be brave” (18).

GERARD ALEGRE PRAT

1996. Chaos and Identity: Exploring the Brutal World of Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club

Chuck Palahniuk’s novel Fight Club explores modern masculinity, materialism, and mental chaos in a raw and visceral way while defying conventional narrative. Fight Club has developed a cult since its publication in 1996, becoming a symbol of countercultural rebellion as well as an emblematic work of 1990s literature. The straightforward, simple syntax of Palahniuk’s work gives readers an unfiltered look into the mind of a tormented generation. The novel stands as a challenging yet provocative read that raises critical questions about identity, purpose, and freedom in a world of conformity.

The plot of Fight Club focuses on the unnamed narrator, a white-collar worker disillusioned by his empty consumer-driven life. Plagued by insomnia, he begins attending support groups for various afflictions, seeking affection among strangers. It is at one of these groups that he meets Marla Singer, a fascinating woman who mirrors his own disillusionment. At the same time, the narrator meets Tyler Durden, a charismatic soap salesman with radical philosophies. Together, they create ‘Fight Club’, a secret underground group where men meet to engage in brutal fights as a release from their boring and monotone lives. As Fight Club grows, it evolves into an anarchic movement called ‘Project Mayhem’. With Tyler emerging as a cult leader pushing a rebellion against societal norms, the narrator soon realizes that his friendship with Tyler has evolved into something far more twisted and dangerous than he thought, eventually leading him to uncover disturbing truths about his own identity and Tyler’s true nature. The novel culminates in a shocking, introspective climax, revealing the narrator’s struggle to regain control over his life and his true identity.

Palahniuk’s Fight Club is a novel of contrasts and intensity, and it offers readers both remarkable strengths and some notable flaws. One of its primary strengths is the direct prose that Palahniuk employs, which mirrors the narrator’s own fractured mental state and reinforces the novel’s visceral tone. This minimalist style communicates the narrator’s frustration and the brutal physicality of the fight scenes. Palahniuk’s language is filled with dark humor and satire, which creates an undertone that invites readers to question the absurdities of modern life, especially the materialistic and superficial aspects of contemporary culture. The novel’s critique of consumerism and corporate influence resonates with readers who feel that society often values material possessions over individuality and personal growth. Through the protagonist’s struggle to define himself outside of these societal constraints, Palahniuk knocks into a universal feeling of disillusionment that gives the novel its appeal.

Fight Club also stands out for its exploration of masculinity. The formation of the many underground Fight Clubs provides an extreme but intriguing commentary on the crisis of masculinity and male identity in a society that often represses emotional expression in men. By participating in Fight Club, the men are able to release their aggression and feel a sense of solidarity that has been missing in their regular lives. This exploration of repressed anger, frustration, and a search for identity speaks to many readers, particularly those who have felt trapped by societal expectations and cultural norms. Tyler Durden, the instigator of the club, personifies the novel’s themes of rebellion and self-destruction, encouraging others to break free from societal conventions. As a character, Tyler is both captivating and disturbing; his charisma and radical ideas make him an antihero, but his reckless disregard for moral boundaries ultimately leads to dangerous consequences. Tyler’s perspective, though seductive, serves as a cautionary tale about the allure of extremism and unchecked individualism.

Despite these strengths, Fight Club is not without its flaws, some of which may disaffect readers. No doubt, Palahniuk’s portrayal of violence can feel relentless and, at times, gratuitous. While violence serves as a metaphor for the narrator’s inner turmoil and disillusionment, some readers might find the detailed descriptions of physical aggression overwhelming or even glorifying. The novel’s descent into anarchy with the formation of ‘Project Mayhem’ is another area where the story risks turning readers off. As Tyler’s influence grows and his plans escalate from organized fights to chaos, the plot becomes more erratic, and some readers may find the storyline’s trajectory difficult to follow or overly anarchic. Project Mayhem’s increasingly violent and destructive actions push the boundaries of rebellion into something more sinister, raising ethical questions about the fine line between freedom and anarchy, which might make the novel’s message ambiguous for some.

Additionally, while the main (or only) female character Marla Singer introduces an interesting counterpoint to the narrator and Tyler, her role is underdeveloped. She primarily serves as a symbol of the narrator’s conflicted desires rather than as a fully realized character with her own motivations and complexities. This lack of depth in Marla and in other secondary characters may disappoint readers who prefer more refined portrayals, particularly in a story that revolves so heavily around identity and relationships. The novel’s pacing also shifts dramatically in its second half, adding chaos to the atmosphere of the novel, but also disorienting the reader. Some readers may struggle with the frantic pace, especially during the scenes of escalating violence and destruction in Project Mayhem. This speed, combined with the surrealism of the plot twist involving Tyler’s identity, might be harsh for readers who expect a more linear narrative structure.

To sum up, Fight Club is a gripping, thought-provoking book that forces readers to face hard realities about contemporary life. On several levels, Palahniuk’s depiction of a disillusioned person grappling with identity and purpose strikes a chord, highlighting the most sinister facets of social conventions and human nature. The novel’s influence and cultural significance are indisputable, despite the fact that it might not be to everyone’s taste, particularly for those who avoid violence and depressing stories. Inspiring conversations about freedom, identity, and rebellion in a conformist culture, Fight Club’s examination of the human mind continues to be a potent commentary on current events. Whether one enjoys it or finds it extremely disturbing, it is a novel that makes an impact and solidifies its position in contemporary literature.

ALEJANDRO POUSADA DOMÍNGUEZ

1996. Layers of Struggle: Historical and Personal Insights in Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes

Angela’s Ashes, a memoir by Frank McCourt, published in 1996, stands as a classical book within the autobiographical genre. Though McCourt was born in Brooklyn in 1930, his formative years in Limerick, Ireland, defined his life and became the heart of this memoir. Initially intended as a single volume, McCourt expanded his life’s narrative through two sequels, ‘Tis (1999) and Teacher Man (2005), making his memoirs an enduring contribution to the nonfiction genre. Chronicling the struggles of Irish emigrant families in the 1920s and 1930s, the book achieved widespread acclaim, winning the Pulitzer Prize for Biography in 1997 and later inspiring a film adaptation directed in 1999 by Alan Parker.

The narrative of Angela’s Ashes follows Frank McCourt from his birth to his departure for America at the age of 19, recounting a childhood steeped in misery in Limerick, Ireland, characterized by poverty, loss, and resilience. Tragedy strikes early with the death of his younger sister, Margaret, which compels the family to return to Limerick from the USA, shattering their illusions about the American Dream. Life in Limerick brings even deeper hardship, exacerbated by his father’s alcoholism and frequent absences. The McCourt family endures relentless hunger, loss, and social stigma, living for a time in a dilapidated house with only a shared outdoor lavatory which serves as a symbol of their degradation. While the downstairs is unlivable, flooded with infected dirt, the upstairs provides modest warmth, a refuge from the cold world outside. Young Frank is forced to mature rapidly, taking on various odd jobs such as reading to a blind man, delivering telegrams, and working in a coal yard, to help support his struggling family. Despite the absence of a stable parental figure and frequent illness from their impoverished conditions, Frank’s resilience drives him to seek a better future.

Written in a first-person narrative voice, the text provides both a reliable and compelling story. Frank’s innocence at the beginning of the memoir allows readers to sympathize deeply with his experiences. However, McCourt’s originality lies not only in recounting these experiences but also in his ability to bring moments of humor and irony into the story, a technique that enriches the emotional complexity of the narrative. As Frank reflects, “The master says it’s a glorious thing to die for the Faith, and Dad says it’s a glorious thing to die for Ireland, and I wonder if there’s anyone in the world who would like us to live” (124). This dark humor exposes the emptiness of glorified ideals like faith and nationalism when faced with hunger and despair. Moreover, beyond the humor, Frank weaves a historical narrative enriched with Irish folklore, infusing the text with a spark of hope. The tales his father tells of Cuchulain, a mythical Irish folk hero, connect the story to their heritage and provide a historical depth that strengthens the narrative. As Frank recounts, “Soon we’re all in bed and if there’s the odd flea I don’t mind because it’s warm in the bed with the six of us and I love the glow of the fire” (73). Frank’s reflections show how, even in dire conditions, the warmth and sense of security his family brings him can be a source of comfort. This quality of the text captivated the original 1990s readers and kept them engaged, distinguishing this memoir from other works from the same autobiographical genre. By the end of the story, readers end up deeply touched by the narrative and the intimacy Frank’s innocence first-person narrative conveys.

Frank McCourt also establishes a rich historical background for his story, positioning it within the religious conflicts of 20th-century Ireland and adding significant credibility to Frank’s account. By exploring the divisions between Catholics and Protestants, the enduring effects of British colonialism, and entrenched social prejudices, McCourt frames his personal struggles within the larger backdrop of Irish history. In doing so, readers are invited to understand the generational impact of his difficulties, transcending individual experiences. Even if at some moments, the narrative lacks a faster pace, McCourt carefully presents to the reader the cultural and historical context of Limerick, bringing weight to Frank’s experiences and helping to empathize with the character’s anxieties. Through the eyes of a young boy, readers see how strict Catholic education profoundly influences Frank, prompting him to question his worthiness as a sinner after a brief affair with Theresa Carmody. Tormented by hunger and the squalid conditions of his home, Frank is also taught to despise the Northern Irish, most of whom are Protestant, despite having family from the North himself, underscoring his outsider status. Driven by fear and shame rather than faith, he frequently seeks relief in the church, searching for redemption. For instance, he declares:

I never tell them I stopped taking the shilling tip. I never tell them about the green sofa and the excitement. I never tell them of the pain that comes when she opens the door and I can see the weakness in her, and all I want to do then is make tea for her and sit with my arms around her on the green sofa. (380)

Through this confession, Frank conveys the entrenched fears and anxieties woven into his family’s misery. The described struggles with forbidden lust and desire, add layers of complexity to the narrative and a closer connection to younger readers, who even if not influenced by religion, may still relate to the pressures of a strict Catholic upbringing.

It is evident that this memoir is highly recommended for its masterful portrayal of the inner conflicts and complexities faced by an Irish boy growing up in a struggling community. Through Frank’s vivid storytelling and direct style, readers are drawn into the hardships of a small Irish town while witnessing the satire and critique aimed at social and religious hypocrisy. Beyond Frank’s personal story, the memoir serves as a powerful mirror of Irish life during the Great Depression, evoking empathy and curiosity and inviting readers to connect with this first-hand historical account of the migrant who returned home to an even worse life.

NICO BELLA RIGG MACINNES

1996. Lost in London Below: Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere

Neil Gaiman’s self-proclaimed ‘fairytale for adults’, Neverwhere, is an urban fantasy novel exploring the fictional world of ‘London Below’. Published in 1996 as his first fully independent novel, Gaiman claims in this text creative individuality back from the disappointing BBC series of the same year. Neverwhere, a thrillingly chaotic, and twistedly eccentric novel blends humor and horror as it exemplifies the signature style that Gaiman has become well-known and critically acclaimed for. However, recent allegations fo sexual misconduct about the English author, highlighted in a 2024 podcast series, have cast a shadow over his previously well-regarded work. The knowledge of these allegations inevitably shaped my approach to the novel, and I consequently searched for evidence in Gaiman’s writing. As the sexual nature of these accusations was not present in theme, content, or text, I continue here with a focus on the novel itself.

Neverwhere’s action begins with a ragged, wounded girl, who as ordinary Richard Mayhew reaches out to help, pulls him into an action-packed adventure in London Below. This newfound friend, Door, draws him into her dangerous pursuit for the truth and identity of her parents’ murderer. The success of their quest offers clarity and closure for Door, and a return to routine life for Richard. The fast-paced grimy, and darkly humorous plot ultimately challenges Richard’s courage and reshapes his sense of reality. Although introduced alike most others action-adventure novel’s, Neverwhere differentiates from its genre through the concluding narrative twist.

Set in the grotesquely imaginative London Below, the impressive strength of worldbuilding is one of Neverwhere’s most credible features. The underworld is both repulsive and immersive; depicted in incredible depth through an abundance of vivid descriptive devices—similes, metaphors, and unique word choice—Gaiman makes the eerie sewers and old passageways beneath London inescapably intriguing with a real sense of legitimacy to its functioning existence. The use of the real street names and features of London draws a direct comparison between this dramatic alternative reality and the city in actuality, further accentuating the remarkably stratified location of London Below.

The narrative’s creation of intrigue about something quite unlikable additionally categorizes the central antagonist duo. Although these villains lack psychological complexity, Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar’s depraved and mischievous characters provide memorable comedic dialogue as they bring dark humor to their villainous presence in the novel. In contrast to the intricacies of the setting, Neverwhere seems, however, to lack character depth, which is even seen in the central protagonist. Richard often lacks agency, acting more like an observer than an active participant in his journey. This passive quality makes it difficult to become invested in his growth, and his eventual decision to return to the underworld feels unresolved, as if his character has not evolved meaningfully. A similar sense of two-dimensionality is portrayed in many other characters. Door, while given psychological motivation is not described with any psychological depth, and the villains, although amusing, sometimes feel more like caricatures than true threats. These simply created characters stand in direct contrast to the novels mysterious and unconventional fictional world.

This clash of narrative features can also be seen in the novels plot structure, which Gaiman has admitted to developing as he wrote. The high intensity episodic pacing of the chapters—due to the narrative’s screenplay origin—creates a series of disjointed scenes. The quick speed of the narrative becomes increasingly overwhelming when the action contains constant inconsequential obstacles. Therefore, this initially engaging plot that prioritizes creative imagery and immersive worldbuilding, begins to lose its appeal, when it fails to progress in developing a substantial drive or ‘reason’. Neverwhere attempts nonetheless to balance the fantastical entertainment of its storyline with meaningful social commentary; in the introduction to the novel, Gaiman claims it uses the “mirror of fantasy” to illuminate overlooked realities. However, created within the safety net of a fictional world where ‘anything goes’, side quests appear inserted to lengthen the narrative and ultimately detract from the authors claim of commentary of society. The novel’s final lines detail Richards ultimate return to London Below, leaving an ambiguous message that undermines the story’s potential for social or moral commentary. Neverwhere’s conclusion prioritizes the fun storytelling of this vividly developed world over reflecting this ‘mirror’ onto any real aspects of life within society.

Neverwhere will offer you an energetic journey through the mysterious unknown. The novel’s intriguing conceptual premises and plotline create an imaginative and entertaining read. Yet, readers seeking an adventure with a lasting impact may feel unsatisfied, as the novel’s eerily enchanting underworld lacks the structural cohesiveness and depth necessary for its communication of comment on fantasy as a reflection of reality. While Neverwhere is an imaginative and entertaining read, it does not ultimately deliver the thematic weight and social commentary that it initially promises; unlike the children’s solid moral teachings of a fairytale, this ‘fairytale for adults’ leaves an ambiguous moral message. We are abruptly abandoned by our protagonist, to close the novel and move on in the real world, leaving the potential to convey any real moral meanings, left behind us and lost in London Below.

REBECCA CAREY ARRIBAS

1997. Beyond the Battlefield: Love and Overemphasis in Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain

Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain is a widely acclaimed novel that received the National Book Award in 1997 which, as a result, made the author gain international recognition and become a significant voice in American literature. Frazier, who was born in Asheville, North Carolina, in 1950, reflects a deep understanding of the Civil War and the Virginia state by providing detailed descriptions of the setting and new insights into the wide range of consequences war has on love, family, and personal growth. Its popularity was increased thanks to Anthony Minghella’s well-received 2003 film adaptation.

Set amidst the US Civil War (1861-1865), the novel follows the journey of a confederate soldier named Inman who is dispatched to the front. However, Inman decides to escape from the battlefield and return home to Cold Mountain in North Carolina to reunite with his lover, Ada Monroe. Inman’s journey is challenging since he is alone trying to survive while facing perilous routes and encounters. Along Inman’s odyssey, Frazier narrates Ada’s life highlighting the struggles she faces while trying to maintain her father’s farm once he passes away. In fact, Ada lacks survival skills, and she is only able to remain alive due to all the knowledge a strong woman named Ruby provides her. Ruby, because of her poor relationship with her absent and alcoholic father, has learnt to overcome life obstacles from a very young age and becomes a crucial character in the development of Ada as an independent woman. Ada and Inman’s relationship is highly affected by the Civil War since their paths follow different directions and they are no longer able to communicate with each other for a long period of time. Therefore, they do not know what to expect from the battle nor if they are ever going to reunite again because, as the author informs the reader, at one point “she had not seen him in almost four years, and it had been more than four months since she last heard from him” (236) Consequently, Frazier demonstrates the effects of war by exploring the themes of love, fear, survival, and internal conflicts.

Cold Mountain stands out due to its evocative language, distinctive characters, and detailed setting. Considering the dialogue that appears throughout the novel, Frazier creates an authentic narrative which captures the historical period of the Civil War so that readers can travel back in time. In other words, the author provides the readers with detailed information about that tragic event which allows them to learn from the past. In addition, the diversity of characters exhibits a vast range of internal concerns that showcase their personal growth during wartime. As a result, with the exploration of each character’s personality, the author fulfils the objective of transporting the reader back in time in a novel that properly speaking is historical fiction combined with romance. For example, Ada and Inman serve as crystal-clear illustrations of survival while navigating through complex situations of self-discovery. What is more, the setting is portrayed in such poetic detail that it becomes another character of the story and gives the impression of being alive in many circumstances. Hence, Frazier creates a captivating plot which alternates between self-reflection scenes and the physical conflicts the characters must overcome using a well-balanced pace that allows for enough suspense to make the reader engage with the text.

On the other hand, even though Frazier’s novel is praised for its language and complex portrayal of the period, the narration displays an uneven focus on detail. While certain events are measured with accuracy, some are not. Consequently, the author often concentrates his attention on minor elements, causing a feeling of overload since these dense descriptions overshadow the more relevant aspects of the plot and the protagonists. For instance, the rich, detailed information about the environment draws attention away from characters such as the eighteen-year-old girl named Sara who Inman encounters on his way back home. In actuality, the reader may be incapable of creating an impression of Sara since the author only provides background information about her current situation instead of data about her physical appearance and personality. Ada herself frequently receives less attention in comparison to Inman. In short, readers struggle to form strong connections with central figures like her because their personalities become obscured by the overwhelming description of other events and individuals.

In conclusion, Frazier’s Cold Mountain captures the brutality of war highlighting the role of love through a detailed narrative. Nonetheless, despite some occasional overemphasis on the setting, the author’s evocative prose and complexity of characters invite the reader into an immersive Civil War experience while raising awareness about how difficult times can become. War impacts an individual not only on a physical level, but on a psychological one too. His work and dedication have made of Cold Mountain a relevant and unique novel in 21st-century American literature.

KENMY FONG VEGA

1997. Ian Rankin’s Black and Blue: Engaging Characters and Unmet Expectations

Black and Blue is a crime thriller novel within the detective fiction genre, written by the acclaimed Scottish author Ian Rankin (b. Cardenden, Scotland, 1960) and published in 1997. The eighth volume of a long ongoing series, it features Inspector John Rebus as its protagonist, a complex character whose investigations have captivated enough readers to earn Rankin numerous awards. Due to his contributions to literature, Rankin has been knighted. Moreover, his work is considered a fundamental part of the ‘Tartar noir’ genre, which is a distinctive style of crime fiction representative of Scotland and Scottish writers. In addition to winning multiple awards for Black and Blue, including the prestigious Gold Dagger, the popularity of Rebus’s adventures also led to a TV adaptation in the early 2000s, bringing Rankin’s storytelling and the character of Rebus to a broader audience, and to a version with a younger Rebus released in 2024.

Set in Scotland in the mid-1990s, Black and Blue takes place thirty years after the unsolved murders committed in Glasgow by real-life serial killer Bible John, a series of killings that claimed the lives of three women, with the killer never identified. The story follows Inspector John Rebus, who recently transferred to a new Police department in Craigmillar, Edinburgh, where he becomes involved in the investigation of the death of Allan Mitchinson, a North Sea oil rig worker. While investigating Mitchinson’s death, Rebus conducts an unofficial investigation involving Johnny Bible, a copycat killer who closely mimics Bible John’s methods. This imitator has already killed three women in a notably similar modus operandi, earning his nickname from the media in reference to the original murderer.

As Rebus delves deeper into Mitchinson’s death, uncovering links to the oil industry, he becomes increasingly obsessed with the Johnny Bible investigation. Simultaneously, Rebus finds himself under investigation for his involvement in the case of Spaven, a famous writer whom Rebus and a former colleague imprisoned years prior. Spaven, claiming wrongful incarceration, won public sympathy through his autobiographical writings, sparking public controversy. After Spaven dies in prison, the Police launched an investigation on the only remaining suspect connected to the case: John Rebus. Throughout the novel, Rebus must succeed in three key challenges: solving Allan Mitchinson’s murder, capturing Johnny Bible (and if possible Bible John), and surviving an investigation that could end his career.

The character descriptions are exceptional, providing a vivid sense of each character’s physical appearance and personality. Dialogues are well-written, giving readers a clear understanding of everything that occurs. Rankin captures even the smallest details of scenes, from gestures and movements to facial expressions. The character web is well-crafted with complex relationships and different levels of interactions. The story unfolds gradually, a slow burn that builds patiently, with Rankin carefully advancing the plot through detailed descriptions. Rebus, in particular, is a brilliantly written character.

Despite not having read the other novels of the series, I do not find it necessary to do so in order to fully comprehend Rebus’s personality, since Rankin provides sufficient glimpses into Rebus’s past that help the readers understand his present self. Although hints of corrupt behavior can sometimes be seen, subtle cues throughout the novel reveal his growing efforts to improve morally. Furthermore, as the plot unfolds, Rebus’s psychological traits and personality are progressively revealed, with his inner struggles coming gradually to light. This meticulous portrayal allows readers to trace his personal growth and gain a deeper insight into his relentless obsession with work. Rankin also names various parts of Scotland, such as Aberdeen and Glasgow, painting detailed portraits of all the settings mentioned. These descriptions are infused with the essence of Scotland, not only in the scenic imagery but also in other cultural elements, such as Rebus’s constant visits to bars and pubs. His drinking, whether coping with stress or reflecting the local pub culture, adds authenticity to both his character and the Scottish setting.

As mentioned earlier, Black and Blue contains three main storylines. Allan Mitchinson’s case serves as the central plot, though it mainly functions as a stage for Rebus’s obsession with catching the copycat killer, Johnny Bible. While the Mitchinson plot is well-constructed it occasionally lacks the magnetic allure of the Johnny Bible investigation. Conversely, the Johnny Bible’s plot, with the thrilling reveal that Bible John is still alive, brings substantial intrigue. The additional subplots, like Rebus’s internal investigation and his romantic interest, sustain the reader’s interest and keep the narrative dynamic. Nevertheless, with three plots unfolding simultaneously, the Mitchinson case can feel slightly tedious compared to the other, more engaging narratives. Ultimately, the Mitchinson and Johnny Bible storylines converge, but the novel’s conclusion fails to provide the level of excitement readers may expect, since it lacks sufficient action to deliver a thrilling and hectic ending.

In conclusion, Black and Blue is a rich and compelling crime thriller that highlights Ian Rankin’s skills in writing complex and intertwined narratives and his mastery of the detective fiction genre. The novel may have a slow start that occasionally can be perceived as tedious, but as the narrative unfolds Rankin’s portrayal of Rebus’s personal and professional struggles and the vivid descriptions of the 1990s Scotland act as a powerful magnet to keep readers engaged. Although the three main storylines vary in intensity and the ending does not quite deliver the action-packed resolution one might hope for, leaving certain expectations unmet, the story nevertheless sparks a lasting interest in Rebus’s character. Despite some frustrations with the conclusion of this particular novel, I cannot deny the intrigue to delve into other books in the series, where Rankin’s literary skills are likely to shine even brighter.

ALBA BATALLA

1997. Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things: The Literary Excellence of Devastating Family Tragedy

The God of Small Things (1997) is a novel by Indian writer and activist Arundhati Roy and a Booker Prize winner. Roy (1961) was born in Shillong, Meghalaya. She studied architecture at the University of Delhi. However, her literary vocation led her to write scripts for films and series, culminating in her debut novel, The God of Small Things. Thanks to this novel Roy is recognized as one of the best authors of our time. In it Roy criticizes misogyny and social discrimination in India, offering a better understanding of the country’s customs and politics.

The God of Small Things focuses on a pair of twins, Estha and Rahel. They are the children of Ammu, a divorced woman who lives with her parents and siblings. Most of the events take place in Kerala, South-East India, between 1969 and 1993. Time jumps between memories and premonitions, and between Estha and Rahel’s childhood and adulthood, are recurrent because the plot is non-linear. The novel delves into the stories of three generations: first, the tragic ending of Sophie Mol, their English cousin. Then, the twins’ traumatic lives and the experiences of their mother and her adulterous loves. Also, it gives voice to the adventures and sorrows of Chacko, their Oxford-educated Marxist uncle. His wife, with whom he shares a daughter (Sophie Mol), left him. Other narrative arcs cover the lives of the grandparents and Baby Kochamma, their aunt. Another crucial plot line is the harsh development of the story of Ammu’s lover, Velutha. All plots together bring the action to the story, where guilt, tragedy, and the struggle between modern India and traditional India coexist.

Roy’s novel deals with a family history divided into different stories, which are presented in a disordered and fragmented manner. Since the beginning, the reader faces a mystery: the death of one of the characters. As the narrative progresses, we discover more and more information about the reasons and causes of this death. Also, from the start, Roy teases scenes that will happen later. For example, in chapter 2 the narrator anticipates that Ammu has to “love by night the man his children loved by day” (44), a phrase that the reader will not understand until the end of the book. Foreshadowing is a literary device that is widely used in this novel, providing a vital narrative tension to keep the reader hooked on the plot.

Another important aspect of this book is the use of poetic prose used for the sake of variety (rhymes, prose, wordplay, mixing languages, and repetitions). An example of poetic prose happens already in chapter 1: “It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire” (1). The author masterfully uses these literary resources to immerse the reader in the experiences and feelings of each character. The repetition of “things can change in a day” at the end of several chapters is also a literary resource widely used to maintain the reader’s engagement.

It’s basic to highlight that Roy tackles heartbreaking themes (incest and sexual abuse) while also taking a critical stance towards social injustices, caste structure, and gender differences in India. The characters in The God of Small Things face these archaic views regularly. They live in a suffocating society filled with many laws and limitations. Everyone carries the weight of guilt, either for breaking the rules or simply for not being or acting as traditionally expected. Also, due to the nonlinearity of the narration, in which each situation happens over and over again from different perspectives and between two-time axes (the 1960s and the 1990s), the reader learns to appreciate the ‘small things’, which eventually become crucial in the understanding of more elaborated experiences such as love, fear, guilt, the complexities of family relationships, social injustices, and the weight of tradition or the consequences of cultural clashes in postcolonial societies.

However, the non-linear structure requires several re-readings as the story progresses, which makes us understand the stories adequately. Therefore, The God of Small Things needs time and patience. That may irritate some readers, especially those who see reading as an evasive tool for fast enjoyment. Roy takes us on an immersive experience; we can feel the plot and the characters’ painful traumas. With this, we can experience the great tragedies that shape the novel. The author also presents the landscapes and people in India, including their uniqueness and smells. All these details make the reading slow, and although that may seem a negative trait, it is necessary for the flow of the narration. With this, Roy can properly introduce certain crucial moments needed for the plot’s sake, such as most of the devastating scenes. These scenes come from daily incidents that eventually leave a mark on the characters forever. These moments are distressing, as they describe physical abuse or even the sexual abuse of a minor. The reading in these situations becomes uncomfortable for most audiences since it all happens without any trigger warnings, and the narrations are very unpleasant.

Finally, describing the meaning of the title The God of Small Things will help to conclude this review. Velutha, the character who represents the lowest caste, is portrayed as the God of the novel. He’s the God of Loss and the God of the Small Things. The small things might refer to all the little moments lived and all the lost things in the way, which together forge the ‘big things’ in life like love, freedom, fear, guilt, and death. This is a novel that shows us the real, meaningful things through the small things that happen in a society marked by machismo, racism, and social injustices.

LIDIA DOMÍNGUEZ LÓPEZ

1997. Sebastian Junger’s The Perfect Storm: Against the Fury of Nature

Sebastian Junger’s The Perfect Storm: A True Story of Men Against the Sea is a 1997 best-seller that showcases the author’s skill not only as a writer but also as a journalist and documentarian. Hailing from Belmont, Massachusetts, Junger has gained everyone’s respect for his compelling storytelling in works such as Tribe (2016), War (2010), or A Death in Belmont (2006). Renowned for his in-depth coverage of conflicts all around the world, Junger has been honored with prestigious awards such as the National Magazine Award and the Peabody Award. His documentary Restrepo, co-directed with the late war photographer Tim Hetherington, earned an Oscar nomination as best film in its category. The Perfect Storm was the object of a popular film version directed by Wolfgang Petersen and starring George Clooney.

In this nonfiction narrative, Junger captures the raw and terrifying story of the natural disaster nicknamed by the meteorologists ‘The Perfect Storm’. The story begins by introducing the crew members of the Andrea Gail, a commercial fishing boat from Gloucester, Massachusetts. Here we meet Billy Tyne, the captain, and the rest of the crew, composed by Dale ‘Murph’ Murphy, Sully, Bugsy, Alfred Pierre, and Bobby Shatford, whose personal stories are highlighted throughout the book. Junger follows their expedition to the North Atlantic, where they plan to continue fishing for swordfish. Unfortunately, they encounter what is, to the meteorologists’ eyes, the perfect storm, the convergence of three powerful storms at the same exact point in the ocean. As the triple storm intensifies, readers see aghast how the immense waves and winds cause the complete disappearance of the frail Andrea Gail, along with the lives of its crew members. Simultaneously, we can also witness the many difficulties and challenges that made the National Guard realize how unprepared they were for the rescue, as well as the anguish of the crew’s families that waited in the Crow’s Nest.

Sebastian Junger makes a great job of portraying the fears and difficulties to which the fishermen are constantly exposed. He not only depicts the frequent dangers, which are most of them life-threatening, but also their attitude towards these situations. A passage at the beginning of the book, when the story is being introduced, makes the reader reflect on the harrowing reality of fishermen’s lives: “This was the end, and everyone on the boat would have known it. How do men act on a sinking ship? Do they hold each other? Do they pass around the whisky? Do they cry?” (3). Here, the writer foreshadows the ending of the story highlighting the main themes treated, such as the isolation and camaraderie but also the prevalence of alcoholism among fishermen. He also reveals the precariousness of the job, the exploitation by the ship owners, and the emotional testimonies of the crew’s families. As a result, readers find the story thrilling, deeply engaging, and easy to empathize with. Junger’s descriptive style immerses readers, making them feel what the crew members must have felt.

However, although The Perfect Storm can undoubtedly interest all type of readers, we must not forget that this is not a fictional story but a true story; the book has as a main goal to inform and narrate what must have happened to that ship on that night and not simply to entertain. Due to this, it is crucial to understand that the vocabulary is complex, with industry-specific terms that may challenge readers unfamiliar with maritime jargon. Junger, making use of his journalist and documentarian skills, explains and describes thoroughly every detail of the story, from the process of the fishing business to the process of running out or oxygen while drowning. In fact, at the beginning of the book Junger expresses his uncertainty about his writing of the book, not knowing whether to simplify his language or use the proper terminology. In the end, he decided that technicalities and specific vocabulary are necessary in order to accurately convey the events. Thus, for a reader that does not know much about the fishing industry, reading throughout the story may be sometimes difficult; it is easy to get lost in the many fishing references. Nevertheless, this is something that a reader can and should expect when making the decision of reading Junger’s book. Aside from this, due to this level of detail, it is also easy to feel part of the story and keep on reading.

In conclusion, Sebastian Junger employs The Perfect Storm: A True Story of Men against the Sea to narrate the events that caused the Andrea Gail and its crew members to disappear in the Atlantic Sea. With his detailed and meticulous descriptions and the wide-ranging information provided not only by different sources such as journalists and inspectors, but also by the crew’s families, Junger manages to offer a thrilling and emotional story. Thanks to this best-selling volume now everyone can be aware of the fury of nature that wrecked the Andrea Gail and can feel the dreadfulness that each of the crew members must had experienced. Very impressive!

MARIAM DVALI

1998. Susan Orlean’s The Orchid Thief: Robbing Readers of the Flower of Time

The Orchid Thief is a 1998 nonfiction book by Susan Orlean (b. 1955, Cleveland, Ohio). Orlean, a multi-awarded journalist and a very skilled story-teller, is quite a relevant figure in contemporary literature. Aside from The Orchid Thief her other works include The Library Book and Saturday Night, both critically recognized for their vivid prose and reflections. The Orchid Thief, a bestseller and the inspiration behind the Oscar-nominated film Adaptation (2002), mixes investigative journalism, biography, and philosophical divagations, submerging readers into the rather peculiar world of orchids and the people who are obsessed with them.

The book centers on John Laroche, an eccentric horticulturist whose passion for rare orchids leads him to be arrested for poaching ghost orchids from Florida’s Fakahatchee Strand Preserve. John, along with two Seminole Native Americans successfully manages to find a fault in the conservation law and steal the flowers, justifying his actions as a means to propagate and legally cultivate wild orchids. Furthermore, Orlean also explores many other orchid enthusiasts, from casual collectors to fanatical botanists. These characters share an obsession with the flower’s beauty, which Orlean compares to treasure hunting bordering on addiction.

One of the book’s positive qualities is Orleans rich style and nearly poetic prose which can be observed in the following quote: “It was a luscious, moony night. Palm trees leaned over the driveway and cast shadows shaped like giant hands. The land was glittering with dew. Crickets hidden in the grass were chirping” (69). Readers are transported into this luscious and dangerous world, where nature’s beauty inspires awe and an eternal ambition to possess it. Indeed, the ghost orchid, both delicate and resilient, represents the zenith of the environment it inhabits and captivates all who encounter it.

Another positive feature is Orlean’s perfect mixture of investigative depth and philosophical reflection. The book explores universal themes such as beauty, desire, human ambition and obsession using orchids as a metaphor for humanity’s complex relationship with nature. This idea echoes not so distantly with many other literary works such as Crichton’s novel Jurassic Park. Laroche’s passion for hybridizing orchids serves as a clear example of human obsession: “The only ones with features that have no real purpose are the hybrids, because someone put them together and came up with an unnatural thing. That’s the cool thing with hybridizing. You are God. You do the plant sex. It’s a man-made hobby” (78). This perspective highlights the ethical conflict between creating and exploiting, bringing into question whether humans have the right or not to manipulate nature for profit or personal use and it is clear what John’s opinion on the matter is.

Laroche, the central character portrayed as the antihero as well as a controversial figure who embodies both brilliance and absurdity, is a key component of the book’s negative qualities. His life is formed by a series of obsessions—from computers to fish passing through turtles and finally orchids. Orlean captures his contradictions in an empathic and humoristic manner, however it is still difficult to sympathize with him. Laroche is a passionate idealist, driven as much by genuine love for orchids by his ways of “playing God” but also by his urge to outsmart both nature and the law. The book is full to the brim of eccentric observations and politically incorrect opinions such as: “Because whatever your personal issues are, when you’re in the plant business you realize that gay people are your friends” (32), shamelessly implying the idea that all gay people love plants. Such remarks highlight Laroche’s bizarre yet intriguing personality. He, along with all the people who surround him share this incandescent passion which often stands on the edge of fanaticism, making Orlean’s portrayal as much a study of human psychology as it is an exploration of orchids.

Apart from this, the book has several traits that may deter readers, since they need an already acquired taste to learn to appreciate works of this nature. For some, Orlean’s reflective tone and devastatingly slow pacing may feel frustrating. Sections that delve into the history of orchid cultivation, the economics of the plant trade, different types of orchids, cloning processes and so on may risk alienating readers less interested in botany. In addition to this, Orlean’s extensive focus on utterly insignificant details such as Laroche’s seating posture or the details of a television show feel completely unnecessary and distracting from the central narrative. It is also disappointing that the ending does not offer any kind of closure of events, with Laroche’s future remaining ambiguous.

In conclusion, the author leaves its readers with more questions than answers about the human moral code, Laroche’s actions, and humanity’s broader desire to possess and control beauty. Orlean’s slow paced rhythm and extensive detailing may bring readers to exasperation and risk missing the deep social analysis encoded within. However, any avid bookworm endowed with patience and determination can become a potential victim of obsession towards The Orchid Thief and, of course, orchids.

SHEILA RAURELL MARÍN

1998. Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods: Humor, Friendship, and Wonders

A Walk in the Woods, Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail, is a nonfiction travel book written by the American journalist and author Bill Bryson. Born in Iowa in 1951, Bryson is one of the most beloved contemporary authors of travel and popular science books. Bryson’s writing is full of humor, historical insight, and personal anecdotes, making his books accessible and entertaining for a wide audience. First published in 1998, and adapted for the cinema in 2015, the book chronicles Bryson’s attempt to hike the Appalachian Trail, one of the longest continuous footpaths in the world. The presence of an unexpected companion turns the adventure into something beyond two men simply walking through the woods. A Walk in the Woods feels like sitting down with an old friend as they recount their experiences on the Appalachian Trail. The book creates an intimate and personal atmosphere, drawing readers into the author’s adventures as if he and his friend were right there. Whether he’s recounting a close encounter with a bear, criticizing the mismanagement of public lands, or sharing a funny anecdote about a fellow hiker, Bryson invites readers to experience the trail through his eyes.

A Walk in the Woods begins with Bryson’s decision to tackle the Appalachian Trail, driven by a mix of curiosity and a desire to reconnect with American wilderness after spending years in the United Kingdom. While Bryson initially imagines himself conquering this 2,190-mile journey, he soon realizes that this adventure is far more challenging than he anticipated. Throughout his journey, the author is accompanied by Stephen Katz, an old friend who suddenly decides to join him on this adventure. Katz, who is in really bad shape, deeply underprepared and extremely funny, brings entertaining chaos to Bryson’s meticulous organization and interest in the trail. Together, they navigate the physical and emotional challenges of the trail, as well as the often funny encounters with other hikers.

As the title suggests, the central part of this book is Bryson’s walk through the Appalachian Trail, which runs from Katahdin in Maine to Springer Mountain in Northern Georgia. True to form, Bryson dedicates much of the narrative to describing the intricacies of the trail and the surrounding wilderness, painting a detailed picture for the readers. “The woods,” he writes, “were silent because spring had not yet come. In a normal year we would be walking into the zestful bounty of a southern mountain spring, through a radiant productive, newborn world alive with the zip of insects and the fussy twitter of birds” (55). His writing is often packed with long enumerations, abundant adjectives, and fascinating facts about the trail, its flora, fauna and geography. Whether it is a humorous description of his excitement over eating pie after a long time without eating anything sweet or a chilling chapter about bear attacks, replete with statistics and advice on what to do and what not, Bryson’s attention to detail never fails to entertain.

It is worth mentioning that Bryson has the ability to combine facts and anecdotes about the trail. He frequently shifts between providing historical and environmental insights and recounting his personal experiences on the trail. For example, in chapter five he recalls staying in a motel in Hiawassee, Georgia, and connects his reading there of Deliverance, a rather brutal novel inspired by the area, with the unsettling atmosphere of the town. These seamless transitions between knowledge and experience highlight Bryson’s ability to connect his own journey to the broader cultural and historical context of the places he visits. In his narrative, Bryson also uses the momentum to point out the negligent behavior of the National Park Service and their fraudulent management practices. He notes, with biting humor that “these people are a wonder” (97), after describing how their interference with nature through the years has caused much harm, and how, in nature’s time of need they fail to protect endangered species due to their decision to step back and let nature follow its course.

One of the book’s most endearing aspects is the relationship between Bryson and his hiking companion, Katz. When Bryson begins preparing for the trail, Katz calls him unexpectedly and asks him to join the adventure. Despite not having seen each other for 25 years, Bryson gladly accepts and the two friends pick up right where they left off, embarking on a journey that Bryson’s wife predicts will be “hell” (31). Their friendship unfolds organically throughout the hike. Though Bryson and Katz often hike each at their own pace, with Bryson walking ahead and waiting for Katz to catch up, they fall into a comfortable routine that brings attention to their mutual care and respect: “We seemed to be looking out for each other. It was very nice” (57). Their interactions are simple yet touching, revealing a quiet camaraderie that deepens as the journey progresses and that can be felt between the lines. The chemistry between the two friends is a highlight of the book, and their comedic timing is impeccable, leaving the reader laughing out loud. One memorable moment occurs when they encounter Mary Ellen, an insufferable hiker, and conspire to escape her company after days of traveling with her. These humorous interludes, marked by dialogue and almost parodic scenes, showcase the strength of their bond, making their connection feel authentic and relatable. The reader cannot help but smile and feel a sense of warmth at their growing friendship.

Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods is a delightful and multifaceted exploration of the Appalachian Trail, blending vivid descriptions, humor, and the heartwarming dynamics of friendship. The book takes readers on a journey through America’s iconic hiking path, offering readers an experience that is both entertaining and informative. Whether you are a hiker accustomed to walking or simply a casual reader, A Walk in the Woods is a journey worth taking.

DAVID TALÓ RUBIO

1998. Pussy’s Delusional Adventures in Patrick McCabe’s Breakfast On Pluto

Patrick McCabe, an Irish writer born in Clones in 1955, is widely recognized for his innovative exploration of human experience within the Irish setting. He is well-known for his distinctive narrative style and use of antiheroes. McCabe has been shortlisted twice for the Booker Prize: first for The Butcher Boy (1992) and later on for Breakfast On Pluto (1998). This is a novel set during the Troubles in 1970s Ireland, which employes dark humor to examine themes of identity, alienation, and trauma while addressing complex political and social issues. The novel’s success led to a film adaptation in 2005, directed by Neil Jordan.

Patrick ‘Pussy’ Braden is a transgender woman born in the fictional town of Tyreelin. Dr. Terence, her psychologist, recommends that she writes her narrative in a diary as psychological treatment for her anxiety and depression. Following Terence’s advice, Patrick decides to write her story. She has been abandoned by her biological mother, raised by a drunken foster mother, )Mrs. Whiskers Branden) and monitored by the strict priest Father Bernard. Patrick grows up in an environment filled with rejection and alienation. Pussy eventually leaves her hometown to embark on a journey of self-discovery, seeking to find her biological mother. However, her trip to London is filled with many difficulties as she faces constant rejection, discrimination, and violence. Moreover, she is accused of being a member of the IRA and involved in the bombing of a nightclub. Consequently, she ends up in prison but continues to use her humor and imagination to survive.

Patrick lives in a fantasy world far from reality, often dreaming of giving birth and raising many children. This desire to become a mother is impossible for her to achieve, as she is not a biological woman: “If I did somehow manage to get a vagina, one thing I was certain of, and I didn’t care even who it was with, was that I wanted at least ten of a family” (40). This fantasy reflects her need for belonging through motherhood, serving as a way to detach from her harsh reality. Additionally, Patrick imagines herself on her deathbed, surrounded by her family, husband, and children in an environment of affection and care: “My eyelids closing in a gesture of recognition—a small smile playing upon my lips. So many there with all their partners, each one of them of Mammy proud” (41). This vision is not only a call for love and acceptance but also a coping mechanism, a way to survive in a world constantly rejecting her. This idealized death surrounded by a loving family gives Patrick hope and a purpose in life by assuring that her children are raised in a nurturing environment, preventing them from experiencing and suffering the miserable life she endured: “Had all their lives been given it, and to the very end received it, that wonderful thing called love” (41).

Patrick ‘Pussy’ Braden is an apolitical character who defies the rigid Irish social system. During her quest to find her mother in London, a bomb detonates in a London nightclub, and authorities suspect her of being responsible for it. This event captures the trauma caused by the Troubles, both for Pussy and other individuals affected directly or indirectly. Patrick does experience a terrorist explosion, leaving her surrounded by dead bodies: “A strip of nylon from Puss’s tights had become detached and looked for all the world like a scorched piece of skin hanging from the cheek of one of the dead soldiers” (142). Despite this traumatic event, Patrick continuously uses humor in inappropriate situations, focusing more on her appearance rather than on the tragedy surrounding her. McCabe uses Pussy’s character and her incongruous humor to explore the horrific events of Irish history. By framing the narrative through Pussy’s perspective, McCabe makes these painful events more accessible and less traumatic to the readers.

In Breakfast On Pluto, Patrick McCabe intermingles the journey and life experiences of a transwoman with the broader political and historical struggles of 1970s Ireland. Through Pussy’s narrative, McCabe explores themes of identity, rejection, and trauma. For readers who enjoy complex characters and historical insights, Breakfast On Pluto is highly recommended. It is not just a mere story of survival but also a collection of stories challenging normative values, inviting readers to reflect on the intricacies of identity, particularly for trans persons like Pussy in the recent past and today.

VALERIA RODAS ZÚÑIGA

1998. Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible: Narrating Historical Remorse and Self-growth

Barbara Kingsolver’s historical novel The Poisonwood Bible was published in 1998. The novel was selected as part of Oprah Winfrey’s reading club and won the National Book Price of South Africa. Consequently, it has become one of Kingsolver’s most renowned novels. Similarly to her previous work, the novel engages in matters pertaining to social and cultural issues, offering critiques that ponder over consequential individual and collective struggles. Kingsolver is an American author born in 1955, in Maryland, but raised partly in Congo, known for the activist inclinations found in both her poetry and narrative. She has been awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2023 for her novel Demon Copperhead as well as the Dayton Literary Peace Price and the National Medal of Humanities. Kingsolver became the first author to win the Women’s Price for Fiction twice.

The Poisonwood Bible is a multivocal narrative following the life of the Price family after they arrive in the remote Congolese village of Kilanga with a catechist mission. The novel uses Nathan Price, an American evangelic missionary, as the axis of the narration. However, the story is told by the female central characters of the Price family constituted by Orleanna, the mother, and her four daughters: Rachel, Leah, Adah and Ruth May. Throughout the novel, we get a close approach to the Price women’s experiences and their reception of the events they endure, at a sentimental and rational level. As noted, the story focuses on social matters, such as colonialism, violence and gender struggles, but it also traces a path of self-growth towards individuality. It is in this line that the story develops, by showing the slow detachment of the female narrators from their previous hegemonic and colonialist beliefs, embodied by the figure of their father and husband Nathan Price.

The first person, diary-like, voice of the narrators—along with the metafictional mechanisms applied by Orleanna’s narration that break the fourth wall between reader and narrator—gives the novel a singular and remarkable narrative style that provides the reader different perspectives of the events of the story. Besides, Kingsolver’s lyrical and almost poetical writing style admits a formal approach and appreciation of the novel. Her thorough descriptions of space and the context in which the novel takes place grant readers the ability to fully immerse themselves in the narrative. At the same time, the close approach to the feelings and experiences of the diverse characters permits a deeper understanding of their lives and the formation of a connection with them.

However, the different voices of the novel also affect how readers perceive the rest of the characters, as the Price women change their opinions. We can see this in the way they all talk and think about Nathan Price with admiration and respect at the beginning of the novel and how these fade away little by little towards the end of the novel. It is in this change of character and beliefs that the main focus of the novel lies: in self-growth and historical remorse. As the novel moves forward and, more importantly, as the female characters do so, we see how they all walk a path towards autonomy and individuality that is strongly corelated to their separation from the patriarchal/occidental beliefs, embodied by the figure of the father/husband Nathan Price. This approach opens up a conversation about the role of gender throughout the novel and the depths in which it discusses colonialism and sexism.

Aside from the formal aspects of the novel, the main subject of interest, and what may make readers invested in the novel, lays in Kingsolver’s approach towards cultural and social matters in Africa. Being able to narrate not only a female vision, but one that comes from the colonizers, to emphasize the female role during this time and the submission, indoctrination and lack of voice women suffered regarding these matters, is something powerful. As shown in the text, this is not to say the white women splayed no part or were not guilty, it is rather a way of denouncing the different operational levels of Western patriarchal systems. We can see how as the Price women grow, learn and create a life aside from Nathan, their feelings of responsibility, remorse and guilt start manifesting, which provides the narrative with a remarkable psychological level. Nevertheless, it is a difficult task to determine who can or should speak about certain matters. Kingsolver’s narration is self-aware and is accountable not only for the characters’ positions but also the author’s anticolonial views. Kingsolver writes from experience and, therefore, a sense of awareness towards the referred circumstances, as she problematizes and keeps her characters full of contradictions, in their naive hearts and minds; they are, in other words, real characters.

The Poisonwood Bible is filled with formal and thematic depth and beauty. The narrative style and its alternation of the characters’ voices from chapter to chapter makes it a fast-moving reading experience that gets readers hooked from the beginning. At a deeper level, the way in which the novel and characters progress allow Kingsolver to problematize social and personal matters and to engage in important cultural conversations. It is difficult to judge who should speak about colonization and who shouldn’t. Kingsolver appears to respect her Congolese context and place of enunciation while speaking about colonization, but I encourage the reader to consider and critique this while approaching the novel. And read Congolese novelists as well.

MIREIA ÁLVAREZ CASANOVAS

1999. Unspoken Battles: Trauma, Family and Healing in Melvyn Bragg’s The Soldier’s Return

The Soldier’s Return, published in 1999, is the first novel in an autobiographical quartet by the English author and media personality Melvyn Bragg. Born on October 6, 1939, in Carlisle, Bragg grew up in the nearby town of Wigton, which also serves as the setting for this story. Known for his distinguished career as a BBC broadcaster and a former Chancellor of the University of Leeds, Bragg has made significant contributions to British arts and literature. The Soldier’s Return belongs to the historical genre, and is framed in the aftermath of World War II. The book won the WH Smith Literary Award in 2000, further cementing Bragg’s literary reputation.

Bragg’s novel is set in the northern town of Wigton, Cumbria, the author’s birthplace as noted, where Sam returns after six years in Burma during WWII. Now a veteran, Sam struggles to reintegrate into a family dynamic that has shifted in his absence. His wife Ellen has developed a close bond with their young son, Joe, creating a sense of exclusion and much jealousy for Sam. Meanwhile, he battles vivid trauma caused by war, but refuses help to confront it. The limited job opportunities in Wigton, combined with Sam’s loneliness, sense of exclusion from his family, and enduring war-related trauma, leave him feeling trapped both in his mind and in a town unable to understand his experiences. These circumstances lead him to consider migrating alone to Australia, hoping to start anew. However, just as he is about to leave, Sam reconsiders, ultimately choosing to stay with his family.

One of the text’s strongest features is its accessible and evocative writing style. Bragg employs straightforward vocabulary and familiar expressions that mirror everyday language, making the text easy to follow while also deeply affecting. This is exemplified in Sam’s return home, where language captures both the weight of the past and the weirdness of finding peace again: ‘“How do, Sam?”, and it was like pushing up an Everest of the past, grand, dislocating, stirring and somehow new, bewildering, this place of peace” (54). Bragg’s carefully selected words bring emotional resonance, reflecting the characters’ lives on the verge of a new era after WWII in England. The grammatical structure is intentionally simple, allowing readers to focus on the emotional and psychological experiences of the characters without being distracted by complex language.

Another key element of the novel is its portrayal of the silent struggle with mental health common in that period. Bragg uses Sam to represent the veterans’ suffering from shellshock, or what we recognize now as ‘Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’ (PTSD). Sam’s nightmares vividly reveal his trauma, while his refusal to discuss his experiences with his wife, Ellen, evidences his isolation and the societal stigma surrounding psychological disorders: “He could not talk to Ellen, it was too terrible. More than that. You just did not talk about it… And never admit pain” (142, original ellipsis). Although the patient Ellen wants to help, Sam refuses her support because he feels misunderstood both by her and society, which leads him to choose solitude over connecting, with the only exception of a former comrade in arms. While these scenes of trauma are brief, they resonate profoundly, highlighting how PTSD impacted the lives of WWII veterans. Bragg’s approach towards its topic underscores the harsh reality of psychological trauma, often ignored at that time. Through Sam’s silent suffering, Bragg sensitively raises awareness of this historically neglected topic, inviting the reader to consider its lasting impact.

Interestingly, Bragg uses songs as a unifying thread, enriching the plot by conveying the characters’ experience through sound and adding a layer of emotional depth that complements the action. For instance, after Ellen and Sam share a dance in a pub, a band starts playing “I Can’t Begin To Tell You.” As Ellen mouths the words to Sam, she rediscovers why she loved him so dearly, and for a moment, war, pain, and trauma vanish. This scene captures the healing power of music, allowing Ellen and Sam to reconnect again, evoking a sense of nostalgia. While Bragg’s psychological and emotional resonance excel through scenes like this, some parts of the novel, in contrast, feel slower at times. Around chapter eighteen, the narrator describes little Joe’s daily life, providing readers with additional insight into the family’s situation already established in previous chapters. These details deepen our understanding of Joe’s isolated, introspective nature, but they add little new information and may feel repetitive, potentially diminishing reader engagement. By devoting an extended narrative segment to Joe and, later, to Ellen’s and Sam’s inner thoughts, Bragg risks disrupting the story’s forward motion. Ultimately, the ending of the novel feels hard to believe, given Sam’s persistent feeling of entrapment in personal conflict throughout the story. From the beginning, the plot builds a strong case for Sam’s desperation to escape Wigton alongside his emotional anxiety that seems to set him on an unchangeable path toward leaving his past behind. Nonetheless, the abrupt shift at the end, when Sam decides not to leave, in part pushed by a kind friend, feels inconsistent and contradictory with the rest of the narrative.

To conclude, The Soldier’s Return employs simple yet effective language, allowing readers to connect with the deeply moving truths within the story. Bragg skillfully uses Sam’s character to symbolize the social stigma surrounding PTSD after WWII, while songs add emotional layers beyond prose. Although the slower pacing and the inconsistent ending may feel somewhat abrupt, these elements do not diminish the novel’s powerful portrayal of post-war challenges. For these reasons, I would highly recommend The Soldier’s Return as a compelling exploration of resilience in the wake of WWII.

NATÀLIA SAUS PRZESTAWSKA

1999. A Story of Privilege, Power and Trauma: J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace

Disgrace is a novel by J.M Coetzee published in 1999. Coetzee, born in 1940 in Cape Town, South Africa, is a most notable author that has won twice the Booker Prize, as well as the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2003. Disgrace, his 1999 Booker Prize-winning novel, and frequently considered one of Coetzee’s best works, has reinforced his reputation as one of the most significant authors of his time. The novel, which is a blend of literary fiction and social critique, touches upon a wide range of themes such as morality, race, and power, all set against the backdrop of post-Apartheid South Africa.

The story revolves around the character of David Lurie, a middle-aged professor of Romantic Poetry, who has an affair with one of his students, Melanie. When the affair is discovered, Lurie is forced to resign from his position at the university. Seeking comfort, he decides to visit her daughter Lucy and live with her for a while on her farm in the countryside. However, their peacefulness is disrupted when one day a group of violent men attack the farm, steal from them, and rape Lucy. After this incident, the novel’s turning point, they are both left traumatized. Both characters are challenged to navigate a world marked by violence, loss, and social change, reshaping their perspectives on justice, identity, and their place in a transforming society.

One of the strongest features of Disgrace is its fast-paced narrative. The constant progression of events makes the novel always engaging, with constant new developments and conflicts. Many significant events happen quickly, making it a book where turning points are always taking place. The fast pace not only builds tension but also keeps the reader invested, constantly anticipating what will happen next and how the characters will respond to the situations they face.

Additionally, I found the duality of settings particularly interesting. David Lurie’s life in university, which is marked by intellectualism and formality, strongly contrasts with the chaos of the farm where his daughter Lucy lives, a place vulnerable to robberies, violence and social inequality. This stark contrast reflects the broader tensions in post-apartheid South Africa and adds richness to the story’s setting. Furthermore, the novel’s ability to make the reader reflect on themes such as morality, power and justice, is another significant strength. David Lurie is an unlikable character, yet his actions and the events of the story force the reader to confront uncomfortable truths. After the harrowing events, he wonders “The question is, what lesson have we learned? The question is, what are we going to do now that we are sorry?” (278). Coetzee uses Lurie’s character to challenge ideas of moral responsibility and remorse, making readers think about questions regarding guilt and privilege. By presenting personal and societal issues, Coetzee creates a story that captures the readers until the very last page.

On the other hand, what readers might not enjoy about Disgrace is how uncomfortable it can make them feel. Although this discomfort is part of the high impact it has on readers, it also makes it a hard book to read. Nevertheless, it is clear that the novel serves as a critique of David Lurie’s sense of superiority and his immoral behavior. The reader is meant to be disgusted with him. For instance, there is a scene where he refuses to apologize for abusing and taking advantage of one of his students because he thinks that he did nothing wrong: “I have had enough. Let us go back to playing it by the book. I plead guilty. That is as far as I am prepared to go” (82). David Lurie’s obvious sexism and racism made it difficult for me to connect with the novel at some points. The main character’s perspective is intentionally flawed, and I understand that Coetzee uses him to expose these toxic attitudes rather than align with them. Notwithstanding, reading the novel through Lurie’s eyes is so unsettling and uncomfortable that it occasionally made the book difficult to enjoy. At some points, for example Lurie’s frequent sexualized descriptions of women, feel unnecessary to the plot, as they overshadow other important elements of the story. Moreover, as the novel is told from Lurie’s perspective, readers never get the chance to hear the female characters’ point of view. It would have been interesting to understand how Lucy and Melanie felt about their traumatic experiences and how they dealt with them.

All in all, Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee is a powerful yet upsetting novel that delves into themes of justice, morality and privilege. The fast-paced narrative keeps the readers engaged, as well as making them reflect on societal values. However, the novel’s complexity may be overshadowed by the uncomfortableness of reading the story from David Lurie’s point of view, while the emotional impact is limited by the lack of attention to the female character’s perspectives. In spite of this, Disgrace is a captivating book that makes readers think about complex moral and societal problems, earning its reputation as a contemporary classic.

MARC SILVA I MUÑOZ

1999. A Journey Through Imperfect Lives: Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower

The renowned novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower by American writer Stephen Chbosky (b. 1970, Pittsburgh) is a coming-of-age literary work that seeks to capture the importance of those defining first moments in life. First published in 1999, the novel has turned out to be a remarkable exploration of a teenager’s life, shaped by a traumatic past. Although the novel has not received critical recognitions nor accolades, it has managed to stand out as a timeless bestseller, further consolidating its legacy through a subsequent successful film adaptation, curiously directed and scripted by the book’s author himself in 2012.

Stephen Chbosky’s novel is written in the form of letters from its main character, Charlie Kelmeckis, to an unknown recipient. Through this unique narrative style, the author skillfully places readers in Charlie’s shoes, helping them to empathize with his feelings and emotions in an easier way. The story takes place over the course of a school year. During the first days of high school, Charlie, aged 16, struggles with loneliness and his inability to make friends. Nevertheless, he meets two slightly older siblings who will change his life for good: the girl Sam and her brother Patrick. It is thanks to the relationship he establishes with them that Charlie begins to open up, giving the readers a glimpse of his traumatic background.

This friendship enables readers to delve deeper into the inner self of the protagonist, who gradually reveals the traumatic events that shaped his rather passive attitude toward life. These events, such as the suicide of his best friend, help readers to better understand why the character is so wary. Simultaneously, Charlie begins to develop an unrequited love interest in Sam, which adds complexity to his emotional journey. Additionally, the story also features a relationship between Charlie and another friend, Mary Elisabeth, which provides the plot with emotional twists and turns. As the story progresses, Charlie’s past begins to weigh on him, culminating in a sad revelation of a traumatic event when he was just a child. This moment not only explains Charlie’s behavior but also paves the way for his eventual healing and growth. By the end of the novel, Charlie gains confidence and a sense of belonging, leaving the readers with a hopeful conclusion that he is finally ready to turn over a new leaf.

It must be recognized that one of the strongest features of this remarkable novel, aimed at a young audience but interesting for all ages, is the depth of its main characters and how convincingly the author brings them to life, showcasing both their strengths and imperfections. For instance, Sam is portrayed as the kind of girl everyone wants to be around, yet she struggles with low self-esteem due to toxic past and present relationships. Patrick, on the other hand, navigates a complicated homosexual relationship with the jock Brad, torn between love and societal expectations. Chbosky further enriches the plot by introducing characters like Bill Anderson, a kind teacher offering an adult point of view and serving as a mentor to Charlie at specific moments in a sublime way. Mr. Anderson utters memorable words that leave readers thinking for a long time: “Charlie, we accept the love we think we deserve” (27). This statement profoundly impacts the protagonist throughout the novel. It is worth mentioning that the epistolary format allows readers to see Charlie from an intimate perspective, fostering an early emotional connection that lasts throughout the book. This connection heightens the impact of Charlie’s later revelations, making them even more shocking. These sensitive issues are handled with great care, adding significant psychological depth to the narrative.

As the story progresses, Charlie starts to take off his emotional armor and begins to open up, a progression which emerges as one of the strongest points of the novel. The narrative invites readers to celebrate his newfound friendships, feel the weight of his friend’s suicide, and share in his emotions as he develops feelings for Sam. The author does a very good job of fostering empathy for a character who, by the end of the novel, leaves a lasting impression through his emotional journey. The detailed background that Stephen Chbosky provides for Charlie is so well executed that readers can fully grasp his feelings and closeness toward everyone. His nature becomes thoroughly explained, and the relationship with his family and relatives gains clarity as his difficult background is revealed. This story has certain similarities to Jay Asher’s 2007 novel Thirteen Reasons Why, not only as regards the plot but also for its narrative approach. A young adolescent who struggles to fit in at high school tells their memories and explores themes like trauma, isolation, and emotional struggle. Fortunately for Charlie, The Perks of Being a Wallflower seeks to explore how love and friendship can save someone’s life, even in the darkest times.

In light of the above, I have both celebrated and suffered alongside Charlie on this journey. Chbosky masterfully accomplishes the challenging task of making me care deeply about the protagonist, to the point where I celebrated his newfound friendships, felt heartbroken when he sees Sam with a boyfriend, and even disliked Mary Elisabeth for standing in the way. As a result, I can see myself revisiting this book in a few years to rediscover its emotional depth and relive the breathless intensity of its final chapters.

NATALIA ALEKSANDRA MERMELA

1999. Master and Servant: Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring

Born in Washington D.C. in 1962, Tracy Chevalier graduated in English literature and later received her master’s in creative writing at the University of East Anglia. Her second novel Girl with a Pearl Earring, published in 1999, has been widely acclaimed by critics and readers as an atmospheric, evocative work. The novel was a New York Timesbestselling work and the winner of Barnes & Noble Discover Award the following year, 2000. A well-received film adaptation, directed by Peter Webber, was released in 2003, starring Scarlett Johansson and Colin Firth.

Girl with a Pearl Earring is a historical fiction work that tells the story behind Johannes Vermeer’s renowned painting of the same title, painted in 1665. The story traces the journey of Griet, a young Dutch girl who is employed as a housemaid by a wealthy Catholic family following the tragic accident of her father, a professional tile painter who loses his sight and is unable to provide for his family. Griet’s new job allows her to take care of her family’s financial stability as well as to get closer to the house master, Vermeer, a respected painter who eventually portrays Griet in what will become one of his most renowned paintings. As the story progresses, the protagonist becomes an essential contributor to her master’s art, as not only does she significantly help within the household but she also turns out to be Vermeer’s secret assistant, beyond being his occasional model. Throughout this period, the young girl begins to feel a certain attraction towards the older painter, which cannot prosper due to their delicate situation, as he is a married man and the girl his maid (we need to believe, of course, that he does not take advantage of his power over her). Eventually, Griet devotes her affection to the butcher’s son, Pieter, who is particularly fond of her.

Narrated in the first-person, the novel surprises with a quite eloquent and textured account, which from the very beginning captures the reader’s attention regardless of their interest in the world of art. The detailed descriptions and a progressively emotionally charged storyline move well towards the eventual climax, successfully grasping the reader’s attention. The novel’s depictions function as delicate brushstrokes on a canvas; they flow with remarkable ease and in tune with the overall narrative, leaving a perfectly well-crafted story.

The fact that Griet’s love is a slow-burning passion rather than an abrupt one is an interesting element in the plot’s development. She gradually develops an interest in her master’s person and is fully conscious of the repercussions of her behavior; however, her responses are always of a natural character and in accordance with the circumstances: “I wanted to look at him, to guess what he was thinking, but I kept my eyes on my broom, cleaning up the dust disturbed by the blue cloth” (50). Her awareness regarding her domestic duties and her simultaneous curiosity, leave the reader wanting more, in the sense that the plot reveals little by little the progress of this potential romance, while the interest on the recipient’s side significantly increases. The narrative pace is quite well balanced and does not become overly dense.

While reading, one cannot help but sympathize with the emotional depth of the story, yet not always with the protagonist herself. Griet, although possessing a fervent nature, and a deep understanding of her surroundings, is not particularly favored by her circumstances, which consequently can be the reason for her oftentimes poor decisions. One particular case of such choices is when she slaps Cornelia, Vermeer’s seven-year-old daughter, after being pushed to her limits. In Griet’s words, “She looked at me, and then she did the worst thing. If she had sulked or shouted, I would know I had mastered her. Instead she laughed” (17). Her argument, despite being an impulsive reaction to what she perceives as disrespect, is not a valid excuse to slap a child, especially if it is not your own. A quite significant element that might interfere with the overall positive reception, is its repetition and the lack of new elements that might turn the novel into something more elevated. Griet’s routine becomes the reader’s routine. Each of her chores is described in great depth and since she does few things other than taking care of the house, the reader might get a sense that the story is stuck and does not progress.

Yet, by the end of the novel, the reader is left with overall satisfaction, which is arguably caused by the moving plot line as well as a balanced structure that does not become overly dense. The way in which Griet’s affection for Vermeer slowly progresses leaves room for reflection and personal interpretation of the circumstances. Considering her societal status, most of the decisions are rather a natural and quite logical response to the situations presented. Despite not being favored by her surroundings, Griet maintains her dignity, successfully manages to honor her family and, let’s not forget, inspires a masterpiece.

ADRIÀ DULCET PARDO

1999. The Duality of Cultural Expectations: Anita Desai’s Fasting, Feasting

Anita Desai’s Fasting, Feasting, first published in 1999, is a critically acclaimed novel that explores the contrasts between Indian and American cultures through the lens of family dynamics. Born in 1937 in Mussoorie, India, Desai is renowned for her insightful portrayals of Indian society and the complexities of human relationships. Fasting, Feasting was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1999, further cementing Desai’s reputation as a leading figure in Indian English literature. It’s important to note that Fasting, Feasting is part of Desai’s broader body of work, which consistently explores themes of cultural identity and familial relationships. Her other notable works include Clear Light of Day (1980) and In Custody (1984), both of which were also shortlisted for the Booker Prize. Desai’s writing often focuses on the experiences of women in India, the complexities of family dynamics, and the clash between tradition and modernity. Incidentally, Desai is the mother of acclaimed novelist Kiran Desai.

Desai’s novel is structured in two parts, set in India and America respectively, focusing on the lives of siblings Uma and Arun. In India, Uma’s story unfolds in a traditional, oppressive household where she is denied education and personal freedom. As she explains:

“Mama rarely went anywhere without Papa, and then it was only to social events (….) Now that Papa was at home all day, the surreptitious visits to the neighbours’ for a round of rummy were no longer possible. If anything needed to be communicated to Mrs Joshi, it was ayah or mali or, now and then, Uma who was sent across with a message. Mama did not object to Uma visiting the neighbours, as long as it did not happen too often, or without her knowledge” (129)

The narrative then shifts to Arun’s experiences as an Indian student in Massachusetts, living with an American family. Through this dual setting, Desai examines gender roles, family obligations, and cultural dissonance. Uma’s character is particularly well-developed, embodying the frustrations of a woman trapped by societal expectations. Desai skillfully depicts Uma’s unfulfilled desires and the subtle ways in which she rebels against her circumstances. Similarly, Arun’s discomfort and alienation in America are vividly portrayed, highlighting the challenges of cultural adaptation.

The novel’s tension builds through the impactful contrasts between the two settings. In India, the narrative focuses on the restrictive nature of Uma’s life, symbolized by the constant fasting, both literal and metaphorical, through scarcity, rigid family hierarchies, and cultural constraints, particularly affecting a woman like Uma, who faces limited personal growth. As regards America, Desai presents a critique of excess and consumerism, represented by the ‘feasting’ culture shown by the Patton family; this abundance and excess, is also exemplified by the different societal pressures put on American women that causes problems such as Melanie Patton’s bulimia. This juxtaposition creates a compelling commentary on the extremes of both societies. Paying attention to sensory details, Desai masterfully uses food as a metaphor throughout the novel, illustrating cultural differences and personal struggles. While India’s “fasting” culture restricts individual freedom, America’s “feasting” culture presents its own set of challenges, including emotional disconnection and the pressures of overconsumption. Through this duality, Desai examines themes of isolation, communication, power dynamics, and the impact of cultural norms on individual lives, especially those of women, in both Eastern and Western contexts.

The author’s exploration of gender roles is particularly important. Through Uma’s characterization, Desai critiques the patriarchal structure of Indian society and the limited options available to women, how they are basically submitted to a man constantly, either their father, or later in life, their husband, with no other option or choice. We can see this in how Papa treats both Uma and her mother, basically servants to him but without a pay check, constantly asking them to do anything and everything in a rush, as quickly as possible and without any mistakes throughout the whole novel. In the Indian household, food preparation and consumption also highlight the rigid family hierarchy and gender roles. The father’s meals are given utmost importance, with the mother and Uma catering to his preferences and needs, reflecting the patriarchal structure of the family and society. In contrast, Melanie’s eating disorder in the American section serves as a commentary on Western body image issues and societal pressures on women, a different type of trope that also restricts woman, with image standards and expectations that are unobtainable for most.

There are, however, some negative points that need to be highlighted, which do not play in favor of the novel. The structure, divided into two distinct parts, can feel a bit disjointed at some points, since the transition between Uma’s and Arun’s stories is abrupt, potentially disrupting the narrative flow and pace. Additionally, while Desai’s portrayal of Indian family life is rich and detailed, her depiction of American culture sometimes verges on caricature and stereotypes, lacking the same depth and detail found in the Indian sections. Another point to take into consideration is the pacing of the novel; the first part, focused on Uma, is significantly longer and more developed than the second part, Arun’s story, which feels rushed. This imbalance makes Arun’s experiences in America feel underdeveloped in comparison, or just less important to the overall story.

In conclusion, Fasting, Feasting stands out as a significant work in Anita Desai’s oeuvre, offering a fascinating look at the contrasts between Eastern and Western cultures. While the novel has some structural and pacing issues, its strength lies in its character development and thematic depth. Desai’s ability to put together cultural critique with personal narrative creates a remarkable story that resonates beyond its specific cultural contexts.

NIHADE EL HABBAJ

1999. Joanne Harris’s Chocolat: A Sweet Tale of Progress and Tradition

Joanne Harris is an English writer best known for her novel Chocolat. She had been a teacher for fifteen years by the time published this, her first novel, in 1999, eventually the object of an Oscar-nominated film adaptation directed by Lasse Hallström. Over her career Harris has written several novels, short stories, game scripts, screenplays and even three cookbooks. She has honorary doctorates in Literature from the universities of Sheffield and Huddersfield and many other honors and awards including Author of the Year in 2002.

Chocolat takes place in a small village in France, in the Winter of 1959, and is told by the two protagonists, Vianne Rocke and Francis Reynaud. The first one is a single mother of witching talents recently arrived in the village with her daughter. The second one, the village priest, shows his disapproval of Vianne’s unmarried situation and wants her out of the village, especially when she opens a chocolate shop and shows that her beliefs are different by not attending church. Some villagers side with the priest and others show sympathy to Vianne. At first, she does not have any clients but gradually the villagers are attracted to the fragrance coming from her shop and they start visiting it to drink hot chocolate or eat sweets. Over time, Vianne befriends several residents and even inspires a woman who abused by her cruel husband to leave him. Reynaud seeks his revenge against Vianne’s impropriety but finds himself seduced by her chocolate. After a romantic interlude with a travelling Roman man, Roux, Vianne feels that it is time to move again and begin a new chapter elsewhere.

Chocolate acts as a powerful symbol throughout the novel, representing pleasure, liberation and connection. Vianne’s chocolate shop is the heart of the novel, a setting for most of the plot and the characters’ developments. The shop is indeed a source of empowerment and inspiration for many villagers. Throughout the novel chocolate also works as a symbol enabling the villagers to break some societal norms in celebration of freedom. The novel also portrays the contrast between tradition and progress, with Vianne representing transformation and progress while the conservative villagers and Reynaud represent fear of change. Vianne’s presence challenges the rigid social norms and the interiorized beliefs of the community. Her chocolate shop works as a space for joy and openness. Harris’s main topic, as can be seen, is how to overcome fear of change since the villagers initially resist Vianne’s ideas; they are not welcoming at first, but over time, her influence begins to open their minds.

Although Chocolat can be seen as a strong representation of liberation, openness and resistance to the (French) Catholic Church, some readers have noted that some characters fall into stereotypical roles that limit their depth. Reynaud, in particular, embodies the characteristics of the rigidly religious, hypocritical priest. Moreover, the plot of the novel is quite predictable since the clearcut distinction between good and evil, progress and hypocrisy forms a familiar narrative arc for the readers, with few surprises. The narrative may seem sometimes too straightforward, especially if the reader is looking for some plot twists. Consequently, the pace of the novel can feel slow at times especially in the middle sections when there is less plot progression and a closer focus on internal conflicts.

In conclusion, Chocolat is a sweet novel which uses chocolate and Vianne’s shop as a core symbol for significant themes such as liberation, change and tolerance in a small conservative French village. The novel’s strengths lie in its rich symbolism and tension between progress and tradition. However, the novel may seem simple for some readers because of the predictable plot and the reliance on certain stereotypes. While the straightforward narrative can feel slow sometimes, the vivid setting keeps the story engaging and satisfying—like chocolate.

MARTA FERNÁNDEZ CARRILLO

1999. Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Laura Hillenbrand: Romanticizing Horse Riding

Seabiscuit: An American Legend was published in 1999 by the American author Laura Hillenbrand (b. 1967, Fairfax, Virginia), also known for Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption (2010). This nonfiction volume, rooted in the real story of Seabiscuit, the horse that achieved the seemingly impossible, chronicles the story of a racehorse that captured America’s heart during the Great Depression. The book reached The New York Times Bestseller List and remained there for 40 weeks. The story became even more popular when its film adaptation by Gary Ross, in which renowned actors such as Tobey Maguire starred, was released in 2003. Hillebrand’s book appeals to a wide range of audiences, from children to mature readers who may enjoy a nonfiction story of resilience and overcoming adversity. Hillenbrand received widespread praise for Seabiscuit due to her in-depth research and her ability to represent historical events.

Seabiscuit begins by providing background on Red Pollard’s life, the main character, after being abandoned when he was young during the harsh years of the Great Depression (1929-1939) in the United States. Red’s parents noticed he had a special gift for horses, so they left him at a facility that trained young boys for the horse racing world. As an adult, together with Charles Howard, a millionaire who searches for consolation in horse racing after he loses his son, and Tom Smith, a horse trainer who discovers something special in a horse that no one bets on, Seabiscuit, they build a team and transform the smallish thoroughbred into a competitive horse that ultimately becomes America’s sweetheart. Howard invests his money in Seabiscuit and his rider, Red, while Smith becomes their trainer and supervisor.

Hillenbrand’s book attracts readers thanks to its richly developed setting and historical background. Her narrative describes the arrival and the effects of the Great Depression on American society in a very accurate and detailed way. Moreover, she vividly represents the public excitement that horse racing elicited during those difficult times and how this type of entertainment served as an escape from people’s tough economic realities. As she writes, “In the latter half of the Depression, Seabiscuit was nothing short of a cultural icon in America, enjoying adulation so intense and broad-based that it transcended sport” (12).

Another positive feature of the book is how the author humanizes the characters by showing their pain and traumatic experiences, which Red exemplifies: “He came to his partnership with Seabiscuit after years as a part-time prizefighter and failing jockey, lugging his saddle through myriad places, getting punched bloody in cow-town boxing rings, sleeping on stall floors” (13). After having led quite a hard life, Red finds the greatest opportunity with Seabiscuit and his team; however, Hillenbrand continues to depict Red’s trauma in his attitude and in her narrative. Additionally, it is worth mentioning how the volume represents the very deep bond that can exist between an animal, Seabiscuit, and a person, both Red and Tom. We can notice how both characters care about the horse’s well-being and suffer with him whenever he is unwell. Furthermore, readers might enjoy the parallel lines traced when Red falls off a horse and gets badly injured, and when later Seabiscuit wounds his leg, having both overcome their injuries together.

Despite being highly acclaimed, Hillenbrand’s book may be criticized for diverse reasons, one of them being that it may romanticize certain aspects of horse racing. Horses are treated as public entertainment, sometimes ignoring their well-being and rights as animals; whenever a horse is considered useless, no one wants it, often leading to its sacrifice. Besides, Seabiscuit’s fame transforms the animal into a popular attraction, neglecting its privacy and rest, an ill-treatment partly driven by Charles Howard’s view of Seabiscuit as a business rather than a living animal: “As many as forty thousand fans mobbed tracks just to watch his workouts, while thousands of others braved ice storms and murderous heat to catch a glimpse of his private eighty-foot Pullman railcar” (13). Eventually, extreme pressure and unrest result in Seabiscuit injuring his leg and having to overcome a difficult healing process. Another aspect open to criticism is the jockeys’ extreme dieting and problematic relationship with food, as they must meet the standards and norms of the horse racing world: “But the weight maximums were so low that near fasting and water deprivation weren’t enough. Even what little water and calories the body had taken in had to be eliminated” (82). Horse-racing is a highly demanding sport in which weight is an important variable, yet the narrative does not criticize its unhealthy approach to dieting and food.

Laura Hillenbrand’s Seabiscuit: An American Legend skillfully narrates a real story of resilience and adversity merged with detailed historical context and deep research. The fact that the volume explores the boundaries but also the profound connection between humans and animals, particularly with Seabiscuit and Red, and with Tom as well, is what makes the book so compelling for such a wide audience. The author transports the reader to the America of the Great Depression, showing how Seabiscuit became an icon and a symbol of hope for such difficult times. However, the book fails to reflect on the problems involved in horse racing, overlooking the suffering of both jockeys and horses, including issues such as unhealthy relationships with food and the mistreatment of animals for public entertainment. Despite these critiques, Hillebrand’s book stands out as a portrait of 1930s American society and the singular influence of an exceptional horse on the entire nation.

EVA MORENO CRUAÑEZ

2000. The Outlaw as National Hero: True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey

Peter Carey’s True History of the Kelly Gang (2000) is the critically acclaimed epistolary historical novel that earned the author the Booker Price in 2001, significantly elevating the global prominence of Australian literature. Characterized by his bold stylistic innovations, such as fragmented storytelling or the unique use of vernacular voice, Carey (b. 1943, Bacchus Marsh) reimagines the life of the famous outlaw Ned Kelly (1854-1880) through fictionalized letters addressed to his daughter. Set in 19th century colonial Australia, Carey’s novel serves as both a socio-political commentary and critique of colonial oppression. In 2019 the novel was adapted into a film by Justin Kurzel, with Heath Ledger in the main role, which received great praise for its aesthetic and visual style, but also faced criticism for its uneven pacing and lack of emotional depth in comparison to the novel.

The narrative unfolds, as noted, through different letters written by Ned Kelly (1854-1880) to his fictional daughter (he was rumored to have one son), in which he details the story of his life and the events that turned him into the infamous criminal and revolutionary figure he became. Kelly declares that he knows what it is like to “be raised on lies and silences” (7) so he is determined to tell his daughter everything about himself, ensuring she is not deceived as he was by his father. The story is divided into “parcels” each representing a different stage of Kelly’s life. In the first parcels, Kelly describes his upbringing as the son of poor Irish immigrants, detailing the struggle and alienation his family endured under British colonial rule. Kelly recounts how he was a caring, sensitive child, but the death of his father, the systematic police abuse and the need to help his mother ultimately led him to crime. As an adult, Kelly narrates his escalating confrontations with the law, all in the name of rebellion against injustice. However, although Kelly commits crimes and recounts his wrongs, his unwavering and unquestionable loyalty to his community and loved ones makes him a character readers can easily sympathize with. The novel culminates in Kelly’s execution, before which he reflects on his life and highlights his disdain for the unjust system.

The novel’s distinctive narrative style, which immerses the readers into Ned Kelly’s mind, stands out as one of its strongest features. Carey employs a colloquial tone that provides the story with authenticity. This, combined with an unfiltered first-person narrative, effectively captures the harsh realities of an impoverished childhood in the Australian colonies. The personal nature of the novel, alongside the epistolary format, with the letters as the legacy of a loving father to his daughter, further strengthens the reader’s connection to Kelly. This moving portrayal encourages the reader to empathize with Kelly, and root for his cause in almost all situations; as it is made clear that he is trapped in this life style, even though he does not enjoy it.

Another significant aspect of Carey’s unique narrative technique is the purposeful omission of grammar conventions, which is both a strength of the novel and a potential challenge for the reader. In the letters, there is a frequent lack of quotation marks for dialogue and proper capitalization, and also highly irregular punctuation, with sentences often going for over five or six lines without commas or periods. Even though these stylistic choices make the novel more difficult to read, they also contribute to its authenticity and the immersion of the reader into the story. Thus, the peculiar style reinforces the sense that the reader is experiencing Kelly’s emotions directly, his unedited thoughts enhancing a deeper sense of trust in his storytelling. Additionally, this approach makes the novel feel period-accurate, as a perfectly grammatical text would contradict Kelly’s lack of formal education.

While, as previously mentioned, Carey’s writing effectively immerses the reader in the story, one feature the novel could be criticized for is its frequent plot jumps. The narrative often moves too quickly from one event to the next, which may leave the reader overwhelmed, with little time to fully process the emotional impact of each scene. This progression is particularly confusing due to the difficulty of digesting significant events that are insufficiently discussed. Although this serves as another mechanism to reflect the chaotic nature of Kelly’s life, it can disrupt the progression of the story. For instance, one moment the reader is presented with a deep conversation between Kelly and his criminal mentor, George King, and the next moment narrates an episode involving Kelly’s family stealing farm animals in order to eat and survive, without a smooth transition. As a result, this storytelling technique can cause some readers to overlook key moments, which impacts the understanding of the events and the development of the narrative. Given its quick progression, the novel would benefit from intermittent reading, allowing the reader time to absorb the weight of each scene.

Considering the above, The True History of the Kelly Gang is a powerful fusion of emotional depth and historical fiction. Though its fast pacing and disjointed structure can make comprehension somewhat difficult, Carey’s immersive narrative style and depiction of Ned Kelly’s life can easily charm the reader. Ultimately, it is a captivating exploration of identity and rebellion against oppression.

MAR ÁLVAREZ RIDAO

2000. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon: Too Much

Michael Chabon (b. Washington D.C., 1963) achieved high acclaim after being awarded the Pulitzer Prize for The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (2000), a novel that deals with determination, personal identity and artistic expression. This highly regarded author frequently writes about heritage, nostalgia and inclusivity. Kavalier & Clay, often hailed as Chabon’s masterpiece, narrates the tale of two cousins in the comics’ Golden Age, during and after World War II. The novel garnered acclaim for its storytelling and thematic richness. It has inspired so far a play and an opera, though plans for film and TV adaptations have so far failed.

The narrative focuses on Josef Kavalier, a nineteen-year-old who escapes Nazi-occupied Prague in 1939 with the help of his mentor, Kornblum. When Joe arrives in New York, he befriends his seventeen-year-old cousin Sammy Klayman, and the two partners develop The Escapist, a comic book superhero inspired by Joe’s escape and artistic skills and Sammy’s storytelling. While the comic becomes a success, Joe struggles with his grief over his family’s fate, and Sammy, after meeting Tracy Bacon, with his closeted gay sexuality. Joe’s grief deepens with the loss of his younger brother, leading him to enlist in the Navy after leaving Rosa Saks, his love interest, pregnant; Sammy marries her to provide Rosa with stability and himself with the perfect facade for his sexuality. During the war, Joe faces diverse traumatic events while Rosa and Sammy raise his son, Tommy. Years later, Joe returns, and Sammy leaves for Los Angeles, yearning to reunite with his ex-boyfriend Tracy, eleven years after their break-up.

The novel is unequivocally ambitious. Michael Chabon demonstrates an ability for depth and his destined-to-suffer characters, but this is undermined by its execution. For instance, Sammy’s internal struggle with his sexuality, or his aversion to the word ‘homosexual’ is explored throughout the narration in uneven ways. Joe’s depiction of his own self-perception is similarly constructed, with both men displaying a low self-esteem. Joe “thought of himself as ugly, but this was because he had never seen his face in repose” (4). These moments exhibit Chabon’s skill to attune to his characters’ inner lives. However, this strength is often offset by overwrought descriptions, unnecessary subplots, and incongruous narrative decisions. The settings, while rich and meticulously crafted, feel repeatedly hindered by useless detail, while the dialogues, similarly inconsistent, fluctuate from authentic to unnatural, particularly in any interaction Joe and Rosa engage in. As it progresses, the novel grows laborious to read, despite its innovative structure. Chabon’s verbosity often dilutes the emotionality of the scenes and, at 636 pages, the narrative struggles to justify its length, with unresolved subplots and tired twists leaving readers indifferent and disoriented. The unsettling prose and winding execution create a frustrating experience rather than an engaging one, though the story has potential.

If Kavalier & Clay had been published in 2024 instead of 2001, it would likely provoke significant negative debate, particularly concerning its portrayal of identities and its treatment of gender. While the novel acknowledges the Jewish suffering during the Holocaust (Chabon himself is Jewish), it often feels as though this context is used to excuse troubling elements in the narrative. For instance, casual sexism and rigid depictions of masculinity are omnipresent without much criticism. Rosa Saks, for example, is introduced as overtly sexualized when she poses naked for Joe. The comments about Rosa as his model for a comic book character highlight the problematic normalization of women’s objectification in the text. Besides, the family structure involving Joe, Sammy, and Rosa is emotionally empty, with little sentiment beyond a performative sense of duty. Sammy’s characterization as a gay man oscillates between moments of depth and a rather superficial treatment, failing to fully explore the complexities of his identity while managing to romanticize certain troublesome scenes. Thus, the novel’s approach to gender and identity lacks nuance, undermining its potential to engage meaningfully with its themes.

Despite having received high praise and the Pulitzer Prize, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay is a work that may not appeal to all readers. While the writer’s prose is very competent, and the novel’s ideas and structural ambition are unique, its excessive length, unnecessarily complicated storyline, and characters and settings are frequently unrelatable or emotionally distant, constraining the reading experience. Though its thematic exploration has merit, the execution leaves much to desire, with unresolved subplots and occasionally clumsy prose. While some may find value in its themes, the narrative’s unmanageable rhythm and uneven delivery make it an exhausting rather than enriching experience.

JUAN DIEGO FALZONE AUBERY

2001. An Exploitative Low-Wage Investigation: Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed

Being able to survive with a minimum wage is known to be a daunting task, something that has never been as clearly perceived as in Barbara Ehrenreich’s (b. 1941, Montana; d. 2022, Virginia) nonfiction narrative reportage Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America (2001). This is a work of undercover journalism expanded from a 1999 article for Harper’s Magazine which recounts Ehrenreich’s three-month experience trying to make ends meet with the income obtained from three minimum-wage jobs. The winner of the Christopher Award in 2002, the book has repeatedly been cited as one of the best volumes of any genre published in the 21st century, ranking 13th and 57th among a hundred works on The Guardian’s and the New York Times’ lists on the matter, respectively.

In the book, which covers a two-year period between 1998 and 2000, Ehrenreich goes undercover taking low-wage jobs and attempts to observe and evaluate the effect that the 1996 Welfare Reform Act had on poor working individuals. In order to obtain a deep understanding of the conditions that poor workers are subjected to, the journalist travelled to three states—Florida, Maine, and Minnesota—where she worked as a waitress, maid, cleaning woman, nursing-home aid and sales clerk in Wal-Mart, trying to secure the most affordable living spaces and attempting to be able to survive with the lackluster wages she was being paid in each job. Furthermore, the book offers an interesting insight into the lives of low-wage workers and the struggles, both personal and professional, they must overcome. As such, the narrative constantly transitions between highly detailed descriptions of the jobs, along with what they entail, and the personal lives of some of her temporary, accidental colleagues.

Ehrenreich does a stellar job of describing the methodology of her experiment as concretely as possible, explaining all the conditions she has set for herself in order to succeed. Through vivid descriptions, the reader is allowed to perfectly imagine the environments where she works as if one were present at that exact time alongside her. Moreover, the author manages to successfully convey the difficulties of jobs typically believed to be ‘unqualified’, along with the frustrations that permeate their workers, who, in general, are described struggling on multiple levels in their personal and professional lives, with situations ranging from near homelessness to domestic abuse. In relation to this, the reader is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths that some may take for granted or simply ignore should they not be forced to work these types of jobs. This is perfectly exemplified in the second chapter, where Ehrenreich graphically describes the way in which a toilet must be cleaned and the different types of human depositions she encounters when doing it. After this graphic passage, she states “You don’t want to know this? Well, it’s not something I would have chosen to dwell on myself” (54), talking directly to readers and forcing them to face these types of circumstances whether one desires to or not. It is relevant to note, however, that the vocabulary, significantly technical and rooted in the economic field, may confuse the reader at numerous points.

In contrast to the mostly positive aspects noted, it must be admitted that there is an uncomfortable feeling which permeates the volume. This is mostly due to the fact that the entire premise revolves around a privileged white woman who, under the guise of investigation, ‘plays’ at being a poor person, while always having “reassuring limits to whatever tribulations [she] might have to endure” (10), along with the ever-present possibility of always going back to comfortable her real life, devoid of all these economic difficulties. This makes the story feel quite exploitative, especially when one considers that she is occupying a job or a space that another person may truly need in order to survive. Furthermore, the language used throughout the book often shows Ehrenreich’s privileged, white mentality, whether she notices it or not, such as when she states that “Latinos might be hogging all the crap jobs and substandard housing for themselves, as they so often do” (69), inherently placing Latino individuals at the bottom of a hierarchical structure in which white people, even those poor, are above any and all types of Latinos. Furthermore, another deficiency of the text are its conclusions, which feel superfluous and naïve, failing to provide any new, relevant information. Ehrenreich even wonders why low-wage workers simply don’t stand up for themselves and demand better conditions, which could cause their termination, a suggestion simply due to her having the possibility of going back to her real, comfortable life.

In conclusion, this book is not fully recommended, mainly due to its redundant and shallow nature. Despite offering a vivid insight into the conditions and struggles of minimum-wage workers and their personal and professional struggles, Ehrenreich’s work does not offer any kind of valuable new information that could not be inferred from prior general knowledge of the world, instead being perceived as an exploitative investigation on less fortunate individuals. On the other hand, this book might be a good recommendation for readers who find themselves interested in economic and social issues, particularly those related to wages and working conditions, along with the difficulties one must endure in jobs often ignored by the wealthier sectors of society.

NATÀLIA LÓPEZ ARENAS

2001. Truth, Religion, and Survival in Yann Martel’s Life of Pi

Life of Pi (2001) is a Man Booker Prize–winning novel written by French-Canadian author Yann Martel (b. 1963, Salamanca, Spain). This novel is Martel’s most successful work, among his other nine published novels. Curiously, it was originally published by Knopf Canada, after being rejected by several British publishing houses. The novel was eventually highly praised by the international press, receiving superb criticism from newspapers such as The Guardian or The Times. Even former USA president Barack Obama wrote a letter to Martel praising his work. Life of Pi originated a movie adaptation in 2012, directed by Ang Lee, which won four Oscars out of eleven nominations in the 85th Academy Awards.

Martel’s novel focuses on Piscine Molitor Patel, an Indian boy who has grown up surrounded by animals in his father’s zoo in Pondicherry. After being made fun of in primary school because kids could not pronounce his name properly and called him “pissing,” he decides to change his name to just “Pi” in secondary school. This name honors besides the number pi. After some years practicing vegetarianism because of Hinduism, Pi becomes obsessed with other religions such as Christianism and Islam. This is not received well by his family and mentors. However, and after Indira Gandhi declares a state of emergency in India (in 1975), Pi and his family are forced to sell their zoo and move to Canada. During their journey, their boat eventually sinks. Pi is the only survivor together with other animals like a tiger, a zebra, a hyena, and an orangutan. The novel follows his survival story for 227 days and all the adversities he faces.

One of the most appealing aspects of Martel’s novel is its narrative style. While it can become difficult to read at times because of its roughness, the author manages to keep the reader hooked. Pi’s story is imaginative, and at times unbelievable, but the way in which it is told makes the experience quite appealing. The fact that the narrator is Pi himself can also lead to uncertainty about the plot’s reliability. However, and as the ending of the novel makes us understand, the book is about the relativity of truth. This is why Pi’s unreliability is one of the strengths of the novel, making us constantly doubt whether what is being narrated is true or not.

The plot’s pacing is also very appealing, as it never leaves the reader with the impression that the novel does not advance properly. Everything told in Life of Pi has a meaning, and Martel makes sure we understand why every part is being narrated and explained. As the story advances, the reader’s curiousness increases considerably, making the reading experience much more enjoyable. Nothing in this novel feels out of place, everything is carefully crafted in order to create a piece that praises human survival and strength. “Life will defend itself no matter how small it is,” Pi says (40) and this is the novel’s core. Despite the difficulties Pi faces after the boat sinks, he keeps fighting for life, portraying in this way how not giving up can pay off. The fact that Pi’s story is somewhat incredible is justified by the need to mask the harshness of the truth. By talking about animals, magical islands and unbelievable encounters, Pi hides the hurtful truth about his journey and his own trauma.

The vivid descriptions Martel offers of life on Pi’s boat are also one of the most remarkable aspects of the novel. Everything Pi does to survive is carefully explained, leaving no space for doubt. The fishing, the discovery of new ways to protect his vital space from the tiger (nicknamed Richard Parker), his constant fighting against the weather, and a long etcetera, make this survival story feel real, despite the fantastic elements. The fact that Pi is a strong believer combining several religions is also relevant to the plot, making him fight for his life and allowing him to perceive his challenges from a different approach. “The presence of God is the finest of rewards,” he claims (61) even in the middle of so much distress. The mysticism he has learnt from practicing Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism help him overcome the recurrent adversities his life in open-sea gives him.

Whether the readers are believers themselves or not, it is easy to acknowledge how important religion is for Pi’s survival. However, this insistence on religion can also lead the reader to believe the story is about God for, as Pi declares, “Faith in God is an opening up, a letting go, a deep trust, a free act of love” (182). The novel, though, is not about God, but about survival, guilt, the truth, and many other things besides religion. God is just one of the many resources Martel uses in order to frame and describe Pi’s inner world and thoughts. Another interesting aspect about Life of Pi is that despite knowing from the very beginning that Pi will survive, the story does not become less striking or tense. Martel’s storytelling creates an enjoyable atmosphere, as well as a really strained one.

Altogether, Life of Pi is a fascinating story that will constantly have readers on the edge of their seats. Even readers who are familiar with Ang Lee’s adaptation will find much to enjoy here. The plot is rich and the story has an amazing ending. The combination of all the pieces from this puzzle creates a work of art that will leave nobody indifferent.

MARIA OLIVÉ MANZANO

2001. Atonement: Ian McEwan’s Art

Ian McEwan’s adroitness as a novelist is palpable throughout his novel Atonement, published in 2001. Its publication rewarded this English writer, born in 1948 in Aldershot, with international acclaim, as well as multiple prizes, which include the National Book Critic’s Circle Award (2003), or the Los Angeles Times Prize for Fiction (2003). Furthermore, Atonement inspired an Oscar-winning film adaptation in 2007, directed by Joe Wright, which was made further famous by the green evening gown Kiera Knightley wears in it.

McEwan divides his story into three parts. He develops the plot through the different perspectives pertaining to a variety of characters, assigning each chapter to one of them. The first part is set during the summer of 1935 in the English countryside and serves to present the different characters, their roles, and their relation to each other. It also functions as the foundation for the rest of the novel, setting up various situations which will continue to be developed as the plot progresses. The reader first meets then Briony, the youngest of the Tallis family and the main protagonist. Briony provides the audience with the unique point of view of a thirteen-year-old child, gifted with a vivid imagination and a need to find thrill and fulfilment in her life. From the very beginning, McEwan hints that she is to be an unreliable narrator. This is observed through how she perceives a variety of situations in a way which is not faithful to what is truly occurring, as seen through other protagonists’ experiences in other chapters.

One clear instance of this, is when lovers Cecilia (Briony’s sister) and Robbie (the Tallis family housekeeper’s son) argue by the water fountain of the Tallis’ property and the former undresses to collect the pieces of a broken vase from the water. A later chapter dedicated to Briony’s perception of the events reveals that she believes the scene could be a marriage proposal and that her sister Cecilia undresses because she is unable to resist Robbie’s power over her: “What was less comprehensible, however, was how Robbie imperiously raised his hand now, as though issuing a command which Cecilia dared not disobey. It was extraordinary that she was unable to resist him. At his insistence she was removing her clothes, and at such speed” (16). This foreshadows the much worse mistakes Briony makes later. Although Briony’s unreliableness as a narrator is extreme and a plot device that the author employs to advance the story, the insight that the reader gains by means of the different points of view makes a clear point; one cannot, nor must, trust only one protagonist with the truth, as each has their own motivations and emotions which are responsible for altering their reality.

The first twist of the book, which shall not be spoiled in this review, also takes part in the first sections, thus shaping the rest of the story in a traumatic and guilt-ridden turn of events. This dramatic happenstance, which acts as the climax of the story, is Briony’s responsibility as her erroneous perception of events drives her to act on impulse. Despite the pure and heroic nature of her reasoning for her decision, she turns herself into the main antagonist in Robbie’s and Cecilia’s story, as well as her own. It is not long before she is weighed by copious amounts of regret that she desperately desires to right her wrongdoing. Hence the title of the novel.

The second part of Atonement, set during World War II, focuses particularly on the consequences the first part has on Robbie and Cecilia after their forced separation, following their journeys, their attempts to mitigate their situation, and to adapt to their new ways of life. Robbie joins the British Army, experiencing the brutal realities of war yet his mind always returns to his love for Cecilia. She, similarly, remains devoted to Robbie; she becomes a nurse and joins the Army as she decides to cut ties with her family. Briony, though not the focal point of the section, is in clear distress and carries a heavy conscience about her misreading of what happened in her home. The third and final section of the book is an amalgamation of everything that McEwan set to happen when the story first begins. Here, Briony, by then eighteen, actively tries to redeem herself by finding Robbie and Cecilia to apologize for the pain she subjected them to and furthermore, promises to admit the falseness of the accusation she had made years ago against Robbie. The novelist effectively brings the book to an end by means of one final shock that dismantles everything readers thought they knew.

The way the plot is developed would not be successful nor possible without McEwan’s mastery in portraying such distinctive and individual points of views for each of the characters. Each protagonist is a direct reflection of his effort in making each stand out with their own identifying personalities. Simultaneously, he sows in his characters’ thoughts, perceptions, and experiences the seeds of what will come to be later in the story. Everything that occurs is intentional and relevant to what the author intends to accomplish. The different events of the novel are very carefully interwoven with each other in a way that makes it very satisfying to see the hidden truth unravelling in terms of what Atonement truly ends up being about. His clever management of the different characters and what they must provide for the story as well as for the readers is admirable and consistent throughout.

Although some readers might feel betrayed by what the final section of the book reveals, the plot twist that the writer uses to surprise his audience seems to be completely relevant and purposeful. The meaning behind it adds considerable depth to the story, and even more so to Briony’s character. Deciding to end the book in a way which is tragic yet so realistic in adhering to the human experience of wishing for an impossible redemption, a redemption only possible through fiction, is proof of McEwan’s skill and talent in his writing and it demonstrates a profound ability to touch and move an audience.

Overall, reading Atonement has been an experience I would recommend completely and in full honesty. With a certain tinge of nostalgia accompanying the story, its characters will make readers sympathize with them through their sincere expressions of emotions; its plot twists elicit a need for more, and also a sense of reflection on the human condition and on having to deal with the consequences of one’s tragic misperceptions.

VÍCTOR LÓPEZ DOMÍNGUEZ

2002. Joseph O’Connor’s Star of the Sea: Successful yet Overdone

The historical fiction novel Star of the Sea was first published in 2002. Its author, Joseph O’Connor, is an Irish playwright and journalist born in Dublin in 1963, known for his meticulous historical accuracy and lyrical prose style. He has received a multiplicity of awards, among which the PEN Award for Outstanding Achievement in Literature of 2012 can be found. Star of the Sea is O’Connor’s most famous novel, having been translated into forty different languages and making its writer be considered one of the most significant artists of contemporary Ireland.

The novel begins in the year 1847, during the peak of Ireland’s Great Famine. The story’s main characters, Pius and Nicholas Mulvey, and Mary Duane, among others, board a ship named Star of the Sea. Whereas their backgrounds and desires are varied, they all share a common goal: escaping starvation and looking for a better future in what they considered to be the land of opportunities, the United States of America. Nevertheless, their journey is thwarted once one of the travelers, a landlord named David Merridith, is found dead aboard the ship. His death is surrounded by mysterious circumstances. Throughout the novel, the main story thread presents the narrator, Grantley Dixon, putting his journalist skills to good work as he undertakes the task of unveiling not so much who the murderer is, but rather the motivations behind the crime.

To begin the review itself with a positive note, one of the most favorable and enriching aspects of this novel is undoubtedly its historical accuracy. As mentioned previously, Star of the Sea is set during the Irish Potato Famine of the mid-19th century. Certainly, O’Connor is celebrated for his commitment to representing history as faithfully as possible, applying to his novels hours upon hours of continuous research. He has been known to read all sorts of primary sources, such as personal letters, to create characters and settings that are as authentic to their time as possible. The author’s desire to portray a harsh reality is directly presented in the book’s introduction, where he exposes his motivation behind writing the story. With it comes a dedication to an Irish soldier who was killed in Vietnam. This beginning already establishes the tone of the narrative as well as the author’s credibility in telling historical facts. Consequently, this commitment is preserved throughout the entire story, with different characters reflecting distinct realities. For instance, Mary Duane reflects the heartbreaking life of a working-class poor person who has lost their entire family to starvation, whereas David Merridith is, as a landlord, a personification of the high society. Despite the contrasting stories, all the characters find themselves in the same desperate situation. Therefore, this novel is a successful attempt at shedding light on an episode in history that, surprisingly, is “hardly mentioned” by the “gods of Irish literature” (9). In taking on the task of representing such a painful episode in history, O’Connor assumed great responsibility, yet he successfully delivered.

Moving on to aspects that are not so positive, the narrative style of the novel might not be its strongest suit. To begin with, it must be recognized that it is certainly innovative and interesting. The narration is mainly carried out by Dixon, who provides an analytical yet at times ironic perspective. Additionally, the story is presented after the events have already occurred through a reconstruction of memories that the narrator pieces together in order to make sense of what had taken place on that ship. At specific moments in the novel, the author presents a multiplicity of points of view, making use of the third person or even giving the antagonist his own voice. This gives the novel some sense of dynamism.

Notwithstanding, despite the originality of this kind of storytelling, the author appears to be hyper focused on describing every nuance of the setting and the characters’ appearance. Although helpful, this is done to such an extent that many details might sometimes feel overwhelming and unnecessary. Moreover, this overwrought style makes the pace seem excessively slow, since the main plot is more often than not left aside as the description of a character takes the spotlight. Some readers might find this interesting while for others it might be a source of frustration. Regardless, the mystery and secrecy that surrounds the murder, which is reminiscent of Agatha Christie’s famous books, is still enjoyable for those who are keen on that kind of plot.

In conclusion, O’Connor’s Star of the Sea is exceptionally successful at conveying a story surrounded by mystery that involves well developed and varied characters. In doing so, it also sheds light on a tragic episode of Irish history that is often overlooked. Nevertheless, it falls prey to an overworked narration, which might be unappealing to a significant section of its potential audience.

DIANA HURTADO GALVIS

2002. Jennifer Worth’s Celebration of Life and Humanity in The Midwife

The Midwife: A Memoir of Birth, Joy, and Hard Times is a volume where English author Jennifer Worth (1935-2001) recounts her time working as a midwife. She poignantly describes the nuns she worked with, as well as the various births she assisted. Worth grew up during World War II and, in the 1950s, trained as a nurse at the Royal Berkshire Hospital in Reading, later specializing in midwifery. She worked in that capacity in the East End of London, an area still recovering from the aftermath of the war. Call the Midwife is the first of a trilogy in which Worth recounts her experience, and is followed by Call the Midwife, Shadows of the Workhouse and Farewell to the East End. These books became widely known throughout the world and later inspired an equally famous TV series, Call the Midwife, first broadcast in 2012 and still ongoing.

Worth’s memoir is very easy to read and very engaging from the first page. Worth starts explaining that she arrived at Nonnatus House, a Catholic convent for nurses of the Order of St. Raymond Nonnatus and the Midwives, by mistake, as she expected a hospital. She wasn’t religious nor believed in God; even so, her first impression of the sisters was both absurd and very pleasant, which encouraged her to take the job. She starts narrating next a series of breathtakingly moving stories and introduces the reader to the individual nuns, who will become her mentors and confidants throughout her career. It is worth noting that at the end of the memoir, Jennifer declares that she has begun to have faith in God.

One of the strengths of this memoir is Worth’s appealing writing. Her style may seem simple, as it is quick and easy to read. Some may find this simplicity a negative trait, but her storytelling is compelling and keeps the reader engaged until the end of each short chapter. For example, her descriptions of the setting and her dialogue, often written in the Cockney dialect, stand out for how faithfully they represent the poverty and the large families of the East End in the 1950s. So are her descriptions of the neighborhood’s background, which offered no sex education and no resources to prevent families from expanding. Families simply survived as best they could. These descriptions allow the reader to immerse themselves in the post-war life in the slums of that period and to understand how midwives managed to save babies’ and mothers’ lives in such circumstances.

Another remarkable aspect of Worth’s memoirs is that the reader learns about the process of childbirth, antenatal, and postnatal care and the possible complications that may occur, as well as the various diseases that pregnant women may suffer from. For example, one of the most shocking cases is that of a young, healthy woman who, after expecting her first child with her partner, suffers a complication in the form of eclampsia, a condition that causes severe convulsions and ultimately kills her and the baby at the time of delivery. The shattered father delivers one of the most beautiful and painful sentences: “I am just thankful that I knew her at all. If we had not met, or if we had met and just passed each other by, all the great literature of the world, all the poets, all the great love stories would have been meaningless to me. You cannot understand what you have not experienced” (89).

The characterization of the people and stories is another major highlight. The beloved nuns are beautifully and humorously portrayed. Readers can’t help but smile when they read that Sister Chummy, who is big and clumsy, has to learn to ride a bicycle, which is the only means of transport the sisters have to visit patients, while a thirteen-year-old boy, Jack, a tough-looking but kind-hearted boy, helps her. Readers may shed a tear or two when they see the moment the kid manages to get Sister Chummy on a bicycle. On the other hand, not all stories are sweet. A particularly sad story is that of Mary, a young Irish girl who manages to escape her village after her mother’s drunken boyfriend gets her pregnant, only to end up in an East End brothel after trusting someone who seemed to be a prince but was only “the best meat buyer in London” (168). These stories make the reader feel close to these characters making it easy to feel compassion, sadness, love, and hate, creating an emotional connection that makes the memoir truly special.

However, one negative aspect is the over-idealization of the sisters or the exaggeration of some moments. Worth’s recollections may have been idealized and altered because they are very precious memories, and, in wanting to transmit them, she may have exaggerated some points. This may not be such a bad thing, but it is something to be aware of when reading the volume for the narrator is always unreliable. Another commonly criticized point is the simplicity of the narration. For some, the writing seems too basic though this simplicity does not detract from the emotional depth of Worth’s memoir, as writing a story involves much more than the way of writing; it involves connecting with the reader and moving them through the stories, beyond the quality of the prose. This is not, after all, a novel but a memoir intended to make readers aware of time and circumstances now gone.

Jennifer Worth’s Call the Midwife: A Memoir of Birth, Joy, and Hard Times is a set of moving stories that take us into the world of midwives in London’s 1950s East End. While its simplicity might deter some readers, it is precisely one of the reasons to get swept up in this memoir of cherished and perhaps embellished memories, if only for the sake of the mothers and their babies, and their struggles to survive.

MARC ZARCOS GARCÍA

2002. Beyond Death: Richard K. Morgan’s Dystopian Future in Altered Carbon

Richard K. Morgan is widely considered a relevant voice in modern science fiction, a reputation he has earned through his distinctive fusion of cyberpunk and noir. One of his greatest achievements is the Philip K. Dick Award, which he won for his second novel, Altered Carbon (2002) in 2003. Born in London in 1965, Morgan has made his mark by delving into themes of identity, morality, and technological evolution. Known for his gritty storytelling and morally complex characters, he stands out for creating dystopian worlds that challenge readers to question the fabric of humanity. Despite the often brutal and explicit content of his narratives, Morgan’s work manages to captivate readers with its unflinching exploration of human nature. Altered Carbon, the first novel in the Takeshi Kovacs trilogy, is a compelling mix of dystopian world-building and detective fiction, appealing to fans of both crime and futurist science fiction.

Set in a 26th-century world where human consciousness can be taken and transferred between bodies known as ‘sleeves’, Altered Carbon follows Takeshi Kovacs, a former UN Envoy turned mercenary. After being killed on his home planet of Harlan’s World, Kovacs is re-sleeved in a new body on Earth by Laurens Bancroft, a wealthy Meth (an individual with near-immortality through serial self-cloning). Bancroft hires Kovacs to investigate his own apparent suicide, a mystery complicated by missing memories, high-level corruption, and the moral decay of a society divided between the ultra-rich and the poor. Morgan’s plot goes through many twists and revelations, combining existential questions about humanity with vivid action scenes. This review avoids spoilers to preserve the novel’s surprising climax and its rich and suspenseful narrative.

The strongest aspect of Altered Carbon is undoubtedly its worldbuilding. Morgan’s vision of a society transformed by re-sleeving technology is innovative, detailed and immersive. He introduces readers to a world where death has lost its permanence for the rich, leading to severe inequality and moral corruption. Bay City (formerly San Francisco) is rendered in vivid, dystopian detail, from its high-tech skyscrapers to its grimy underbelly of crime and exploitation. The concept of digitized consciousness is explored deeply, leading the reader to profound ethical and existential questions about identity and the soul. Morgan integrates these themes into the core of the plot, giving the novel a thoughtful edge. Additionally, cinephile audiences may find similarities with dystopian films such as In Time (2011). In the film, time itself becomes currency, with the rich living indefinitely while the poor die young. Similarly, in Altered Carbon, re-sleeving technology grants the elite near-immortality while relegating the less fortunate to disposable lives, creating a stark social hierarchy. The Meths, like the elite in In Time, flaunt their immortality as a form of power, emphasizing the story’s critique of social and economic inequality.

However, Morgan’s exploration of digitized consciousness and altered realities may also remind us of another sci-fi film, The Matrix (1999). Like The Matrix, Altered Carbon questions the boundaries between the physical body and the mind. While The Matrix focuses on virtual worlds and the simulation of reality, Altered Carbon shifts its lens to the implications of detaching identity from the body. The technology of the cortical stacks, the tiny black boxes where consciousness can be stored, mirrors The Matrix’s idea of humans as data, exploring the philosophical questions of selfhood and existence in a technology-saturated world. Clearly, those spectators who left the cinema hungry for more will definitely find that additional piece that they have been looking for in Morgan’s narratives.

Another significant strength of the novel is its pacing and narrative style. Morgan balances introspective, philosophical moments with intense action sequences, ensuring that the story never feels slow or overwhelming. As a result, the reader is more prone to enjoy a fresh and speedy plot. The dialogue is quite sharp and often mixed with dry humor, capturing the notable noir influences that prevail in the novel. The descriptions are vivid and explicit, particularly during the scenes of violence, which are unflinching and graphic. While some readers may find their brutality excessive, it is arguably crucial in order to underscore the grim reality of this world and the stakes of Kovacs’s mission. The plot itself is intricately constructed, with multiple layers of mystery and intrigue. Morgan keeps readers guessing as Kovacs peels back the layers of deception surrounding Bancroft’s death. The combination of detective work, political conspiracy, and individual introspection creates a story that is both engaging and unpredictable. The themes of power, corruption, and the dehumanizing effects of technology are truly discussed within Kovacs’s journey, giving the narrative depth beyond its appearance.

In conclusion, Altered Carbon is a successful fusion of science fiction and noir, offering readers a stimulating story set in a richly designed world. Richard K. Morgan’s atmospheric novel is both intellectually electrifying and emotionally explosive, exploring timeless questions about humanity and morality through the lens of speculative technology. Definitely a must-read for all those fans of cyberpunk and crime fiction that want to immerse themselves into a dystopian world where even death is negotiable.

DAYANA DA SILVA FERNÁNDEZ

2003. Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner: A Childhood Lost to Guilt

The Kite Runner is the debut novel of Afghan-American novelist Khaled Hosseini (b. 1965). This acclaimed historical novel, first published in 2003, sold over seven million copies in the United States, remaining on The New York Times bestseller list for two years. In parallel to Hosseini’s personal story (he was born in the Afghan capital of Kabul and later sought asylum in the United States), the novel is partly set in Afghanistan. This connection is similarly reflected in the novelist’s subsequent novels: A Thousand Splendid Suns, published in 2007, and And the Mountains Echoed, published in 2013. Hosseini’s work has been praised indeed for illustrating and divulging Afghan culture to international audiences.

The narration revolves around the main character, Amir, and his childhood in Kabul during the 1970s, when the fall of the monarchy in 1973 and the consequent wars were looming. Amir, a Pashtun boy and the son of a wealthy merchant, retells the events of his early years with his friend Hassan, the son of the Hazara house servant, Ali. The conflict presented in the novel involves the tensions between these two ethnic groups, as can be seen in the central event of the book, when Hassan suffers a sexual assault by another Pashtun boy. Unable to help his friend, Amir’s sense of guilt sabotages their friendship and ultimately breaks them apart. Years later, after seeking refuge from both the war and his past in the United States, Amir returns to Afghanistan looking for redemption by trying to save Hassan’s son, who, following the rise of the first Taliban Government in 1996, is in constant danger. In this second part of the novel, the effects of the previous years of war are evident in the jarring contrasting depictions of the state of the country.

The pacing of the novel is strongest in the first half, where the narration flows cohesively without allowing the reader to disengage or feel too pressured by the harsh themes addressed of class, ethnicity, and discrimination. The first act of the novel presents the context for the pivotal moment in the story, when Hassan is sexually assaulted before Amir, who is too preoccupied with trying to meet his father’s expectations to react in a noble way. Although this episode constitutes the center of the narration, the novel does not restrain itself from depicting other tragedies. Without going into specific spoilers, the story touches on other misfortunes experienced by Amir and the surrounding characters. These are sensitively presented throughout the first two acts, leaving the reader leeway to acknowledge and digest each occurrence and enjoy the rare occasions of neutrality and the small emergences of happiness.

However, during the third act, when a now adult Amir returns to his birthplace to amend for his wrong-doings towards Hassan and help his son, the pacing suffers. Along this last act, Hosseini’s tendency to rely on dramatic effect drains the story of any respite, as everything and anything that can possibly go wrong does, indeed, go wrong. Expressed in the novel’s peculiar disposition for foreshadowing in sentences such as “they only let you be this happy if they prepare to take something from you” (231), this authorial decision to stress drama seems quite deliberate. The scarce chances of contentment vanish with each page turn, as every expectation of comfort is followed by a subsequent tragedy more discordant than the previous one, turning an already heartbreaking story into pure distress.

Hosseini presents an impressive set of well-developed and thought-through characters. Since the novel centers on Amir’s guilt, his internal conflict and self-awareness give undeniable depth to the story. The first-person narration presents Amir’s pre-teen experiences through the voice of his adult self, providing an additional layer of self-reflection very well employed by the author. Similarly, other secondary characters, such as Amir’s father, Baba, have unique complexities and defining qualities that allow them to shine within the story. The author has remarked on the significance of the father-son relationship in the narration. This relationship, or most importantly, the lack thereof, determines the main character’s actions and decisions. Offering insight regarding Baba’s limited affection, the narration through Amir’s point of view does not prevent the reader from recognizing and understanding both perspectives in the father-son dynamic. Baba’s inability to commit to a tender relationship with Amir, rooted in the former’s inner turmoil, is explored along the story as it is shown to be responsive to different contexts, giving the character a deeper dimension.

As the novel revolves around themes of remorse, injustice, and prejudice, the characters who are morally ambiguous are the ones graced with a better development. Consequentially, the story presents some two-dimensional characters sitting at opposite ends of the moral spectrum who are not granted the privilege of exploration. Unable to react or fight for themselves when it is not convenient, Ali and Hassan are excessively righteous. In a similar light, the main antagonist, a half-German half-Pashtun Taliban, who does not hide his admiration for Hitler, is a caricature of evil, limited to serve as the flat villain of the story.

In short, while providing characters that allow for complex dynamics to be explored throughout the length of the novel, Hosseini manages to meticulously present different topics, such as injustice and remorse, in a well-paced narration. Though not perfect, The Kite Runner manages to eclipse the small flaws and deliver a heartfelt insight into Afghanistan’s history during the country’s most fragile years before, that is, the start of the current Taliban regime.

GERARD ALEGRE PRAT

2004. Love, Loss, and Tradition: Nadeem Aslam’s Maps for Lost Lovers

Nadeem Aslam’s Maps for Lost Lovers is a lyrical novel that delves into the lives of an immigrant community in England, exploring themes of love, loss, cultural identity, and the challenges of assimilation. Born in Gujranwala (Pakistan) in 1966 and raised in the UK from the age of 14, Aslam brings a unique perspective to the immigrant experience, drawing on his bicultural background to create stories that resonate on a deeply personal level. Published in 2004, the book garnered critical acclaim for its intricate depiction of human relationships and the tensions between tradition and modernity. Aslam’s careful attention to detail and his ability to fabricate a tapestry of emotion make Maps for Lost Lovers a unique and powerful exploration of universal themes. Notably, the novel won the Kiriyama Prize and was longlisted for the Booker Prize, solidifying Aslam’s place among the contemporary great literary authors.

The story is set in a nameless town referred to as Dasht-e-Tanhaii (the desert of solitude), which serves as a microcosm of the struggles faced by immigrants attempting to preserve their cultural identity in a foreign land. The plot revolves around the mysterious disappearance and eventual murder of Jugnu and Chanda, an unmarried couple who confronted conservative societal norms by living together. Their deaths become the lens through which the lives of their friends, neighbors, and relatives are examined, with the couple’s tragic fate casting a long shadow over the community. Central to the narrative is Shamas, Jugnu’s brother, and his wife, Kaukab, whose strained relationship represents a broader clash between progressive ideals and traditional values. Through their experiences and those of others in the town, Aslam explores the consequences of intolerance, the weight of religious and cultural expectations, and the ways in which love can both liberate and entrap. Alongside this, the novel considers the experience of exile, capturing the pain of leaving one’s homeland and the difficulty of adapting to an unfamiliar culture that views one with suspicion.

Aslam’s prose is undoubtedly the highlight of Maps for Lost Lovers. His writing is rich and evocative, transforming the smallest details into vivid imagery that remains in the reader’s mind. He turns the simplest scene into a miniature narrative inside his novel, as we appreciate here when in this scene:

With a soundless shout the girl pushes her away and begins to run towards the door. She shouts again, failing once again to produce noise, as though her words are unable to cut the air. She runs along the road that will take her to her destroyed home, the locket leaping around her neck. There are several people outside the shop and since some customers have also entered the premises, Chanda’s sister-in-law cannot go after her, which would obviously hint at some connection between her and the girl. She watches her disappear from her life. She lets out a moan at the opportunity she has just lost. (260)

Aslam crafts a world where nature mirrors the emotional turbulence of the characters, using birds, flowers, and the changing seasons to symbolize themes of love, loss, and renewal. This poetic quality elevates the novel, making it feel like a timeless meditation on human imperfection and resilience.

The nuanced depiction of the immigrant experience is another significant strength. Aslam captures the isolation faced by those caught between two worlds—one they’ve left behind and another that refuses to fully accept them. The novel’s exploration of difficult themes such as honor killings, domestic violence, religious fundamentalism, and the constraint of tradition is courageous. Aslam is not afraid of showing the brutal consequences of intolerance and patriarchal values, but he does this with deep empathy, emphasizing the humanity of all characters. We can appreciate Aslam and his bravery in this excerpt from the novel:

Shamas warned Kaukab to be careful and not lay a hand on the girl, because otherwise tomorrow the local newspaper would be carrying the headline BRITISH-BORN DAUGHTER OF PAKISTANI MUSLIM COMMUNITY LEADER BEATEN OVER MATTER OF MARRIAGE, bringing into disrepute, in one fell swoop, Islam, Pakistan, the immigrant population here in England, and his place of work, which was—in the matters of race—the officially appointed conscience of the land. (147, original capitalized text)

This balance allows the novel to presenting a multifaceted exploration of the immigrant condition rather than becoming a mere critique of cultural norms.

Despite these strengths, Maps for Lost Lovers has its shortcomings. The same poetic richness that makes the prose beautiful can also make it feel excessively fancy. The layers of metaphor and symbolism can at times be overwhelming, slowing down the narrative and making it difficult for readers to stay engaged with the plot. Some sections of the book feel almost like a prose poem rather than a novel, which may turn off those who prefer a more direct storytelling style. Pacing is another potential issue; the narrative often drifts on small details, which, while atmospheric, can make the story feel heavy.

Additionally, while the characters are vividly drawn, they sometimes seem to be more symbolic representations of ideas rather than fully realized individuals. For instance, Kaukab embodies the struggles of a conservative, devout Muslim woman trapped by her beliefs, while Shamas represents a more materialistic, progressive perspective. While these portrayals are powerful, they can occasionally feel one-dimensional, with the characters’ personal arcs taking a backseat to the exploration of larger themes. This can make it harder for readers to emotionally connect with them on a deeper level. Finally, the novel’s unrelenting focus on tragedy may feel oppressive to some readers. While the exploration of pain and loss is central to the story’s purpose, the lack of lighter moments or a counterbalancing sense of hope might leave some feeling drained rather than moved.

Despite these criticisms, Maps for Lost Lovers remains an important and deeply moving work. Aslam’s ability to link the personal and the political makes the novel resonate on multiple levels. It challenges readers to confront uncomfortable truths about prejudice, identity, and the sacrifices required to bridge cultural divides. The story’s emotional depth and the complexity of its characters ensure that it lingers in the mind long after the final page. In conclusion, Maps for Lost Lovers is a compelling and provoking novel that shows Nadeem Aslam’s extraordinary talent as a storyteller. While its poetic style and constant focus on tragic themes may not appeal to all readers, those who appreciate detailed prose and a nuanced exploration of cultural and emotional landscapes will find much to admire. Aslam’s portrayal of love in its many forms—passionate, forbidden, unreturned, and familial—reminds us of the fragility of human connections and the courage it takes to nurture them in the face of adversity.

NICO BELLA RIGG MACINNES

2004 (2016). Rebecca Solnit’s Essential Act of Creating Hope in the Dark

It takes a remarkable author to create an astute, nuanced and steadily pertinent exploration of historical truths in nonfiction. Rebecca Solnit’s Hope in the Dark is a strikingly original work, structured through twenty-one short essays that balance the weight of historical tragedies with the light of possibility and change. Evolving from her well-received essay written in 2004, during the height of protests against the Iraq War, this expanded 2016 edition (subtitled Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities) continues with a galvanizing perspective that is grounded in realism. Born in 1961 in Connecticut, USA, Solnit has built a career that carefully expresses her intellect as she blends memoir, history and politics in her individual literary style. Beyond Hope in the Dark, she’s best well known for Men Explain Things to Me, her nonfiction book which devised and theorized the feminist term ‘mansplaining’, and catalyzed significant discussions of gender and power. Her work is both accessible and profound, and with Hope in the Dark and its academic yet relatable essays, Solnit weaves her influential personal style into the self-help book genre. Hope in the Dark looks at humanity in its most vulnerable forms, to reinforce the mindset that is essential in navigating our unpredictable future.

Solnit argues for the importance of recognizing hope even in the midst of despair. Hope in the Dark was first published as a reaction to the divisive politics of George W. Bush’s second presidential term and the ongoing war in Iraq. Solnit evidences the persistence of positive movements amid defeatism, suggesting that hope arises not from a naive denial of reality but from an active engagement with it. “It is important to say what hope is not: it is not the belief that everything was, is, or will be fine,” she writes. “You could call it an account of complexities and uncertainties, with openings” (xi). It is with this clarification of ‘hope’, that Solnit creates her tangible sense of optimistic opportunity. As she engages with numerous tumultuous events, she avoids oversimplifying the world’s problems or offering false optimism; she instead insists on the power of activism and collective humanity to create ‘openings’ for progress.

The accumulatively optimistic tone threads each short and standalone essay together; as the cohesive yet varied chapters each examine a specific historical moment or concept, there is an interconnection in the unity of resilience. Hope in the Dark draws from movements like Black Lives Matter, and responses to natural disasters to assess the multiplicate nature of hope. Citing Black Lives Matter co-founder Patrisse Cullors (in the foreword “Grounds for Hope”), who described the movement to be “rooted in grief and rage but pointed towards vision and dreams” (x), Solnit acknowledges how hope can intermingle with negative emotions, suggesting that hope is not an escape from pain but rather, the way to navigate through it. The essays “The Millennium Arrives” (dated 1989, 1994, 1999, 2001, and 2003) and “Getting the Hell out of Paradise” exemplify this approach, although not every chapter achieves the same clarity or depth. “Changing the Imagination of Change” differs from the engaging surrounding essays; Solnit attempts to explore how shifting cultural narratives can pave the way for societal transformation. The essay’s incohesive structure detracts from its impact, leaving the reader with more questions than answers. While it raises intriguing points about the role of imagination in change, the lack of focus makes it one of the book’s weaker contributions, and while the premise is promising, the execution feels scattered and overly abstract; it sits in unfavorable comparison between the central chapters of the otherwise precise and relevant book.

The essays are short but dense and are packed with historical analysis and emotional insight. Although the interconnectedness of the chapters creates an impactful and cohesive narrative, and the book is only 142 pages long, it may be best read in instalments. As each essay presents an unflinching exploration of difficult histories, the fast-paced changing subject may become overwhelming if the reader does not stop to consider and reflect on the specific concept developed. As each chapter adds to the perspective of this nuanced redefinition of hope that Solnit cultivates throughout the book, this intellectually engaging amalgamation of essays would benefit from being read at a slower pace. They are easily returned to over time and as Solnit herself emphasizes: meaningful change—whether societal or personal—requires time.

One of the books most enduring qualities is its relevance, even as the historical moments it addresses recede into the past. A modern reader may find it difficult to connect with a work that discusses the most significant social, political and historical times but does not mention recent events that have personally impacted them (like COVID-19 or ongoing political crises). However, Solnit acknowledges the inevitability of the present examples becoming outdated, writing, “That moment passed long ago, but despair, defeatism, cynicism and the amnesia and assumptions from which they often arise have not dispersed” (vi). Although Hope in the Dark is rooted in the early 2000s, its core message transcends the immediate context, therefore the book and its profound conclusions are much more adaptable to changing circumstances of adversity.

Throughout, Solnit criticizes both optimists and pessimists, accusing them of “excuse[ing] themselves from acting” (vii). Solnit takes an emotive and motivational tone in her encouragement for immediate action, of any kind. Hope in the Dark takes an inclusive perspective, drawing on worldwide examples and inviting readers from diverse backgrounds to see themselves in the collective push for change. Her immersive use of language addresses her audience with individuality and immediacy. This approach encourages a sense of collective responsibility while emphasizing the urgency of action. Hope in the Dark predominantly engages with political content in a left-wing and activist approach. Although Solnit carefully supports her political views and evidences her ground for this belief, most of her examples and reflections are exclusive to the left side of politics. Although she critiques the left-side, claiming they focus only on the largest issues and wallow in despair instead of acting, most of her arguments are steeped in progressive ideology, which might limit the books appeal to some and alienate those unwilling to engage with its ideological framework. Still, for those open to engaging with her perspective, the book offers valuable insights that are relevant outside political boundaries, offering a powerful call to action for anyone invested in social progress.

One of the most vital points, is its insistence on celebrating progress, however small. Solnit urges readers to find strength in victories while acknowledging the ongoing nature of the struggle. “The fight is never over,” she reminds us. “We have to celebrate progress—and then keep fighting” (58). Ultimately, Solnit balances motivation, education and opinion to create a grounded yet inspiring perspective on hope. The book posits that hope does not exist in a void but emerges as a necessary reaction to adversity. Solnit develops her definition of hope through these numerous chaptered examples and provides a framework for an optimistic perspective. Hope is not cultivated in ignorance; hope is exactly the hardworking power that can be created from the acknowledgment of the darkness that inspires our need to act, which will move us towards the light. Her realistic tone redefines our expectations, framing hope as the continuous act, to seek, to choose and to create.

YSABELLA PACHANO CONTRERAS

2005. Unpacking Jeannette Walls’s The Glass Castle: Resilience and Transformation

The Glass Castle, a memoir by Jeannette Walls (b. 1960, Phoenix), explores the ebb and flow of her childhood and her dysfunctional family during the 1960s in the USA. The book, published in 2005, was well-received by critics and the public. The Glass Castle won many awards such as the Christopher Award and the Books for Better Living Award. It also was considered for more than eight years a bestseller by The New York Times and it has sold over 4 million copies around the world since its publication. This popularity inspired a homonymous film adaptation released in 2017, with Brie Larson as Walls. The author subsequently published in 2009 her first novel Half Broke Horses: A True-Life Novel, based on the life of her grandmother Lily Smith. This book also received critical acclaim and positive reviews from readers.

The Glass Castle opens with young Jeannette Walls as a novice writer in New York. One night she finds her mother fishing around in a dumpster. This initiates a conversation between the two that motivates Jeanette to tell her life’s story. Walls then recalls her childhood marked by memorable events with her family that shaped her personality into her present self. Her father, Rex, is a brilliant man but suffers from alcoholism and is unable to provide for his family. Her mother, Rose Mary, is an ambivalent artist who is often more interested in her own pursuits than in the family’s basic needs. Under such parenting, the Walls children endured hunger, negligence, and constant instability as they moved across the country. Despite their tumultuous reality, Rex filled the children’s minds with dreams and great ambition, exemplified by a glass castle, a fantastic mansion he promised to build one day but that became the symbol of his unfulfilled promises.

Walls recounts the hardships of her childhood with vivid, sensorial details. The initial part of the memoir is narrated from the perspective of her younger self and often events are framed as adventurous short stories. The fragmented writing structure creates the impression that seven-year-old Jeannette herself is behind the pen, as the narrative is similar to a series of vignettes with funny remarks and a touch of naiveness typical of a clever child. Notwithstanding, beneath these rose-tinted glasses, the family’s precarity is evident. Initially, their constant moving serves as a backdrop for her stories, yet as Walls matures the instability becomes apparent and propels her to take control of her future. As she movingly explained in the memoir, “I lived in a world that any moment could erupt into fire. It was the sort of knowledge that kept you on your toes” (34).

While the narrative itself is excellent, the character’s complexity truly enriches the story. Walls remarkably captures the duality of personalities within her family. Her father, when sober, is clever and charismatic and effortlessly charms those around him, including the reader. However, when he is drunk, he easily becomes cruel and manipulative, insulting towards their mother, and capable of drinking away any income that could provide for his family. The mother is frustratingly indifferent to the circumstances of her family and shows no interest in protecting her kids. She is utterly honest but shows signs of suffering an undiagnosed mental illness that incapacitates her reasoning. She is just selfish.

The fragmented structure is effective in conveying the nature of memory since real memories do not follow a continuous narrative. Instead, specific events become ingrained in the mind and shape the individual personality. For this reason, the fragmentation of the scenes is necessary to describe the complexities of Walls’ childhood. Nevertheless, it may be difficult to comprehend Walls’ lenient attitude toward her past by the end of the memoir as it gives the impression that she ultimately portrays her parents’ actions as unique, despite the harm they caused. While the reconciliation message endorsing forgiveness is deeply valuable and moving, such parenting cannot be considered as just seemingly unconventional; it is, rather, inexcusably horrific and condemnable. Of course, understandably, when it comes to one’s parents it is easier to come up with extenuating justifications.

All things considered, The Glass Castle explores in depth the struggles that people trapped by poverty endure and the complexity of family relationships. The loyalty ingrained in Walls, an admiring virtue, leads her to a forgiving and healing place that allows her to overcome her circumstances. With The Glass Castle, Wall explores resilience, the effects of trauma, and the role of parents’ actions in the children’s self-perception, yet she does not shame nor reproach her parents’ imperfections. Ultimately, the memoir is a reflection of not only physical but also of emotional transformation. Jeannette Walls makes her challenging childhood an extraordinary example of survival and transformation and teaches readers hard life lessons through The Glass Castle. As her eccentric mother warns her (and us), “Life is a drama full of tragedy and comedy. You should learn to enjoy the comic episodes a little more” (129).

KENMY FONG VEGA

2005. Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking: A Journey Through Grief and Healing

“Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be” (26), is a sentence that resonates deeply throughout American writer Joan Didion’s memoir The Year of Magical Thinking, encapsulating one of the many profound lessons the book teaches. Didion’s memoir is a sorrowful and devastating account of her life following the tragic and sudden death of her husband, writer John Gregory Dunne, and her simultaneous struggle with her daughter’s constant hospitalizations due to different severe illnesses. The memoir captures the essence of the author’s devastating journey through loss and grief. Simultaneously, Didion masterfully gives an insight into the human mind’s mechanisms for dealing with the loss of a loved one. The memoir’s title reflects how grief challenges our understanding of reality and how we fight against sorrow through what she terms ‘magical thinking’. Her tragic story, turned into this deeply moving memoir, has earned her many accolades, including the 2005 National Book Award for Nonfiction. It was also a finalist for both the National Book Critics Circle Award and the Pulitzer Prize for Biography or Autobiography. In 2024 The New York Times Book Review ranked it as the 12th best book of the 21st century. Additionally, it was adapted into a play in 2007, starring Vanessa Redgrave.

Joan Didion (1934-2001) was one of the greatest American journalists and essay writers. The memoir recounts the year following John Gregory Dunne’s death, as Didion struggles to navigate the overwhelming grief of losing her husband while facing the fear and worry caused by her daughter’s several critical health issues. The narrative begins with describing the events of the night of December 30th, 2003. That night John suffered a fatal coronary event at their apartment in New York City while the couple were about to have dinner. This tragedy occurred shortly after they had returned from visiting their daughter Quintana Roo Dunne in the hospital, where she had been in a coma for months due to severe flu that escalated into a septic shock. In the aftermath of John’s death, Didion begins to fall into a spiral of reflection and denial, recapitulating the events before and after his death. At the same time, she recounts Quintana’s multiple hospitalizations due to a series of life-threatening illnesses. Both the physical and emotional strain of supporting her daughter through critical illness, while simultaneously trying to overcome grief, highlight the profound impact of her loss, which pushed her into the state she defines as “magical thinking” for an entire year.

The central and most compelling concept of the memoir, “magical thinking,” is integrated throughout the narrative, revealed through Didion’s thoughts, actions, and reflections. Her writing vividly illustrates the profound effects of grief on the mind. “Magical thinking” involves a deceptive state of mind in which irrational thoughts take hold, such as believing that merely thinking about something hard enough could make it come true. Didion delves into this mental state, reflecting on her life with her husband, their happy years in Los Angeles and New York and the months leading up to his passing. She interprets his novels, other writings, and things he said as subtle hints that he might have sensed his time was coming to an end. She references his work, interpreting it as evidence. After his death, she clings to irrational hopes, refusing to give away his personal belongings, convinced that such actions might bring him back. She also fixates on the notion that his death could have been prevented if events had unfolded differently, is she had done more, demonstrating how grief distorts rational thought. She also explains how “magical thinking” left her in a state where memories became distorted, immersing her in what she describes as a “smudgy” mental fog.

Didion’s writing style is remarkably clear, allowing readers to easily follow her narrative while being captivated by the beauty of her storytelling. The descriptions of her husband and her daughter are filled with such tenderness that readers can directly feel her love. Her writing feels deeply personal and humane, free of any fictional exaggerations, just words that seem to come straight out of her heart, drawing readers into her world. Her authenticity creates a sense of closeness as if you are sharing her grief and thoughts. In addition, Didion incorporates references to other novels, famous quotes, detailed descriptions of data, and research that provides the logical framework of her state as well as her daughter’s state. Furthermore, I believe her memoir skillfully traces the widely recognized stages of grief without explicitly labeling them. For example, her initial refusal to accept John’s death reflects the stage of denial and by the end of the memoir, Didion reaches a point of acceptance, recognizing that there was nothing she could have done to change the outcome. She begins to rebuild her life, understanding that she must move forward.

In light of the above, The Year of Magical Thinking is a deeply moving memoir that leaves a profound lasting impression. Joan Didion masterfully delves into the complexities of grief, loss, love, and resilience through her heart-melting narrative and sorrowful story. The combination of emotions, tender recapitulations of memories with her husband, the daughter’s tragic circumstances, and her profound insights into the human mind’s coping mechanisms, particularly the concept of “magical thinking,” makes this memoir a powerful exploration of how we battle loss. Her writing can profoundly shift the perspective of readers on death (as it happened to me). The lessons within the memoir resonate deeply, especially the reminder that loss is inevitable, that life must continue, and we cannot remain anchored in the past, but rather find the strength to move forward, to (as Didion remarks) “relinquish the dead, let them go” (226).

VALERIA RODAS ZÚÑIGA

2006. My Name Was Judas: C.K. Stead’s Rewriting of Christianity

C. K. Stead, or Christian Karlson Stead, was born in Auckland, New Zealand in 1932. He was a professor of English at the University of Auckland until 1986 and has now become one of the best-known New Zealander contemporary writers. He has been awarded with the CBE for services to New Zealand literature, the New Zealand Book Award in Poetry, the New Zealand Book Award in Fiction, the Jessie Mackay award, the King’s Lynn Poetry prize, the Hippocrates Prize for Poetry and Medicine, and the Sarah Broom prize, among others. He is also the only person to have won so far the New Zealand Book Award for both poetry and fiction. Stead’s work ranges from fiction to nonfiction, covering genres such as novels, poetry, short stories and literary criticism that explore philosophical, theological, and psychological themes. Even though he has a wide repertoire of texts, he became internationally recognized through his novel My Name Was Judas (2006).

My Name Was Judas is a fictional work that retells Judas of Keraiyot’s biblical story line while proposing a rereading of Christian narrative. Stead rewrites the series of events between Jesus and his notorious disciple. Judas, as a narrator, presents his own version of the story previously told in biblical texts in the style of a memoir. Stead’s Judas, as opposed to what Christian narrative claims, did not commit suicide. Instead, he left Galilee, changed his name to Idas, and established himself in the Sidon region, where he married once again and became a father. All in order to forget and forgive his past or, as it is stated in the novel “to remove myself from pain, from the death of my first wife and the loss of our unborn child, and from the involvement with the Jesus sect that followed” (44). The story narrates Jesus’s and Judas’s childhood as they started as pupils to a learned man name Andreas and, later, follows their journey from Nazareth to Jerusalem, all through the skeptical, more rational and doubtful eyes of Judas.

Judas, as a narrator and protagonist, tells the story from a first-person confessionary position whose growth goes hand in hand with the progression of events in the story. This way, the novel is not only filled with deep philosophical questions but also offers an interesting and well-paced plot that is not detached from the novel’s central argument. As he retells his journey with Jesus, he also gives the reader insight on his inner self. This close view of his thoughts and feelings brings out the main subjects of the novel: guilt and redemption. Judas is portrayed in the novel as a modern character, due to his skepticism and his mostly rational mind that makes him diverge from the rest of the disciples. He poses questions about his own identity, his purpose, the sense of free will, and he questions whether the divine purpose and prophecies are in fact real or just casualties from the rational world. The protagonist’s skeptical nature becomes most problematic when he questions Jesus’s beliefs and ways of living, as he usually sees him as a rather innocent and sometimes even naïve person regardless of his love and admiration for him: “He often spoke of the ‘pure in heart’, and in him, at that time, I saw what it meant. (…). But it was a quality I knew, or thought I knew, couldn’t survive, unchallenged and untarnished, in the real world” (94). It is this modern behavior that causes mistrust from the rest of the characters who appear in the novel as the more traditional image of Jesus’s disciples.

On the other hand, his position as a narrator located in a distant future from the events allows him to also rejudge his own mistakes and innocent, unknowing life decisions, which gives the story a much colder, logical perspective. It is this modern view of the traditional story that shows Steads reflections on Christianity, religion and fate and allows the reader to question the way Judas is portrayed through Christian tradition, in a way that humanizes him and makes him a relatable, multifaceted character:

Contrary to what I heard them say about me, I didn’t like to be odd man out. I felt guilty. I reminded myself during those weeks that it was my old schoolfriend I’d undertaken to accompany, not the Son of God, but I was increasingly uneasy, often lonely, and occasionally fearful. (135)

Judas’s feelings of guilt and loneliness are portrayed throughout the novel as the central argument and become the main problem of the protagonist. However, it is towards the ending of the text that Stead’s difference of opinion is shown. Judas, instead of dying tragically of guilt, finds redemption and self-forgiveness, a rational argumentation that changes what Judas represents in Christianity.

In conclusion, the novel portrays the traditional Christian narrative from the perspective of one of the most negatively judged, villainized individuals in a way that permits the reader to understand the ulterior motives that moved him to make his fated decisions. This way, Judas is not only shown as a real and relatable character, but his own questionings of the world make the reader inquire about the nature and purpose of human life.

NIHADE EL HABBAJ

2006. Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love: A Romanticized Inspirational Journey

Elizabeth Gilbert (b. Connecticut, 1969) is an American writer and journalist who started her career at a young age. She is best known for Eat, Pray, Love (2006), one of her most successful books, and a major New York Times bestseller. Gilbert’s first literary work Pilgrims (1997), was a collection of short stories written while traveling around the United States. The volume was a finalist of the PEN/Hemingway Award, which established her reputation as a writer in American literature. She has also been named one of Time Magazine’s one hundred most influential people and is a three-time National Magazine award finalist.

Eat, Pray, Love is a memoir about Gilbert’s own journey of self-discovery. It all starts when she is sobbing in her bathroom, praying for guidance. Gilbert was going through a failed marriage and realizing that the life she led was not what she truly wanted. Her ensuing journey is divided into three parts—eat, pray and love as the title states—each representing a stage and a theme in her self-discovery journey. The first part of her journey, “Eat,” takes place in Italy, where Gilbert immerses herself in the pleasures of language, food and personal freedom. Here, she dives into the rich culture of Rome and reflects on the beauty of doing whatever she wants without guilt. This part of the memoir highlights her exploration of pleasure, a break from her previous, more controlled life. Gilbert writes about learning to enjoy each moment, emphasizing the importance of pleasure as a form of self-care. In her “Pray” journey, Gilbert travels to an ashram in India, where she devotes herself to yoga and meditation. Her time in India is focused on finding inner peace and connecting with her spirituality, learning stillness, silence, the art of being alone with her thoughts and controlling her emotions. Here, Gilbert explores devotion. Finally, in Bali, the “Love” part of her journey, she experiences the combination of joy, beauty, and romantic love. Through a blend of profound experiences, Gilbert finds love, which offers a sense of balance and fulfilment she had been looking for.

One of the book’s strengths is its inspirational tone, which readers identify with going through challenging times or depression. Gilbert’s narrative offers both an escape and a source of motivation for those who feel trapped and don’t know what to do with their own lives, as she was before her journey. She writes with honesty about her struggles, which makes her story relatable while acknowledging her privilege. She was the type of girl that couldn’t stay without a boyfriend and with each one she starts blending into their personalities; her openness and vulnerability engage the reader. As a travel writer, Gilbert provides detailed descriptions of the countries she visits. Each place is described with care, giving readers a sense of the unique atmosphere of Italy, India, and Bali. Additionally, Eat, Pray, Love offers an element of escapism that many find comforting, encouraging readers to reflect on how self-care and personal growth can emerge from difficult and break through moments.

However, the book has its flaws too. Some readers find Gilbert’s perspective limited by her privilege as she was paid in advance 200,000$ by her editor to spend a year-long sabbatical to write a book. This aspect can seem out of reach, and even frustrating, for those who do not have the financial means to ‘escape’ their problems through international travel. Gilbert’s reflections on her life often appear to reflect the grievances of an upper-middle-class, white woman. Some readers may question her sense of hardship, as it’s hard to empathize with someone who can afford to travel the world while struggling with personal issues. Additionally, her experience seems somewhat superficial, ending with a shallow conclusion. Moreover, by assigning each destination a specific theme—eating in Italy, praying in India, and loving in Bali—Gilbert may be oversimplifying the cultures she visits. Her experiences can seem stereotypical, as she often depicts Italians only through food or Indians solely through spirituality, which may feel like a reduction of these rich cultures and societies. The structure of her journey also raises questions, as it often feels that she travels with many preconceptions about what each place should offer her. This approach might limit her openness to alternative experiences or a deeper cultural understanding beyond the designated lesson of each location. She could have experienced love and joy in the same country without assigning specific labels beforehand.

Finally, Eat, Pray, Love is an autobiography that had an impact on millions of readers’ lives with the themes of escapism, empowerment and self-growth. The volume can be interesting for those readers who love self-discovery stories or those who feel identified with Gilbert’s story. However, for other readers it might seem an impossible fantasy coming from an extremely privileged person.

ALEJANDRO POUSADA DOMÍNGUEZ

2006. A Fragile Flame: Why Cormac McCarthy’s The Road Remains a Powerful Reflection on Resilience

Within the dystopian and post-apocalyptic genres, The Road (2006) by Cormac McCarthy (1933-2023) stands out as a masterpiece. Conceived when McCarthy, gazing into the darkness from a hotel window as his young son slept, imagined a world stripped to its desolate core, the novel became a hallmark of his later writing. The story follows a father and son navigating the bleak aftermath of civilization’s collapse for unknown reasons, their survival journey both harrowing and deeply human. The Road quickly achieved critical acclaim, winning the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2007, and was later adapted into a film by John Hillcoat, starring Viggo Mortensen and Kodi Smit-McPhee, thus solidifying its place in contemporary literature and popular culture.

The novel follows a nameless father and his son as they wander through a desolate, post-apocalyptic US landscape, ravaged by firestorms that have reduced cities and forests to gray ash; the vegetation is charred, the rivers blackened by soot. With no new food being produced and nearly everyone dead from starvation, cold, or violence, the world they inhabit is a place where survival is a constant struggle. In a world stripped of morality and order, they encounter not only scavengers but also bands of violent survivors who highlight the stark moral decay around them. The true struggle, however, lies in preserving their humanity and identity amidst this collapse. Haunted by memories of the past, and by the absence of the boy’s mother, who chose to leave this brutal existence, father and son fight to retain their connection and dignity while searching for basic necessities. Along the way, the gravely ill father instills survival skills and a moral compass in his son, urging him to “carry the fire” of decency. By the novel’s end, after the father’s inevitable death, the boy’s fate remains uncertain, a question of resilience in a broken world.

A striking element in The Road is the constant presence of death, violence, and the loss of humanity. Most characters have shed all moral values, with survival as their only priority. McCarthy’s narrative is both compelling and intense, reading almost like a psychological thriller. Rather than relying on overt violence, McCarthy opts for a subdued yet chilling approach, creating a sense of dread through a limited, carefully chosen narrator that allows readers to experience the characters’ anxieties and fears firsthand. In this bleak world, death looms large and life is scarce, with some survivors resorting to cannibalism to stave off starvation. The violence embedded in this post-apocalyptic reality underscores the horror of death, as many have descended into acts of murder and cannibalism to survive. For the characters, living in this world means confronting relentless brutality, a choice exemplified by the mother’s grim outlook: “No, I’m speaking the truth. Sooner or later they will catch us and they will kill us. They will rape me. They’ll rape him” (58). Throughout the novel, the narrator presents death as an inevitable release in a world stripped of values and basic comforts. Ultimately, for some, suicide appears preferable to the horrors of starvation or falling victim to cannibalism. The mother’s final resignation to take a new lover, in the form of death, reflects her despair and the bleak choices left in such a desolate world (58).

However, The Road is more than just a story of survival and death; it’s a deep portrayal of the bond between a father and a son whose lack of names underscores the universality of their struggle, suggesting their story could belong to anyone. McCarthy’s choice to keep them nameless contrasts with other characters like Ely, emphasizing how identity has lost significance in this desolate, post-apocalyptic world. Yet, among the overwhelming bleakness, McCarthy introduces a glimmer of hope: the father’s insistence on “carrying the fire,” a recurring phrase that symbolizes morality, resilience, and faith in a world where goodness is scarce. When the son asks the father whether they are “the good guys,” this metaphor injects color and purpose into their gray existence, showing the importance of preserving decency and humanity (137). Through the father and son’s close bond, McCarthy highlights how love and loyalty can endure, even when stripped of all else, leaving readers with a faint but undeniable sense that goodness could still prevail in a world nearly void of hope; despite the lingering uncertainty of the boy’s future.

In conclusion, The Road by Cormac McCarthy offers a haunting portrayal of post-apocalyptic America, marked by vivid psychological insight, a relentless depiction of death, and a compelling exploration of survival. Through the unwavering bond between father and son, McCarthy reveals a profound resilience amid devastation. Accessible and moving, the novel resonates deeply as it explores both humanity’s fragility and its enduring strength, making The Road a readable work. Though bleak and at times somewhat tedious, the story makes a clear reflection of contemporary fears, echoing today’s environmental crises. Fiction reaches its most potent form when it closely shadows reality, and McCarthy’s vision warns of a world dangerously near our own, urging us to confront the consequences of a fractured world.

ADRIÀ DULCET PARDO

2007. The Mythos of the Self: Kvothe’s Journey in Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind

Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind, first published in 2007, is a modern epic that has become a cornerstone of contemporary fantasy literature. Born in Madison, Wisconsin, in 1973, Rothfuss is celebrated for his lyrical prose and intricate worldbuilding. The Name of the Wind is the first part of The Kingkiller Chronicle, a trilogy that has captivated readers with its blend of adventure, mystery, and character-driven narrative. The novel has won multiple accolades, including the Quill Award for Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror in 2007, and has been translated into over 30 languages. Its central themes of memory, identity, and storytelling resonate far beyond the boundaries of its genre, ensuring its place as a seminal work in modern literature.

Set in a richly detailed world filled with magic, myth, and music, The Name of the Wind recounts the life of Kvothe, a gifted young man whose legendary exploits have become the stuff of folklore. Told primarily through Kvothe’s own voice, the narrative weaves between the present, where he lives in obscurity as an innkeeper, and the past, where his journey unfolds. Kvothe’s tale begins with his childhood among a traveling troupe, the Edema Ruh, and his early fascination with storytelling and music. Tragedy strikes when his family is murdered by the enigmatic Chandrian, a group shrouded in mystery and fear. This event sets Kvothe on a path of relentless pursuit for knowledge and vengeance, leading him to the prestigious University, where he learns the arcane arts of sympathy (magic) and delves deeper into the secrets of his world. Rothfuss’s ability to blend lyrical prose with meticulous world-building is a defining feature of The Name of the Wind. The novel is as much about the power of language and storytelling as it is about the events it narrates. Kvothe himself embodies this duality; he is both the myth and the man, the hero and the flawed individual recounting his own legend. Rothfuss’s prose captures finely the rhythm and nuance of oral tradition.

The heart of The Name of the Wind lies in its exploration of identity and memory. As Kvothe narrates his story to Chronicler, his scribe, he carefully constructs his mythos, choosing what to reveal and what to conceal. This selective recounting invites readers to question the reliability of memory and the nature of truth, demonstrated by Kvothe himself when he says:

If this were some tavern tale, all half-truth and senseless adventure, I would tell you how my time at the University was spent with a purity of dedication. I would learn the ever-changing name of the wind, ride out, and gain my revenge against the Chandrian. Simple as that (…) But while that might make for an entertaining story, it would not be the truth. (304).

Kvothe’s struggles at the University, his poverty, and his relationships with enigmatic figures like Denna and Master Elodin underscore his humanity, contrasting sharply with the legendary feats attributed to him. The tension between Kvothe’s mythic persona and his vulnerable reality adds depth to his character and creates a rich multifaced aspect to his role.

Furthermore, the novel’s portrayal of the University as a hub of knowledge and intrigue mirrors Kvothe’s own intellectual journey. The hierarchy of the Arcanum, the complex relationships between students and masters, and the secretive lore surrounding naming and sympathy reflect Rothfuss’s commitment to crafting a believable and immersive world. Kvothe’s rivalry with Ambrose, a privileged and malicious student, serves as a microcosm of larger societal conflicts, highlighting themes of class struggle and the pursuit of power. At the same time, his bond with Auri, a mysterious and ethereal figure, offers moments of introspection and tenderness, balancing the narrative’s tension.

However, The Name of the Wind is not without its flaws. Sometimes the pacing is a bit uneven, particularly in its detailed depictions of Kvothe’s academic life and his occasional digressions into philosophical thoughts. While these elements enrich the world-building, they can slow the narrative momentum. Additionally, Denna’s character, which is central to Kvothe’s emotional arc and development, in occasions is portrayed as too enigmatic and inconsistent, which completely limits her development, as we can see when Kvothe contemplates her importance in his life and her existence itself,

“Not women, Bast (…) The woman. You have heard bits and pieces, I don’t doubt. I will tell you the truth of her. Though I fear I may not be equal to the challenge (…). Trying to make you understand her with nothing more than words. You have never seen her, never heard her voice. You cannot know.” (321, original emphasis).

In conclusion, The Name of the Wind is a masterful exploration of storytelling, identity, and the human condition, set against the backdrop of a meticulously crafted fantasy world. Rothfuss’s ability to intertwine lyrical prose with profound thematic depth ensures that the novel resonates with readers beyond its genre. Despite its minor flaws, the book’s strengths lie in its richly drawn characters, intricate narrative structure, and evocative prose, making it a landmark work in contemporary literature. As Kvothe himself says, “Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts” (ch. 86). Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind embodies this power, crafting a story that lingers long after the final page.

MIREIA ÁLVAREZ CASANOVAS

2007. The Voice of the Marginalized: Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist

The Reluctant Fundamentalist (2007) by Mohsin Hamid emerges as a defining work of historical and psychological fiction. Born in Lahore, Pakistan, in 1971 Hamid has lived between his home city, the United States, and London, offering a unique multicultural perspective in his writing. Mentored by literary icons Toni Morrison and Joyce Carol Oates at Princeton, Hamid later turned to writing full-time. The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Hamid’s second novel, explores 9/11 from a Pakistani viewpoint. It became a New York Times bestseller, was translated into over 25 languages, and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. The novel also won multiple awards and was named by The Guardian a defining book of the 2000s decade.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist is a monologue by Changez, a young Pakistani man, who recounts over tea his transformative experiences in the United States to an unnamed American man in Lahore. Driven by aspirations for prestigious education and success, Changez leaves Pakistan to attend Princeton and becomes a successful analyst at a leading New York firm. However, his initial enthusiasm for the American dream is soon undermined by challenges tied to race, religion and ideological conflicts. His relationship with Erica, a woman consumed by grief for her late boyfriend, serves as an allegory for unfulfilled connections and mirrors Changez’s eventual disillusionment with the USA. The 9/11 attacks mark a turning point, exposing deepening anti-Muslim sentiments and the impact of the US foreign policies. These tensions force Changez to reevaluate his identity and relationship with his adopted home and its place in the world, ultimately leading him back to Pakistan.

One of the strongest features of the novel lies in its masterful use of the first-person narrative voice, which creates a unique conversational dynamic. The Reluctant Fundamentalist unfolds as a dialogue between Changez and an unnamed American stranger, yet readers only hear Changez’s voice. The stranger’s replies and questions are never directly written into the text, but we can deduce them through Changez’s descriptions. Hamid smartly employs this narrative technique to preserve the rhythm and essence of a two-way conversation, without breaking the monologue format. Changez subtly incorporates presumed expressions, questions and reactions from the stranger, allowing readers to piece together the missing half of the dialogue. For instance, when Changez says, “Do not be frightened by my beard: I am a lover of America” (1), readers infer that the stranger might be intimidated by stereotypes associating bearded men from Islamic countries with negative connotations. This creates an immersive experience, as the reader becomes both an observer and an active participant in constructing dialogue. With a Pakistani narrator controlling the narrative and an American listening, the roles are inverted, challenging traditional power dynamics. This inversion is further emphasized when Changez remarks “Your ears must be exhausted; the time has come to employ your tongue” (87), acknowledging the stranger’s prolonged silence and the strange ongoing nature of the conversation.

By focusing only on Changez’s voice, Mohsin Hamid invites readers to engage with a non-Western perspective that is often marginalized or dismissed as the ‘Other’. This narrative choice adds significant psychological depth, giving space for voices that are usually unheard in mainstream discourses. Changez’s internal conflict following the attack on the Twin Towers of the New York’s World Trade Centre exemplifies this complexity: “I was not at war with America. Far from it: I was the product of an American university; I was earning lucrative American salary; I was infatuated with an American woman. So why did part of me desired to see America harmed?” (84). His shock at his own reaction highlights a profound psychological rift, as he grapples with his deep ties to America and the symbolic resonance of the event.

This conflict intensifies broader geopolitical tensions, sharply revealing the duality between his immersion in American culture and the emotional distance he feels due to his Pakistani heritage. This duality comes to life through Hamid’s remarkable portrayal of Changez’s oscillation between belonging and alienation. While this oscillation is crucial for readers to fully comprehend and reflect on the text, it cannot be properly explained without considering the concept of nostalgia. Hamid does an excellent job by positioning nostalgia at the center of the plot, brilliantly depicting it as an eternal, powerful, and addictive force: “Nostalgia was their crack cocaine, if you will, and my childhood was littered with the consequences of their addiction” (81). By linking nostalgia to an addictive drug, the narrative effectively underscores its insidious grip, illustrating how longing for an idealized past prevents the main character from fully reconciling with the present. This metaphor, combined with Hamid’s evocative prose, captures the alienation, anger and resilience of immigrants navigating worlds that simultaneously shape and reject them.

To conclude, The Reluctant Fundamentalist proficiently portrays the psychological and cultural ambivalence of immigrants navigating identity and belonging in a post-9/11 world. Through Changez’s introspective monologue, Hamid subverts traditional power dynamics and amplifies marginalized voices. In doing so, the author engages readers as active participants in constructing the missing dialogue of the American stranger. This unique narrative choice, however, leaves the novel open to interpretation, which may frustrate some readers seeking a more definitive resolution. Yet, it is precisely this openness that allows the text to resonate differently with each individual, encouraging personal reflection on themes of nostalgia, isolation, and global identity. By challenging stereotypes and offering profound insight into geopolitical tensions, Hamid’s striking narrative invites readers to explore complexities of world both interconnected and divided.

SHEILA RAURELL MARÍN

2007. Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policemen’s Union: The Mystery of Identity and Place

The Yiddish Policemen’s Union (2007) is a detective story written by the Jewish-American novelist Michael Chabon. Born in Washington D.C. in 1963, Chabon grew up in a Jewish household, which is directly reflected in most of his work, where he often explores themes of identity and cultural resilience. Chabon solidified his literary reputation in 2001 when he received the Pulitzer Prize for fiction for The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay (2000) a novel that explores themes of Jewish identity among others. On its side, The Yiddish Policemen’s Union has won key genre awards such as the prestigious Hugo and Nebula Awards for Best Novel. This book combines the elements of a detective story while exploring Jewish culture in a somewhat dystopian setting, placing the readers in a universe where Jewish refugees were settled in Alaska after World War II. Chabon creates a deeply intricate world, narrating a tale of murder, existential angst, conspiracy and moral ambiguity, all unfolding in a universe shaped by what-ifs.

In The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, the reader is suddenly dropped into an alternative timeline, where the State of Israel failed in 1948, and the United States established a temporary Jewish settlement in Sitka, Alaska. The book begins right in the middle of the action, when Meyer Landsman, an apparently questionable detective full of regret and alcohol investigates a murder in his hotel. As the case unfolds, Landsman discovers that the victim was the son of a powerful rabbi, and believed to be a Messiah, thus unfolding a dangerous conspiracy tied to religion and political schemes. As Landsman digs deeper into the case, with the help of his partner Berko Shemets, and his boss and ex-wife Bina Gelbfish, he navigates a sea of religious fanaticism, political intrigue and personal demons that notably follow him from the very beginning of the novel.

A notable aspect of this novel is Chabon’s worldbuilding and elaborate narrative. He immerses the reader in a world full of mystery and creates a likewise mysterious and intriguing atmosphere. The author makes the reader understand in just a few pages that this timeline is a “strange time to be a Jew” (7), providing a sense of uneasiness that prevails throughout the whole book. Following this idea, it is interesting how Chabon seamlessly integrates Jewish cultural and religious themes into the narrative. In this parallel Sitka, Yiddish is the dominant language and the customs of the Jewish community shape daily life and rituals. This offers both homage to his religion as well as pointing out its flaws in this universe. For instance, the fanaticism surrounding this supposed Messiah highlights both the hope and dangers inherent in religious fervor. However, despite this being deeply interesting, at times the reader can feel lost with all these suddenly new elements of a religion that may be unfamiliar, especially with the novel’s heavy reliance on Yiddish terms, Jewish religious rituals and historic references. While these elements enrich this meticulously built world they can pose a challenge, as the reader may struggle to fully appreciate the depth of these references.

Another aspect of the novel that deserves to be highlighted is this thought-provoking ‘what if’ element. Chabon’s alternate history forces the readers to confront the fragility of identity and the meaning of home. By reimagining a world where Jewish settlers found refuge in Alaska instead of Israel after World War II, the novel creates the perfect scenario to challenge the notion of history and belonging to a place. This premise invites the reader to reflect on how a shift in geography, something that seems so trivial and apparently is a small change, can shape a vastly different reality that disrupts a whole culture. Furthermore, Chabon delves deeper into these themes not only through this reimagined world but also through the protagonist, Detective Meyer Landsman. This man’s personal struggles, his feelings of displacement and his quest for purpose mirror the broader existential uncertainties faced by the Jewish community in this imagined world. He is self-aware that he is lost, most notably when the narrator notes how his memories and thoughts feel deeply dispersed and states that “Sometimes it takes a heavy paper weight to pin them down” (6). His character almost becomes a lens through which the narrative examines questions of resilience, adaptability and what exactly constitutes a home.

The Yiddish Policemen’s Union is a novel that defies categorization. I found it hard to decide on a single label to define it since it cleverly blends mystery, cultural exploration and speculative fiction, though I believe that due to its characteristics it could be considered as a dystopia about the Jewish community as well. Whether you are drawn to complicated mysteries, alternate histories or profound reflections on identity, this book is a journey worth taking. For readers open to working through its layers and nuances, it is a deeply immersive and intellectually stimulating read.

MARC SILVA I MUÑOZ

2007. Exploring a Post-Human Planet: Insights from Alan Weisman’s The World Without Us

The World Without Us by the American writer Alan Weisman (b. Minneapolis, 1949-2017), is an environmental nonfiction volume that seeks to provide a hypothetical exploration of what would happen to Earth if humanity suddenly disappeared. Soon after its publication in 2007, the book became rather popular because it provided something unique: a blend of scientific insight, historical analysis, and philosophical ideas. Despite its lack of major awards, it remains a critically acclaimed work, acknowledged for its innovative approach to humanity’s controversial environmental impact, nature’s resilience, and perseverance.

Weisman’s book adopts a descriptive and analytical narrative style, whose aim is to help readers imagine a post-human world. The main argument unfolds through a series of hypothetical scenarios, detailing how ecosystems, urban landscapes, and even cultural legacies would change without human intervention. Supported by interviews with experts, real-world case studies, and scientific predictions, the author offers readers a fascinating perspective on the Earth’s capacity for renewal. The author skillfully, describes how New York City’s subway system would flood and perish within days of human absence. Forests would advance and reclaim urban areas in a few decades. These scenarios are used to create an engaging narrative that allows readers to imagine the intricate and interconnected systems shaping the planet.

Weisman examines a broad array of topics, from the quick deterioration of human infrastructure to the lasting impact of plastics and nuclear waste. He presents real-world examples like the exclusion zone around Chernobyl, where wildlife has flourished without human interference, and the ancient ruins of Çatalhöyük, which demonstrate how nature gradually reclaims abandoned places, slowly eroding any trace of human activity. It is worth mentioning that these examples are not merely hypothetical; they ground the book in solid evidence, reinforcing its credibility while maintaining an imaginative quality. The text also addresses certain realities, such as the long-term environmental damage caused by human activities which always results in a controversial topic. From the persistence of synthetic materials to the catastrophic potential of unattended nuclear reactors, Weisman highlights the unquestionable marks left by humankind.

One of the strongest aspects of this remarkable book is how effectively it connects science and storytelling. Weisman’s vivid descriptions make even the most technical subjects accessible to a general audience, proof of his skill as popularizer. Additionally, Alan Weisman’s philosophical reflections encourage readers to consider their own role in shaping the planet’s future. For example, the author reflects on the legacy of human innovation, questioning which of our creations might endure and what they say about our species. As he writes, “Without us, Earth will abide and endure; without her, however, we could not even be” (287). This statement encapsulates one of the book’s most poignant themes: the profound interdependence between humanity and the planet.

In addition to its scientific depth, The World Without Us also offers a profound commentary on the fragility and resilience of life. The author effectively conveys the idea that, while humanity has caused lasting harm to the environment, nature has a remarkable ability to recover if given the chance. This contrast between destruction and renewal is one of the book’s most striking themes. By using well-researched examples, Weisman highlights the pressing need for environmental awareness while also offering hope that the planet can heal from the damage that human life has caused. The book’s structure, which alternates between imagined futures and real-world examples, keeps the reader engaged and paints a clear picture of Earth’s ecological systems. The depth of research is commendable, as Weisman draws on the knowledge of experts in fields such as biology, engineering, and history to create a compelling narrative. This broad approach strengthens the book’s credibility and ensures that it reaches a wider audience.

There is a very curious anecdote about the book. When reading the part where Wiesman describes the sewage system of New York and how it would be flooded in a matter of days, I was reminded of a scene from one of my favorite video games. I eventually found out that The Last of Us, the game that came to my mind, was in part based on Weisman’s book, which made me read it from a different point of view. The overgrown cities, crumbling infrastructure, and the return of nature in the game closely mirror Weisman’s vision of a world without humans. While reading, I could not help but remember scenes from the game, which deepened my appreciation for both the book and the game. It also inspired me to revisit The Last of Us and explore its hauntingly beautiful world again. Weisman’s immense influence and legacy go beyond this videogame, but this is indeed a case worth noting.

In light of the above, The World Without Us stands out as a unique work that challenges readers to reconsider their relationship with the natural world. Alan Weisman accomplishes the difficult task of transforming a hypothetical scenario into a deeply moving and intellectually stimulating narrative. The book wants the reader to imagine a world without human influence, not as an escape but to reflect on humankind’s responsibility towards the planet. I am the kind of person who has pondered on the delicate balance between humanity and nature, so I have found this book both unsettling and inspiring and I do agree that events would evolve this way. It is a work I would willingly revisit, not only for its scientific insights but also for its powerful reminder of nature’s resilience in the face of human absence.

LIDIA DOMÍNGUEZ LÓPEZ

2007. Junot Díaz’ The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: Fukú, Family Issues and Societal Struggles

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (2007) is a critically acclaimed novel by Junot Díaz, a Dominican American writer born in 1968, who immigrated to New Jersey with his family at the age of six. Díaz is also the author of other books such as Drown (1996) and This Is How You Lose Her (2012), both collections of short stories. The Brief Wondrous Life and Drown has been widely recognized for Junot’s exploration of different themes such as the immigrants’ experiences, family issues, and identity, winning several awards, including the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.

The novel begins with the introduction of Oscar de León, a teenager from a Dominican family living in the United States of America. Nicknamed Oscar Wao (after Oscar Wilde), this boy expresses his struggles with his identity, being an unconventional protagonist defined by his love of science fiction and fantasy, and by his romantic nature. Readers can empathize with his sense of isolation due to his unconventional appearance (he is quite a big boy), and his community’s lack of acceptance. Oscar is a self-proclaimed writer and openly shares his romantic side, yearning for love while dealing with his insecurities and a deep sense of not belonging, directly expressed when Díaz writes that doomed Oscar “cried often for his love of some girl or another. Cried in the bathroom, where nobody could hear him” (23). The term Fukú is introduced as a central concept to the story, as a curse said to haunt Oscar’s family which Oscar believes to be the responsible for the misfortunes that affect them. As the story unfolds, the narrative presents the members of the de León family—Oscar’s sister Lola, and their mother Beli—, offering a rich exploration of their lives and struggles, and of the generational impact of cultural dislocation and trauma.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao is remarkably innovative in terms of narrative style, blending elements that challenge traditional storytelling conventions. Junot Díaz uses a first-person primary narrator, Yunot, whose voice is dynamic and engaging but whom the readers do not directly meet. At other times, the identity of the narrator is ambiguous, as the reader can find diverse perspectives throughout the story. However, the narration is still easy to follow and deeply interesting to read.

Various stylistic elements contribute to the reader’s immersion in the novel. Díaz’s use of colloquial vocabulary in Spanish, rapid pacing, and the seamless integration of cultural references create an energetic flow that keeps the narrative engaging. The frequent use of code-switching between English and Spanish, however, can produce the opposite effect to readers’ unfamiliar with the latter. Even though Spanish is mostly used for easy-to-guess idioms and complaints, readers that do not have any Spanish knowledge nor background may feel that they are missing part of the story. As they cannot fully comprehend what is happening, the main essence of the novel is lost, and their interpretation of the events may completely change. Readers that do understand Spanish can find the code-witching really striking and even funny, when it comes to Dominican expressions like “¿Y quién te crees, el último plátano del bulto?” (“Who do you think you are? The last banana in the bunch?”). Language is a crucial element when understanding the sense of community and its history, showcasing the wit and humour inherent in the Dominican culture.

The main topics explored in The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao are deeply significant, offering a nuanced examination of diaspora, identity, and generational trauma, all intricately tied to Dominican history and culture. Díaz highlights how historical trauma, especially the one related to Rafael Trujillo’s brutal dictatorship, becomes a burden carried across generations, though hidden through the concept of Fukú. It is extremely interesting how Junot Díaz can reflect on such important topics as these with humor and vibrancy. Nevertheless, due to this same reason, I found myself much distanced from the story’s tragic purpose, being unable to connect with the characters of the novel, and failing to empathize with their struggles, enjoying only the humorous situations. This tension between the personal and the historical is intentional, emphasizing how deeply the past defines the present, but it can make it harder for readers to empathize with the characters’ problems. Despite this, the novel remains a powerful exploration of how identity and history intertwine, even if that connection feels more intellectual than emotional for some readers.

In conclusion, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao is an easy novel to read and to enjoy. It is a powerful and accessible work that combines humor, history, and matters of the heart. While non-Spanish-speakers may struggle to fully understand the story due to the language barrier, those who are familiar with this language will find the linguistic interplay striking and helpful. Although not all readers may empathize with the characters that Díaz represents in his novel, anyone can see the importance of the real-life issues affecting Dominicans that he deals with in the novel.

MARIAM DVALI

2008. Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth: Short Story Treats for the Unaccustomed Mind

The Bengali author Jhumpa Lahiri (b. 1967, London) is widely celebrated in contemporary literature for her deep explorations of identity, displacement, and cultural heritage. Having won the Pulitzer Prize for Interpreter of Maladies and critical acclaim for The Namesake, Lahiri’s works consistently navigate the tensions of the immigrant experience and the experience of being othered in a distant country. Unaccustomed Earth, published in 2008 by Alfred A. Knopf, is her second collection of short stories. The collection beautifully blends literary fiction with emotional themes such as family, loss, and culture, solidifying Lahiri’s reputation as one of the most insightful writers of her generation.

The collection is structured in two sections: the initial five independent stories are immediately followed by a triptych. The title story, “Unaccustomed Earth,” introduces Ruma, a young mother adjusting to a new life in Seattle, awaiting her father’s visit after her mother’s death. The narrative describes how Ruma is torn between embracing her Bengali heritage while striving to live on her terms, a recurrent theme across the collection. In the second story, “Only Goodness,” Sudha deals with her brother Rahul’s alcoholism, struggling with the guilt of enabling him while mourning the brother he once was. In “Hell-Heaven,” a daughter reflects on her mother’s secret love for a family friend. The fourth story, “A Choice of Accommodations,” explores Amit’s reflections on his marriage while attending a wedding, blending themes of nostalgia and dissatisfaction. In “Nobody’s Business,” Lahiri portrays a Bengali woman’s tumultuous romantic life, defining the limit between personal boundaries and cultural expectations. The second section, “Hema and Kaushik,” consisting of three interconnected stories, follows the protagonists’ interactions from childhood to adulthood. Ultimately, each of these stories presents a portrait of ordinary lives while capturing moments of tension, loss, and bliss.

One of Unaccustomed Earth’s most remarkable qualities is its psychological depth. Lahiri successfully manages to create complex, multifaceted individuals whose internal struggles feel relatable to the reader. Her prose enhances this, with moments of beauty that elevate even the most banal of things, such as a broken flower vase: “There were petals in her hair and stuck to her face and neck, and plastered to her skin exposed above her black scoop-necked top, as if she had smeared them on herself like a cream” (162). This passage demonstrates Lahiri’s ability to employ captivating metaphors and symbolism, reflecting both on the fragility and resilience of her characters. Furthermore, the thematic richness of Unaccustomed Earth is very appealing to all readers who enjoy an elaborate plot. Lahiri explores universal themes of love, distress and a sense of belonging through the lens of the Bengali-American experience. In many of these stories the use of symbols, such as a lake, a mirror or others in extensive in order to showcase the characters’ emotional journeys. This is what provides the collection with a sense of unity, even when the individual stories can stand on their own.

However, the collection also presents limitations. Lahiri’s extensive descriptions and meticulous attention to detail may not appeal to all readers, seeing that she often dedicates several pages to elaborate a simple thought. Moreover, while her characters are beautifully crafted, all of them tend to share similar qualities: they are alienated, introspective, and reserved. This results in a sense of repetitiveness, rendering the impression that the protagonists of the story stay the same across the whole collection. In addition to this, Lahiri fails to critique cultural assimilation in crucial moments. This can be observed in her second story in which she casually writes: “The girls were named Srabani and Sabitri but were called Bonny and Sara” (52). This practice of adapting to Western norms by modulating even proper names reflects a tension between preserving one’s heritage and conforming to societal expectations. Another disheartening point is how ambiguously most of the stories end. A good example can be extracted from “Nobody’s Business”: “The woman standing behind Farouk said something which Paul didn’t hear. ‘He should know,’ Farouk said to the woman. Then they shrugged and walked off together” (165). Most of Lahiri’s stories end in a similar dissatisfying way frustrating readers who seek resolution, thus adding an incongruous element that detracts from the emotional impact of the narrative.

In conclusion, Unaccustomed Earth places Jhumpa Lahiri as a skilled and insightful writer. While it is true that her ambiguity and extensive attention to detail may exasperate some readers, it is a profoundly moving and thought-provoking collection which deserves such a close and attentive look. Lahiri’s stories linger long after the final page, staying with the reader who further reflect on them, offering a reminder of the ways we are shaped by our histories, our choices and lastly, our lives.

MAR ÁLVAREZ RIDAO

2008. Aravind Adiga’s The White Tiger: Let Time Decide Its Absolute Value

The White Tiger (2008), an epistolary novel by Aravind Adiga (b. 1974, Tamil Nadu, India), has often been defined as a picaresque narrative. Its success earned Adiga a Booker Prize in the same year his novel was published, a spot on The New York Times bestseller list, and a Netflix film adaptation in 2021. The novel’s accomplishment also boosted Adiga’s career as a journalist and writer.

Balram Halwai, a self-proclaimed entrepreneur, narrates his story through emails to China’s Premier. The novel provides a darkly humorous exploration of caste-related struggles and systemic corruption in modern India trough Balram’s narrative. Nicknamed the ‘White Tiger’, Balram embraces this identity as a member of the low Halwai caste despite many societal barriers. The novel portrays his rags-to-riches rise from poverty to success, a feat he achieves against the odds of his lower-caste origins. Balram’s journey raises questions about morality and survival in an unjust system. His willingness to commit extreme acts underscores the ethical dilemmas he faces in seeking to escape systemic oppression. Regardless, Balram’s humorous considerations reveal his confidence: “I am a self-taught entrepreneur. That’s the best kind there is, trust me” (4). Allowing him to critique the harsh realities of Indian society while narrating his journey, the epistolary structure allows plenty of room for Balram’s perspective.

One of the double-edged features of this novel is its engaging and entertaining tone, which contrasts with the gravity of its themes. Initially, the story feels lighthearted due to its humorous and conversational style, but in subsequent deeper reflection, its profound critique of societal structures emerges. Balram’s sharp commentary on religion, caste, and societal hypocrisies surfaces in for instance his quip about India’s pantheon, “See, the Muslims have one god. The Christians have three gods. And we Hindus have 36,000,000 gods (...) How quickly do you think you could kiss 36,000,004 arses?” (6). The vivid dialogue adds authenticity, blending humor and cynicism, as when Balram mocks a fabricated accusation with the claim that he was wearing “Maroon colour sandals—ugh. Only a policeman could have made up a detail like that. I flatly deny it” (19). This duality is both a strength and a challenge; while the humor makes the novel accessible, it risks obscuring the weight of its message for the more casual readers. The more careful ones will find layers of fine social commentary embedded within Balram’s sardonic wit and biting observations.

Adiga’s worldbuilding immerses readers in Balram’s India, capturing its beauty and flaws. Combining psychological depth, social critique, and humor ensuring a lasting impression, The White Tiger encourages readers to engage with its themes long after they finish the story. From the “smell of dust, and sand, and hog shit” (20) to the stark contrast between the ocean “bringing light” while “the river brings darkness to India—the black river. Everywhere this river flows, that area is the Darkness” (12), Adiga captures India’s sights, sounds, and smells, making readers feel they are experiencing the country firsthand. The setting becomes an essential character in the story, reflecting the socio-economic divides and the darkness of corruption, as “you can take almost anything you hear about the country from the prime minister and turn it upside down and then you will have the truth about that thing” (12). Poverty permeates Balram’s world, in which “the trustworthiness of servants is the basis of the entire Indian economy” (149).

Adiga’s exploration of Indian society offers an intimate, critical lens on its complexities. Balram’s world is a microcosm of systemic inequalities and cultural contradictions. “Understand, now,” he writes, “how hard it is for a man to win his freedom in India. The Indian entrepreneur has to be straight and crooked, mocking and believing, sly and sincere, at the same time” (16). The narrative highlights the oppressive intersections of class, caste, and gender, though some readers may find its sexist undertones unsettling. While Balram’s thoughts and actions often reflect a sense of sexism—such as his discomfort with women’s fashion, “I trembled with fear to see what these city girls were wearing” (168)—this misogyny is just another layer of the broader oppressive forces at play in his life. In a world where exploitation is rampant, gender discrimination becomes just one more tool of control. Adiga challenges readers to confront the truth beyond the stereotypical images of Bollywood glamour or spicy cuisine introduced to our culture with his depiction of India: realistic, vibrant, and deeply problematic.

To sum up, The White Tiger is a powerful and provocative book that engages readers with an intriguing story of ambition, moral complexity and survival in India through comedy, social criticism, and captivating storytelling, despite coming across as a light read at first. Adiga’s evocative narrative and Balram’s distinct voice guarantee the novel’s lasting place in modern Indian Anglophone literature while offering profound insights into a society characterized by inequality and corruption.

ADRIÀ DULCET PARDO

2008. Survival and Subversion: An Analysis of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games

Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games, first published in 2008 by Scholastic Press, has become a cultural phenomenon, capturing the imaginations of readers with its dystopian vision and compelling protagonist. Born in Hartford, Connecticut, in 1962, Collins has gained acclaim for her ability to weave social commentary, psychological depth, and gripping storytelling into young adult literature. The Hunger Games is the first novel in a trilogy (with Catching Fire and Mockingjay) that has resonated globally, earning accolades like the California Young Reader Medal and inspiring a highly successful film franchise. Its exploration of power, resistance, and the human spirit places it firmly in the realm of contemporary literature with enduring relevance.

Set in the dystopian nation of Panem (supposed to be a post-apocalyptic USA), the novel centers on Katniss Everdeen, a 16-year-old girl thrust into the titular games—a brutal, televised fight to the death designed to subjugate the populace. The Capitol, a technologically advanced and oppressive city, wields the games as a tool of fear and control over the twelve districts. Katniss’s journey begins when she volunteers to take her younger sister Prim’s place in the games, setting the stage for a story that delves into themes of survival, sacrifice, and resistance. Through Katniss’s perspective, Collins critiques societal inequality, the commodification of violence, and the role of media in shaping public perception.

At its core, The Hunger Games is a study of survival, both physical and moral. Katniss embodies resilience, navigating the dangers of the arena while maintaining her humanity. Her survival skills—honed through years of hunting in District 12—give her an edge, but it is her resourcefulness, empathy, and alliances, particularly with Rue and Peeta, that ultimately define her path. The games force her to grapple with ethical dilemmas, such as the tension between self-preservation and altruism. This internal conflict is encapsulated in her relationship with Peeta, who declares, “I want to show them they don’t own me. That I’m more than just a piece in their games” (142). His statement underscores a central theme: resistance against dehumanization.

Collins’s critique of systemic oppression is vividly illustrated through the socioeconomic disparities between the Capitol and the districts. The Capitol’s decadence contrasts sharply with the poverty and despair of districts like Katniss’s, where starvation and hardship are daily realities. This disparity is mirrored in the games themselves, where wealthier districts train tributes as ‘careers’, turning the spectacle into a grotesque display of privilege. The Capitol’s manipulation of the games—using them as both entertainment and a reminder of its dominance—serves as a biting commentary on the intersection of power, media, and violence. The hyperreal portrayal of the games, with its flamboyant hosts and elaborate ceremonies, criticizes the voyeuristic tendencies of modern society, where suffering is often commodified for public consumption.

The novel’s exploration of identity and agency further enriches its narrative. Katniss’s public persona as ‘the girl on fire’ is carefully curated by her stylist Cinna and the Capitol’s media machine, turning her into both a symbol of hope and a tool of propaganda. This duality reflects the broader theme of performance, where survival often requires characters to suppress or adapt their true selves. Katniss’s struggles with this manufactured identity, particularly in her staged romance with Peeta, highlight the tension between authenticity and survival in a system that demands conformity. The Capitol’s control over the narrative is exemplified by its ability to manipulate the tributes’ actions and portrayals, forcing them to perform even in moments of genuine vulnerability. As Katniss reflects, “I make out Peeta coming through his front door. In my head I hear President Snow’s directive, ‘Convince me’. And I know I must” (142). This sentiment reveals her inner conflict and determination to assert her agency despite the Capitol’s overwhelming control but having to be subdued to it in order to ensure survival.

Another critical theme in The Hunger Games is the role of alliances and relationships in resisting systemic oppression. Katniss’s bond with Rue, a young tribute from District 11, highlights the power of solidarity and shared humanity in the face of brutality. Rue’s death becomes a turning point for Katniss, as she honors her fallen ally with a symbolic gesture of defiance against the Capitol. This act not only cements Katniss’s role as a symbol of resistance but also showcases Collins’s nuanced portrayal of grief and resilience. The alliances forged in the arena serve as microcosms of the broader struggle against the Capitol, emphasizing that unity and empathy can challenge even the most oppressive systems. Collins also uses the games as a vehicle to explore the psychological toll of violence and oppression. The tributes, particularly Katniss and Peeta, as well as former winner Haymitch, grapple with the trauma of their experiences in the arena, which leaves indelible marks on their identities; Haymitch indeed becomes an alcoholic to deal with all of his trauma and loss. The Capitol’s exploitation of this trauma for entertainment underscores its dehumanizing nature. This dynamic raises important questions about the ethics of voyeurism and the societal costs of desensitization to violence.

In conclusion, Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games is a perfect exploration of survival, power, and resistance, set against the backdrop of a vividly imagined dystopian world. Through Katniss’s journey, Collins challenges readers to consider the ethical implications of systemic inequality and the role of individual agency in resisting oppression. The novel’s blend of gripping storytelling and social critique ensures its place as a landmark work in contemporary literature. As Katniss herself reflects in Mockingjay, “Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us” (106). This declaration encapsulates the spirit of rebellion and the enduring power of hope, solidifying The Hunger Games as a narrative that resonates far beyond its fictional world.

NATÀLIA SAUS PRZESTAWSKA

2008. Survival, Power, and Rebellion: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

The Hunger Games, published in 2008, is a novel written by Suzanne Collins and the first book in a trilogy that has fascinated readers around the world, completed by Catching Fire and Mockingjay. Born in Hartford, Connecticut in 1962, Suzanne Collins started her writing career as a children’s television writer before showing her storytelling ability in novels. Soon after The Hunger Games was released, it quickly became a success, topping bestseller lists like The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and Publishers Weekly. The novel has won up to seventy-seven awards, including notable achievements such as The New York Times Notable Book, the ALA Best Book for Young Adults, and the Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year, among others. The gripping story of The Hunger Games has resonated with readers across generations, becoming a favorite for many. The novel’s success also led to a widely popular movie franchise, which has adapted the complete trilogy, with Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen.

In The Hunger Games, the setting is Panem, a dystopian future version of the USA that is divided into 12 districts. These districts are controlled by the wealthy and oppressive Capitol, which keeps power through fear and control. Each year, the Capitol organizes the Hunger Games, a competition where one boy and one girl from each district are selected by lottery to fight to death until only one person is left alive, the winner. The Games are televised live as entertainment and as a reminder of the power that the Capitol has. The main character, Katniss Everdeen, a 16-year-old girl from district 12, volunteers to take the place of her younger sister Prim when her name is drawn. Together with Peeta Mellark, her fellow tribute, Katniss steps into the arena and faces the challenges of the Hunger Games. As the Games progress, Katniss and Peeta form an alliance whose actions start to threaten the Capitol’s authority. This story of survival shows the start of Katniss’s journey as she begins to confront the Capitol.

One of the strongest features of The Hunger Games is how well-written it is, especially the detailed descriptions that make the setting and events easy to imagine. Collins’s writing style makes it possible for the reader to visualize Katniss’s world in such a vivid way that it draws the reader deeply into the story, making every event feel significant. Katniss’ journey to and in the Games is portrayed in such an honest and brutal way that it keeps the reader fully engaged in her fight for survival. Beyond the realistic descriptions, the world that Collins has created is incredibly rich and extensive. Every component has been carefully written to give depth to the narrative and completely engage readers in the story. Collins’s ability in creating such a captivating world leaves readers wanting to know more of the story, making The Hunger Games the perfect starting point for a multi-book series. Another notable aspect is that the novel is focalized through Katniss, giving the readers direct access to the main character’s thoughts and emotions. This is clearly illustrated in a moment where Katniss reflects on her feelings for Peeta, in the arena when his life is in danger: “the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again, and I realized how much I don’t want him to die” (297). This first-person perspective makes Katniss feel authentic and relatable, as her inner dialogue allows the reader to connect with her on a personal level and understand the choices that she makes. Her viewpoint adds complexity to the novel, as Katniss’s honesty and vulnerability make her a likeable and unique protagonist.

Revisiting The Hunger Games as an adult has deepened my comprehension of its literary and thematic complexity. Even though it is classified as a young adult novel, The Hunger Games offers adults a deep understanding of its universal themes, such as social inequality and power struggles. While the novel is set in a dystopian world, the exploration of these issues reflects many aspects of our own society. The themes of systemic oppression and the story’s portrayal of a society divided by wealth and power mirrors real-world injustices. These words from Katniss highlight these stark inequalities: “Days of hunting and gathering for this one meal and even then it would be a poor substitution for the Capitol version” (66). Moments like this and the political commentaries add to the depth to the novel, making The Hunger Games a story that reveals more with each reading. Yet, while powerful in its themes and narrative, some of the secondary characters could have been better developed. The novel introduces several interesting secondary figures whose stories are left unexplored, leaving readers wanting to know more about their lives. One example are the Avox, characters whose silent, and tragic existence emphasizes the dehumanizing impact of authoritarian control. Their loss of voice, both literal and figurative, is full of symbolism, and delving deeper into their backstories and roles in Panem could have added another layer to the story.

All in all, The Hunger Games is a gripping and provoking novel that draws readers in with its rich descriptions, and relatable characters. Suzanne Collins combines survival, rebellion, and social issues to create a story that resonates with readers of all ages. Through Katniss’s journey, the book explores powerful themes like inequality and the struggles for power, offering readers a deeper perspective on societal issues that are still relevant in today’s society. While the novel excels in many ways, including its emotional depth and first-person perspective, some secondary characters could have been further developed. Despite this, the novel’s themes and its portrayal of a dystopian world leave a lasting impact. The Hunger Games stands out not only as an engaging story, but also as a powerful exploration of power, injustice, and survival that continues to captivate readers long after they finish the last page… and prepare to read the rest of the trilogy.

MARIA OLIVÉ MANZANO

2009. Brooklyn: A Demonstration of Colm Tóibín’s Authorial Talent

Brooklyn is a novel published in 2009 by Colm Tóibín (b. 1955, Enniscorthy), an Irish author considered to be one of Ireland’s most significant contemporary writers. The novelist earned international acclaim for his work and received many awards such as the 2009 Costa Novel Award. Moreover, in 2015 a film adaptation directed by John Crowley and starring the renowned actress Saoirse Ronan was made, receiving various different nominations and awards, including Academy Award nominations for the categories of Best Picture and Best Adapted Screenplay. This further expanded the recognition for Tóibín’s work and its cultural impact. Brooklyn’s sequel, Long Island, was published in 2024.

Brooklyn follows the experience in the 1950s of a girl named Eilis Lacey who decides to emigrate from Ireland, the place she was born and raised, to Brooklyn, New York, aided by the local priest, Father Flood. When she embarks on her journey, she leaves behind her mother and, especially, her elder sister Rose, one of the most significant pillars in Eilis’ life. Her departure is a considerably difficult experience for the protagonist. Full of nostalgia and homesickness, she yearns to be back home and struggles to find her footing in the United States. In one instance when Eilis finds herself at the lowest, Father Flood, tells her that “You’re homesick, that’s all. Everybody gets it. But it passes. In some it passes more quickly than in others. There’s nothing harder than it” (78).

Eilis’ loneliness is palpable and relatable. This moment of such extreme homesickness in her journey serves as a point of inflection in her character arc. After some time, Eilis begins to feel more comfortable and at home in a city so different from her town back home in Ireland. She gains confidence and this is observable through the progression in her personality as seen through interactions she has with other people, particularly through her finding herself involved with an Italian American young man, Tony. She becomes surer of herself and of what she wants. However, this does not exclude the possibility that she still suffers from an internal conflict between her Irish identity and the identity she is creating for herself in Brooklyn.

This is further exaggerated once a tragedy occurs back home which shakes Eilis to her core and eats away at her newfound confidence. As she decides to go back home to be closer to her mother in the trying times they find themselves going through, she is thrust into a whirlwind of emotions and pressures. Before leaving for Ireland, her tie to Tony is only growing stronger, yet as she returns home and finds herself surrounded by the people she used to know, Eilis surrenders to other people’s wills and expectations, silencing and restricting her opinions in favor of permitting other people to decide what she is to do. Many people, from her mother to her best friend Nancy, wish for her to stay and attempt to find ways to root her down and delay her going back to Brooklyn. Eilis is in constant doubt about what decision she should make but ultimately manages to make a decision that, despite being hard to make, she believes will be the right one.

Colm Tóibín’s neat writing style allows for Eilis’ story to be told in a way that has emotional weight and that stays with the readers long after having read the book. The writing itself is simple and minimalistic, but it provides space for readers to feel the emotions that the author wants to convey. The fact that his writing can be considered simple (or even simplistic) does not mean that the characters are so, too. In fact, on many occasions the novelist explores the innermost feelings of his protagonists, particularly Eilis, and drives the plot forward by means of advancing the character arcs in a clear, intentional, and coherent manner. The dialogue and the events that mark and pace of the book are clearly well controlled and never feel devoid of any true significance. Every situation serves a purpose for his characters and for his storyline while simultaneously reaching into the hearts of readers and being capable of evoking a diversity of emotions and empathy toward the characters.

Another important and indispensable aspect of the novel, without which it would not be the same story, is the Irish culture and essence that the novel is infused with. From the very beginning, it is remarkable how Tóibín manages to make Irish culture and identity so palpable. Through Eilis’ experiences of homesickness and her interactions with other Irish immigrants in Brooklyn, the nostalgia and appreciation towards a culture and lifestyle that feels so far in physical distance to them, but possibly also emotionally, adds depth to the plot and to the way the main protagonist perceives her environment and the foreign society she finds herself in. It is difficult for her to find her footing in America, as mentioned previously, not only due to being in a new place on her own, but also because she feels, like most migrants, that she cannot entirely belong to one place nor to the other anymore, especially as she struggles to find her own space in Brooklyn.

Overall, this is a beautiful story about immigration, love, and pain all fused together through the experiences of Eilis Lacey at the hands of a brilliant author who has the ability to stir deep feeling and attachment to his characters and their journeys. It is also a love letter to Irish culture and identity while calling for change and justice in Ireland, lamenting that so many people had to flee in search of economic opportunity elsewhere.

EVA MORENO CRUAÑEZ

2009. Action and Deep Bonds: Exploring James Dashner’s The Maze Runner

James Dashner’s The Maze Runner (2009) is the first novel in the best-selling series of the same name. The novel rapidly achieved widespread popularity and praise, appealing to audiences by presenting a dystopian and apocalyptic narrative that aligned with the popular trend in fictional literature for young readers of the time. Although the book did not win any major literary awards, it received global recognition and earned a position on the New York Times Best Seller list. Its popularity led to a film adaptation in 2014, starring Dylan O’Brien, which won multiple movie awards, including the Best Movie in Action/Adventure in the Teen Choice Awards (2015), and Best Hero to Dylan O’Brien in the MTV Movie Awards (2015).

The Maze Runner follows Thomas, a teenage boy who wakes up in the Glade, a community trapped in a field with other boys who, like him, have no memory of their past. Surrounded by a dangerous labyrinth full of traps and deadly mechanical creatures known as Grievers, the boys have developed their own society to survive. They have divided their tasks among them, and Thomas quickly becomes one of the Runners, an elite group whose role is mapping the maze daily before its gates close at night. The arrival of Teresa, the first girl, who Thomas feels connected to somehow, disrupts their balance. Eventually, the teens discovers that they are in an experiment orchestrated by WICKED, an organization studying their bodily reaction to extreme conditions. After great challenges, Thomas and a small group of survivors escape the maze, only to find the world outside in an apocalyptic state, collapsed by a virus called the Flare, which drives the inflected into violent zombie-like madness. The novel has an open ending, clearly paving the way for its sequels, The Scorch Trials and The Death Cure.

One of the main strengths of Dashner’s novel is its intricate and engaging plot. Despite being released during a period saturated with dystopian narratives, the convoluted plot manages to stand out due to its innovative premise. The concept of a group of mostly male teenagers who must work together, stranded on a mysterious and dangerous environment, surrounded by an unescapable maze, introduces a compelling blend of mystery and charm. What makes the story particularly engaging is the maze itself. Dashner describes it in a manner that makes it feel like a live, dynamic antagonist, not just the setting. From the shifting walls to the deadly Grievers, the maze brings great suspense.

The boys’ isolation and the novel’s setting opens up the exploration of camaraderie and friendship. Dashner gives an interesting perspective on the deep bonds forged among the boys, who under normal circumstances would never have been friends but must rely on one another to survive. The need for mutual trust fosters a sense of unity; readers watch the boys taking care of each other, and even sacrificing themselves for the community. The way the group organizes itself, prioritizing personal care and collective well-being, adds a layer of emotional depth to the narrative. Readers become more invested in the fate of all characters, knowing that if anyone dies it will impact the entire group. This relationship between the fictional action, and the emotional human relationship enriches the story, making it more thrilling.

However, the constant, never-ending action sequences has its drawbacks. The novel rarely allows the reader a moment to breathe and reflect, with one dangerous situation following another in quick succession. For instance, after Thomas and his friend Minho barely escape a night trapped in the maze, the arrival of Teresa with a cryptic note reading “She’s the last one ever” (123) causes a new wave of chaos. Soon after, the maze changes: the gates do not close at night, leaving the group vulnerable to the Grievers. This relentless pace does not let the reader process the character’s emotional responses. Beyond Thomas, the psychological reaction of being trapped for months or even years in the maze is only briefly acknowledged. For example, Next, one of the older and more prominent characters, expresses his frustration with the situation saying: “We’ve been here for two years, and nothing’s changing” (111). Yet, the conversation quickly shifts to the next strategy, with no attention to how the characters are coping with this experience. This could create a contradictory impression for the readers, as the novel calls for a strong investment in the boys’ survival while offering no distinct personal insight into their motivations and feelings. As a result, the reader is left caring for characters who remain underdeveloped individually.

Considering the above, The Maze Runner offers a compelling narrative that can easily captivate the readers with its plot and world-building. While the focus on action and the absence of emotionally rich scenes may prevent the reader from forming a deeper connection to the characters, Dashner excels in creating an engaging story about (mostly male) friendship, survival and camaraderie. Despite its shortcomings, the novel stands out in the young adult dystopic genre, offering an entertaining, though not deeply charged, read.

MARC ZARCOS GARCÍA

2010. Ethics, Exploitation and Duality in The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (2010) by Rebecca Skloot is a critically acclaimed work of nonfiction that delves into the realms of science, ethics, and humanity. Born in Springfield, Illinois in 1972, Skloot is an award-winning science journalist who is specialized in taking complex scientific ideas and turning them into amazing narratives. The book, winner of well-recognized awards such as the Wellcome Trust Book Prize and National Academies Best Book of the Year Award, explores the life of Henrietta Lacks, an African-American woman whose cancer cells, harvested without her consent in 1951, revolutionized medicine. Blending biography with scientific history, the book belongs to the genre of science biography and ethical critique, though it raises questions about its own ethics in its explicitness and depictions.

The book tells the story of Henrietta Lacks, a poor African-American woman diagnosed with cervical cancer in 1951, whose cells, now known as ‘HeLa’, were taken without her knowledge during a medical procedure. These cells were the first to survive and multiply indefinitely outside the human body, leading to major medical advancements like the polio vaccine, cancer research, and gene mapping. While Henrietta’s cells gained immortality, after her death her own family still lived in poverty, unaware for decades of her contribution to science. Skloot also chronicles her investigation into the lives of the Lacks family, particularly Henrietta’s relationship with her daughter Deborah, who sought to understand her mother’s legacy amidst a backdrop of grief, systemic exploitation, and unanswered questions.

While Skloot’s narrative criticizes ethical concerns in medical research, condemning the lack of informed consent when Henrietta’s cells were taken, there is certain hypocrisy in the book’s approach. Skloot delves deeply into sensitive and graphic details about Henrietta’s personal life, medical history, and even her family’s vulnerabilities, raising concerns about whether she had the full consent to be that explicit. For instance, she vividly describes Henrietta’s deteriorating health, her autopsy, and the family’s intimate struggles, but the book itself does not clarify if that level of detail was entirely approved by the Lacks family. This is particularly shocking, given the narrative’s criticism of medical professionals for “desecrating” Henrietta’s body without permission. Skloot’s decision to expose intimate family issues, such as Deborah’s emotional breakdowns, feels invasive and contrasts sharply with the book’s moral stance. Consequently, it creates a tension in which the reader questions whether Skloot’s work is entirely ethical or if it mirrors the same violations it seeks to critique.

Secondly, one of the book’s most interesting elements is its dual narrative structure: the scientific story of Henrietta’s cells and the personal story of her life, mostly told through her family’s perspective. The ‘HeLa’ narrative celebrates the achievements that Henrietta’s cells made possible, from, as noted, the polio vaccine to advancements in genetics, portraying her cells as immortal agents of progress. This scientific journey is miraculous, illustrating how a single, (but at the same time stolen) sample could change the course of medicine and save countless lives. However, this story is intertwined with the family’s deeply personal experiences, which reveal the abusive and painful legacy of these scientific gains.

Henrietta herself remains somewhat absent in the book, as much of her story is reconstructed through fragmented memories of her family and archival research. Skloot relies heavily on interviews with Henrietta’s descendants, especially Deborah, who emerges as the emotional core of the narrative. Deborah carries the weight of her mother’s legacy, narrating it with a mix of confusion, pride, and sorrow. Her vulnerability and determination bring depth to the narrative, allowing readers to empathize with the human cost of HeLa’s scientific immortality. Clearly, this duality is both a strength and a limitation. While it highlights the clear inequality between the scientific acclaim of HeLa cells and the neglect faced by the Lacks family, it also leads to a sense that Henrietta herself is overshadowed. Her human story often becomes secondary to the HeLa phenomenon, leaving readers to question whether the balance between the two narratives is entirely fair.

In conclusion, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is a compelling but ethically tense narrative that explores two parallel legacies: the scientific immortality of the HeLa cells and the human struggles of Henrietta Lacks’ family. While it raises critical questions about ethics in science, its explicitness and intrusiveness make us reflect whether Skloot herself fully adhered to the principles she claims. Nonetheless, the book’s dual narrative remains a powerful resource in order to narrate the constant debate between progress and humanity. However, that does not change the fact that Skloot provides the readers what they look for if they are interested in just knowing about HeLa’s case, since the book goes far beyond being a simple investigation report.

NATÀLIA LÓPEZ ARENAS

2010. Life’s Cruelty and the Loss of Hope in Lauren Beukes’ Zoo City

Zoo City (2010) is a notable urban fantasy novel by South African author Lauren Beukes (b. 1976, Johannesburg). The author has also published other novels like The Shining Girls (2013), comics like Survivors’ Club (2015), and some short fiction like Pandemonium: Stories of the Apocalypse (2011). Nevertheless, her versatility does not end here, as she has also written scripts for television series such as Playhouse Disney and articles for magazines such as The Hollywood Reporter. Zoo City won the Arthur C. Clarke Award in 2011 and the Kitschies Red Tentacle for best novel in 2010.

In the fantasy Johannesburg Beukes has created, criminals get “animalled” to wild animals that provide them with psychic powers. Zinzi December, a young former reporter who was “animalled” after committing a crime (she is an online scammer), is involved in a series of dark mysteries waiting to be untangled. Zinzi’s gift from her animal, a sloth, allows her to find people’s lost objects. She tries to make a living out of this, bearing in mind that she has debts to pay after recovering from her drug addiction. She and her sloth follow a series of hints in order to find Songweza Radebe, a famous 15-year-old singer who has disappeared. Despite being an urban fantasy novel, every step Zinzi takes slowly turns the novel’s atmosphere into a mysterious one, resembling a thriller’s plot. This aspect of the novel will captivate Sarah J. Maas’ fans, as Zoo City has similarities with Crescent City’s first book.

Considering this novel’s many unique traits, it is worth commenting on its worldbuilding first. Beukes has covered Johannesburg’s deepest secrets with her fantasy, allowing the reader to learn more about its society. However, the city Beukes describes is dark, very dark. She has left no space for faith or hope, making the story’s cruelty very evident. Johannesburg is described as a disastrous city full of corruption. Such is the situation that even its inhabitants are used to seeing evil and desperation in their day-to-day lives. Poverty is also widespread, as Zinzi comments: “but isn’t that the way of the slums? Even the stuff that’s nailed down gets repurposed” (7). Discrimination against the “animalled” is also a constant in the plot, mirroring the reality faced daily for being different. “He’s guilt” itself, says an inspector to Zinzi referring to her sloth (23, original emphasis). There is no space for forgiveness, once one is “animalled”, shame is all one knows.

However, as Zinzi shows, there is still a way of turning your punishment into a gift, though she never forgets the real meaning of her sloth: “Sloth curled up in my lap like my own personal scarlet letter” (45). While it is true that Zinzi is a fighter who does not give up on her purpose, many others do not have the same will to survive. The novel aims to shed light on those who have surrendered to the burden of being “animalled,” of being discriminated against. Considering every choice Zinzi makes, one can sympathize with some of the criminals in the story and ponder whether they deserve forgiveness or not. For this reason, the novel allows the reader to thoroughly think about the meaning of punishment, forgiveness, and shame. In this way, the strong political and social message Beukes narrates gives the novel fascinating depth.

Another interesting aspect of this novel is its constant use of South African slang. Beukes (who is white) does not escape her origins and uses street slang to bring the novel’s truths about Johannesburg closer to the reader. This vibrant vocabulary helps to build Zinzi’ world, and without it, the story may lose a certain level of authenticity. Even though at first it may be difficult to understand some of the words she uses, like “muti” (a kind of potion), it is worth making the effort to look up their meanings. By investigating a little about Zulu, Argot and Afrikaans’ language, the reader will be able to get a vivid image of Johannesburg’s reality.

Buekes’ effort to maintain her own urban culture in the novel is the cherry on top of a story that lacks no social portrayal. Despite the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Johannesburg one can see in real life, Beukes gives the city other surroundings full of despair and darkness. The novel’s characters, mostly non-white and marginal, have lost all their hope, so the plot is full of sadness and despair. For this reason, it is important to give a disclaimer: Zoo City is not the typical cheerful fantasy novel in which the main character lives happily ever after. The purpose of the novel goes much beyond that though Beukes uses fantasy to make the story more appealing. The reader might expect happier plot twists to happen, but that is not Beukes’ objective. The novel’s cruelty is a clear social critique of South Africa’s structural problems.

As a summary, it is highly advisable to investigate a bit about South African socio-political issues in order to understand Beukes’ message better. Apart from that, everyone who is looking for impressive worldbuilding that does not focus on happy romance and cheerful plots will find a remarkable story in Zoo City. The loss of hope by those who have been “animalled” portrays very vividly the reality of many who were marginalized by South Africa’s Apartheid regime (which the plot ends up alluding to). Being able to understand the book’s purpose will make the reader appreciate its beauty despite its darkness.

AMINE IMRAN TECIMEN

2011. Divergent by Veronica Roth: More Popular Dystopian YA Fiction

Divergent is the first book of a dystopian young adult trilogy by Veronica Roth (born 1988, New York City), completed by Insurgent and Allegiant. Roth wrote Divergent, her debut novel, during her BA degree in Creative Writing, so it is safe to say that this is the work of a pretty young and inexperienced writer. It was, however, a very popular novel that gained impressive success. Divergent won the Favorite Book title in the 2011 Goodreads Readers’ Choice Awards, and its media rights were purchased the same year. The film adaptation, released in 2014 matched the popularity of the book.

Beatrice is a 16-year-old girl in a dystopian city with a derelict landscape, a train without a conductor always on the move, and a strange social structure: each individual chooses to belong to and live in one of the five existing ‘factions’, created and named in relation to different values and personality traits. The faction Abnegation, which values selflessness above everything, is the one Beatrice is born to. As she reaches the age to make her choice, Beatrice leaves for Dauntless, the faction of bravery.

The faction Erudite prioritizes knowledge. They constitute the antagonist forces against Beatrice’s Abnegation family since these are the ruling class and the Erudite are displeased with their governing. There are other fractions: Amity, identifying with kindness, and Candor, with honesty. The main conflicts in the novel are caused by the political rivalry already mentioned, as well as the internal and external challenges Beatrice faces in her journey to adapt to her new lifestyle, community, and values in Dauntless. One of the first things she does after she changes factions is to choose a new name for herself, Tris, hinting at the theme of finding one’s identity. This theme, very relatable for the intended audience of young adults, plays a major role. As the protagonist concludes, “I am no longer Tris, the selfless, or Tris, the brave. I suppose that now, I must become more than either” (487).

Apart from Tris’s stream of consciousness about her self-discovery and the questioning of her values, between the selflessness she was taught and the fearlessness she is expected from her new environment, the novel is mostly dialogue and action. Fights, training challenges, problems in friendships and romance follow rapidly one after another. This can be considered as one of the qualities that makes it interesting, that is, easy to read and enjoy. The curiosity, the ‘what happens next’, is the dominant feeling of the reading experience. So, the pacing is good in this aspect. The events get even faster close to the ending and the stakes rise in a way that may come across as a bit too sudden: throughout most of the book, Tris’s main worry is to survive initiations (a set of trials that is supposed to test bravery and strength) and to adapt to Dauntless successfully, but in the last few chapters, she finds herself in a position where she has to be the one to save everyone. Still, the hints that something big is to come are scattered across the book, mostly in the form of ominous comments about the dangers of Tris being a “divergent,” so maybe the climax is not out of place after all.

As it turns out, Beatrice is a divergent, that is, she carries the traits of all factions and so it falls onto her to save her dystopian world. Yet, apart from this attribute, Tris appears to be the average teenage girl, especially in her romantic aspirations. This presumably makes her a relatable heroine to the same age group the genre is most popular with. Of course, the saving of the dystopian world by a relatable teenage heroine being the main conflict of the book sounds a bit too much like the Hunger Games trilogy. Similarly, the faction system as a social structure that depends on personality traits is very reminiscent of the concept of the Hogwarts houses in Harry Potter. It is very clear that Roth was inspired by these popular works and others in the booming YA genre, which is not a bad thing in its own, and must surely have contributed to the novel’s success, though at moments, it ends up being distracting.

Regardless, Divergent is impressively coherent overall, especially considering the age of the author when she published it and the fact that this is her debut work. And it is easy to understand what makes it attractive to the young adult audience. However, since it is lacking in originality nothing about the book ends up truly standing out. It is an enjoyable novel, but not particularly a memorable one. As is the full trilogy.

GERARD ALEGRE PRAT

2011. The Power of Language: Embassytown by China Miéville

China Miéville (b. Norwich, 1972), often considered one of the most imaginative and versatile fiction writers of today, delivers a deeply cerebral and inventive narrative in Embassytown. Published in 2011, this science-fiction novel ventures into the heart of linguistic and cultural alienation, blending thought-provoking concepts with fascinating worldbuilding. Miéville, known for works like Perdido Street Station and The City & The City, consistently challenges genre conventions, and Embassytown is not an exception. The novel explores concepts such as language, power, and identity in a way that is as intellectually rigorous as it is emotionally resonant, cementing Miéville’s reputation as a literary innovator. By weaving elements of hard science fiction, philosophy, and socio-political critique, Miéville pushes the boundaries of what fiction can achieve, making Embassytown not only an engaging narrative but also a profound meditation on the role of communication in shaping our perception of reality.

The story is set on the edge of the universe in a remote human colony called Embassytown, located on the planet Arieka. The colony is home to a unique alien species simply called the Hosts, whose peculiar language defines their reality. Unlike human languages, the Hosts’ speech cannot use lies, metaphors, or abstract concepts unless these ideas are physically enacted. Humans communicate with the Hosts through Ambassadors—genetically-engineered, dual-voiced individuals who can mimic the Hosts’ language perfectly. The protagonist, Avice Benner Cho, is a former “immerser,” someone who travels between distant worlds, and she serves as a bridge between the human and alien cultures. When a new type of Ambassador arrives, their speech causes unexpected and devastating consequences for the Hosts, unraveling the delicate balance between the two civilizations. What follows is a gripping exploration of linguistic power, colonialism, and the evolution of meaning, as Avice becomes embroiled in the struggle to restore harmony.

One of the most striking aspects of Embassytown is Miéville’s ability to create an intricate and immersive world. From the bizarre biology of the Hosts to the surreal landscapes of Arieka, every element of the setting is richly detailed in originality. Miéville’s dense and meticulous prose mirrors the complexity of the novel’s themes. The central premise of a language that cannot lie is a brilliant narrative device, allowing Miéville to delve into philosophical questions about truth, perception, and the relationship between language and thought. The book’s exploration of linguistic theory is as intellectually stimulating as it is integral to the story, inviting readers to reflect on how language shapes our understanding of reality. However, this intellectual depth can also be a double-edged sword. While Embassytown is undeniably ambitious and thought-provoking, its dense prose and abstract concepts may prove challenging for some readers. The novel demands patience and close attention, particularly in its early chapters, which are key in the worldbuilding and in the linguistic exposition. For those unfamiliar with linguistic theory or Miéville’s distinctive style, the opening sections may feel difficult to follow or overly technical. Additionally, while the story builds to a satisfying and thought-provoking conclusion, the pacing is uneven, with some stretches of the narrative feeling slower and more introspective than others.

Another strength of the novel lies in its characters, particularly Avice Benner Cho. Avice’s voice is engaging and relatable, grounding the story’s abstract themes in personal stakes. Her evolution from a passive observer to an active participant in the unfolding crisis provides a compelling emotional arc. However, some of the supporting characters, including the Ambassadors and Avice’s partner Scile, feel underdeveloped in comparison, serving more as vehicles for exploring the book’s central ideas than as fully realized individuals. This imbalance may leave readers wishing for deeper insights into their motivations and relationships.

Despite these criticisms, Embassytown remains a remarkable achievement in speculative fiction. Miéville’s ability to blend complex ideas with a compelling narrative is unparalleled, and the novel’s thematic richness ensures it lingers in the reader’s mind long after the final page. Its exploration of the transformative power of language and the fragility of cross-cultural understanding is both timely and timeless, offering profound insights into the human condition. In conclusion, Embassytown is a bold and intellectually challenging work that showcases China Miéville’s creativity and ambition. While its dense prose and abstract concepts may not appeal to all readers, those willing to invest the effort will be rewarded with a deeply rewarding exploration of language, culture, and identity. Miéville’s ability to craft a narrative that is conceptually complex and emotionally resonant makes Embassytown a standout entry in the realm of speculative fiction and a testament to the power of storytelling. For readers who relish science fiction that pushes boundaries and engages the intellect, Embassytown is an unforgettable journey. It is a novel that invites not only consumption but contemplation, challenging us to think differently about the world—and words—we live within.

JUAN DIEGO FALZONE AUBERY

2011. Life through Time: Stephen King’s Gripping and Profound Exploration of Time and Life in 11/22/63

“The multiple choices and possibilities of daily life are the music we dance to.” This profound quote, representative of one of the various themes present in the work, perfectly encapsulates the essence of Stephen King’s (b. 1947, Maine) 2011 science fiction and alternate history novel, 11/22/63. Known for his vast amount of literary works, particularly in the horror genre, the novel is King’s sixtieth published book, as well as his forty-ninth novel, joining the ranks of some of his seminal literary works such as Carrie (1974), It (1986) and Misery (1987). Winner of the 2011 Los Angeles Times Book Prize for Best Mystery/Thriller, the book occupied a place in The New York Times Best Seller List for sixteen weeks, and has since become one of the most relevant science-fiction, alternate history works published in the 21st century.

Set in the United States in the early 2010s, King’s gripping narrative follows the story of Jake Epping, a 35-year-old high school teacher who is given the singular opportunity to travel back in time to the mid-20th century in order to try and avert the assassination of John F. Kennedy on November 22nd, 1963, the date from which the book takes its title and which had a substantial effect on American history and culture. As can be expected, the mission does not ensue effortlessly, with Jake being forced to overcome various hurdles in order to accomplish it. Throughout his odyssey, however, Jake will encounter love, establishing a relationship with a woman named Sadie Dunhill, which will add a strain to his purpose as well as his relationship with past, present and future. Subsequently, Jake is forced to confront the effects that the aftermath of his mission provokes in the future—the time from which he came—as well as exploring the responsibilities that accompany such an opportunity and the personal sacrifices he must endure for the good of those he loves and, in general, the world.

Firstly, it must be noted that King expertly connects numerous notions, such as love, sacrifice and responsibility, in order to generate a highly interesting narrative that manages to establish a solid connection with its readers through Jake’s experience despite how outlandish the element of time travel central to the story may be (the entrance to 1963 happens to be, inexplicably, the back of a seedy bar). It must be noted, however, that the inclusion of such distinct and numerous elements may generate the impression that the story trying to tackle too many themes at once, something that could easily overwhelm readers, particularly as refers to Jake’s stalking of Lee Harvey Oswald.

Nonetheless, King strikes an admirable balance between the emotional and the entertaining moments, enhancing the depth of a story which could easily become a shallow science-fiction odyssey. One of the most significant examples of this balance is the explanation of janitor Harry Dunning’s tragic backstory. Despite the heaviness of such a moment, King, through the representation of Jake’s inner psyche, infuses some lightness after such a tragic episode, as the thoughts of the discontent Jake serve as providers of lightness or even comedic undertones at certain points in the book. Moreover, the novel showcases some mysterious aspects of life, maintaining a somewhat philosophical perspective at certain points, particularly when dealing with the inevitability of certain events. They can occur unexpectedly at any given moment and irreparably alter the course of one’s life, thus reflecting the almost insignificant amount of control that people have over their own destiny. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that, due to dealing with such a wide array of themes and ideas, the novel requires a significant length, which can repel possible readers intimidated by such a dense story.

King’s novel is in many ways an ode to the past, particularly to mid-20th century America. There is an intricate and deeply loving exploration of the life and culture of the time in comparison to the less enchanting present, exhibiting a significant sense of nostalgia. The novel offers continuously vivid descriptions that allow the readers to perfectly imagine the settings or individuals described. However, despite these positive aspects, the story can feel too slow at certain points due, precisely, to King’s extensive descriptions, which slow down the reading and interrupt the rhythm of the narrative. Furthermore, the notion of time travel, with all of its rules and effects on the future, may result too convoluted, particularly to readers less fond of science fiction. Despite this, however, it can be said that the ending is emotionally fulfilling, and presents a satisfying conclusion.

11/22/63 is recommended for its intensely profound narrative in particular to readers interested in historical fiction and in the enigma of who killed President Kennedy (was it really Oswald, after all?). Jake Epping’s adventure is also a poignant reflection of whether redressing the wrongs always leads to a better present and future, which is not quite the case here, in King’s important history lesson.

DAYANA DA SILVA FERNÁNDEZ

2012. John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars: A Heartbreaking Time Capsule

The Fault in Our Stars is the fourth novel by American author John Green (b. 1977, Indianapolis). This young adult novel was first published in 2012, gaining rapid commercial success despite scant critical acclaim. Even though it did not obtain any major literary prize, it became one of the best-selling books of all time, with approximately 23 million copies sold. Additionally, the novel was adapted into two different movies: the homonymous film released in 2014, directed by Joah Boone and starring Shailene Woodley and Ansel Elgort, and the Hindi adaptation Dil Bechara, released in 2020, directed by Mukesh Chhabra. John Green has won prizes for other titles such as the Michael L. Printz Award for his debut novel Looking for Alaska (2005) and the 2009 Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Young Adult Novel for Paper Towns (2008).

The Fault in Our Stars follows the story of 16-year-old Hazel Grace, a girl suffering from terminal thyroid cancer affecting her lungs. She narrates her love story with Augustus Waters, a 17-year-old survivor of an osteosarcoma to which he lost a leg. They fall for each other over a shared interest in literature as they introduce one another to their favorite novels. Hazel’s all-time favorite book An Imperial Affliction by Peter Van Houten, which also revolves around a girl with cancer, catches the attention of Augustus as the story, just like life itself, ends abruptly, leaving the ending ambiguous. Both protagonists bond over their dissatisfaction with the novel’s ending. This mutual frustration leads them to embark on a trip to Amsterdam to meet the author, hoping to obtain long-awaited answers. This author explains that the title of his novel references Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar: “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves” (112). The story develops by exploring how the protagonists navigate their lives while acknowledging their unavoidable premature mortality.

Given that the novel centers around cancer patients, the story inevitably touches on heavy themes. However, John Green is able to do so while allowing a balance of raw emotion and humor. The novel explores interrelated topics such as grief, death, the meaning of life, and the impact of human existence. These themes are explored through the lens of a teenage girl, providing an additional layer of fatalism and melodrama. Additionally, no aspects related to the illnesses of each character are belittled or romanticized to favor the plot. John Green provides realistic depictions of the teenagers fighting their respective illnesses. At the same time, the juvenile perspective allows the narrative to explore the heavy themes with a sense of humor, and with the irony characteristic of this age. For example, a reoccurring joke in the story is that of “Cancer Perks” described as “the little things cancer kids get that regular kids don’t: basketballs signed by sports heroes, free passes on late homework, unearned driver’s licenses, etc.” (23). Both Hazel and Augustus use this term with irony and a sense of underlying bitterness. Yet, despite these instances of humor, used throughout the novel, the story does not rely on it as heavily as other similar books, such as Jesse Andrew’s Me, Earl and the Dying Girl (2013), which focuses more heavily on humor and stark realism rather than romance and drama. By centering on the romance between Hazel and Augustus, The Fault in Our Stars relies not entirely on the character’s sickness but rather on their respective dreams and frustrations.

Green’s novel presents several instances of overly quirky dialogue and narration. However, this can be considered an accurate representation of its contemporary context. This young adult novel delightfully represents the essence of the early 2010s teenage experience. This aspect is showcased in the narration and the dialogue. Eloquent and literary speech can be found throughout the novel, given the fact that the main characters are reasonably knowledgeable about literature and philosophical matters, even beyond their years. In this sense, metaphors and other literary devices are not uncommon in the story. This arguably results in an unrealistic dialogue that could be considered exceedingly intellectual for speech produced by teenagers.

Additionally, the abundance of quotable lines in both dialogue and narration, which may or may not be integrated into the story organically, can be overwhelming for some readers. Such is the case of lines like “Some infinities are larger than other infinities” (189) or “My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations” (311). However, this can also be seen as a defining characteristic of the 2010s young adult phenomenon. During this time, the genre thrived, and novels such as Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games (2008-2010) series dominated book sales. This popularity increased online, where users of social platforms, such as Tumblr and Instagram, particularly enjoyed young adult books and the infinite array of quotes they offered. In this sense, The Fault in Our Stars is not an exception, as it provides memorable lines with long-lasting impact, such as “Maybe okay will be our always” (73, original emphasis) and the subsequent “Okay (…) Okay” (81), which defined the era. The quirkiness of these lines can be unappealing to some readers. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that they marked a generation and have since become icons, representing the novel as a whole.

In conclusion, The Fault in Our Stars presents a love story that deals with emotional and thought-provoking themes, such as death and humanity, harmoniously balanced with touches of humor. Moreover, the novel offers a distinctive tone and narrative style that directly reflects and is affected by its contemporary time, making the novel an indisputable symbol of the 2010s.

DIANA HURTADO GALVIS

2012. Home Sweet Home?: A Raw Journey Through Trauma and Redemption in Toni Morrison’s Home

Home (2012) by Toni Morrison (b. Ohio, 1931-2019) is a novel that explores themes of trauma, family, the longing for a sense of home, and the brutal realities faced by Black Americans in the 1950s. Regarded as one of the greatest writers in American literature, Morrison changed the literary landscape by challenging the traditionally white male canon. She gave a voice to the Black community, focusing much of her work on the lives and experiences of Black people at different points in history. Novels such as Beloved (1987) and The Bluest Eye (1970) are a few examples that dive deep into themes of loss, psychological trauma, and the resilience of Black life. Morrison received many prestigious awards, including the Pulitzer Prize in 1988 for her celebrated work Beloved, and became the first American woman to win a Nobel Prize for Literature in 1993. Toni Morrison’s literary works are undeniably a great source of inspiration for readers and writers across different generations and backgrounds.

Set in the 1950s, Home follows Frank Money, a young Black veteran of the Korean War who receives a mysterious yet worrying letter from her sister Cee, urging him to return home to Lotus, Georgia, or else she will die. Having lived by himself for one year after the war, Frank suffers from PTSD, experiencing severe episodes of stress, which end up with him being hospitalized in a mental institution. The novel progresses with his escape thanks to the help of various priests and other friends he makes on his journey home to rescue his sister. As Frank travels, he is constantly reflecting on his trauma of deep guilt for the dehumanizing actions he committed during the war, the loss of his childhood friends, and his complicated relationship with his home in Lotus. As he reflects on his past, he recalls the town’s harshness: “he hated Lotus. Its unforgiving population, its isolation, and especially its indifference to the future were tolerable only if his buddies were there with him” (12). His only moments of peace came through coping with alcohol or being with Lily, a lover who provides comfort but at the expense of repressing her own desires. Frank’s journey ends with his rescuing Cee from horrific abuse and experimentation by a white doctor who is attempting to ‘treat’ her infertility. The novel ends with Frank and Cee returning to Lotus, where they find healing and a sense of belonging.

Morrison’s work is magnificent in every sense. One of the greatest strengths of Home lies in its ability to explore challenging themes with notable psychological depth. The novel compels readers to reflect on the dehumanization of war, as well as the trauma and guilt veterans endure. For instance, Frank’s haunting memory of watching his best friend die in his arms, or the profoundly disturbing moment when he and other soldiers abuse a young Korean girl before shooting her in the face. These raw yet realistic descriptions of war challenge readers to grapple with the complexities of Frank as the protagonist; he is both a victim of war and a flawed man who committed dehumanizing acts.

Morrison’s prose is another outstanding feature, with a balance between poetic writing and minimalist precision. Each word is precisely put, creating vivid imagery and delivering profound insights in a relatively short novel. The storytelling intertwines Frank’s journey to save his sister with his introspection on past actions, engaging readers while leaving space for personal reflection. Her style provides an intimate view of the protagonist’s mind, as illustrated when she writes that “Frank and Cee, like some forgotten Hansel and Gretel, locked hands as they navigated the silence and tried to imagine a future” (35). Frank and Cee Money are deeply flawed yet human; they reflect the human capacity for weakness and resilience. Frank Money is portrayed as a caring and protective older brother while also being a man haunted by a cruel past, trying to redeem himself. Cee, on the other hand, starts as a vulnerable, naive young woman whose poor choices make her relatable, but her eventual growth and healing offer inspiration.

While Home is a masterful exploration of trauma, healing, and resilience, it is important to approach it with caution. Morrison does not shy away from exposing deeply uncomfortable realities of war, racism, and exploitation—like the brutal experiments on Cee or the haunted memories Frank carries from the war. Certain depictions of abuse and violence are vital to the story, but they may be distressing for some readers, especially those with personal experiences of PTSD, abuse, or systemic violence. Morrison’s portrayal of these issues is deeply empathetic, but she does not sugarcoat the pain. For some readers, this raw honesty might offer validation or even a means to process their own struggles. For others, it may be too overwhelming, and that is entirely okay.

Ultimately, Home is not a story that promises comfort; it offers hard truths and a chance to confront them. Morrison’s novel is, nonetheless, a rewarding journey for readers who are prepared to embrace discomfort and reflect on the resilience of the individual mind.

ANDREA MONASTERIO RUIZ

2013. Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life: The Endless Circle of Rebirth

Kate Atkinson, born in York, England, in 1951, is a celebrated English writer of novels, plays, and short stories. One of her most popular works of fiction, Life After Life, published in 2013, is the first of two novels about the Todd family. The second, A God in Ruins, was published in 2015. Atkinson’s novel Life After Life won the 2013 Costa Book Award, and the New York Times also selected it as one of the best books of 2013. The novel belongs to the historical fiction genre, exploring the notions of time, memory, and identity, interlaced into the tapestry of 20th-century historical upheavals. Atkinson delves into the intricate conceit of the possibility of living multiple lives and confronting the consequences of one’s choices, giving the novel emotional depth. Life After Life has been adapted for television with a BBC TV series in 2022, expanding its reach and impact.

Life After Life follows the life of Ursula Todd, a woman who lives multiple lives, dying and being reborn repeatedly in a snowy day in February 1910. Her choices and circumstances shape her many lives, and indeed Ursula’s earliest struggles begin at her birth. From drowning as a child to contracting influenza and falling victim to the 1918 pandemic, Ursula faces death repeatedly. With each death she feels a sense of déjà vu that allows her to alter her fate in subsequent lives. The novel is set in different historical moments, particularly the two World Wars. In one lifetime, Ursula experiences the Blitz in London, enduring personal and collective tragedy. In another, she stays in Nazi Germany, ultimately befriending Eva Braun, Hitler’s lover, and later on Hitler himself. In a pivotal moment, Ursula decides to assassinate Hitler, sacrificing herself to alter history, and eventually save her favorite person in the world, her brother Teddy who lost his life as a pilot in WWII. The novel also explores Ursula’s struggles regarding her condition, including societal expectations, the abuse of her husband in one of her lifetimes, and her diverse relationships. As Ursula keeps being reborn, her awareness of her past life keeps evolving, and it leads to moments of agency, such as preventing a neighbor’s murder or escaping domestic violence. The novel reflects thus on the fragility of human existence, the weight of choice, and the re-shaping of fate through courage and persistence.

One of the best features in Life After Life is the blending of the extraordinary and the mundane. Ursula’s future fate, with its many repeated lives and re-births, is foreshadowed at the beginning of the novel when a main character says, “God surely wanted this baby back” (21), which serves as a lens to examine the nature of existence. Throughout her journey, Ursula discovers that even the most inconsequential, small decisions can ripple out to create different and disastrous outcomes. In one lifetime, she succumbs, as noted, to the Spanish flu; in another, she is spared that destiny. In yet another lifetime, her choices and her desire to feel loved lead her to a troubled marriage, while in other lifetimes she avoids falling victim to that fate. Furthermore, one of the most fascinating aspects of the novel is its exploration of memory and intuition. Ursula’s sixth sense helps her navigate through the different iterations of her life, as she begins to echo her past experiences. These moments of déjà vu serve as a guide, allowing her to make different choices and avoid catastrophic outcomes. Atkinson introduces this interplay between memory and destiny to raise thought-provoking questions about to which extent are we allowed to control our lives, and, surprisingly, without any consideration of Buddhist reincarnation.

Atkinson’s prose is exquisite. Her remarkable skill allows her to capture the texture of early 20th century England but without making it too complicated for the reader to understand that time, helping them to immerse themselves in the novel. Ursula, the heart of the novel, is both ordinary and extraordinary. She is neither a hero nor a victim, but a woman shaped by the circumstances, living on thanks to her resilience, and her bravery. Her repeated lives allow Atkinson to explore her development in nuanced ways, making her feel remarkably real. Despite her repeated deaths and rebirths, Ursula’s personality remains grounded, while her humanity anchors the novel’s ambitious structure very well.

Another character that I consider essential in the storyline is Sylvie, Ursula’s mother. Sylvie is a complex, multi-faced character whose treatment of Ursula evolves throughout the novel. She embodies the contradictions of maternal love, switching from warmth to cruelty; her traditional views and emotional distance from her children provide both conflict and comfort for then. Sylvie’s cruelty is apparent when she blames her daughter for the loss of her virginity in an unwanted sexual encounter: “You’ve thrown away your virtue, your character, everyone’s good opinion of you” (126). This scene happens after Ursula’s abortion, highlighting Sylvie’s inability to empathize with her daughter’s pain. Instead of supporting her daughter during hardships, she perceives Ursula’s rape as a moral failing, because she is more concerned about her reputation, and her conservative values. Sylvie’s character serves as a symbol of the limitations placed on middle-class women at that time.

In conclusion, Life After Life is an extraordinary novel that blends historical fiction with profound philosophical questions about choice and destiny. Atkinson’s exploration of Ursula’s Todd repeated lives motivates readers to reflect upon the effects of decisions and their respective consequences no matter how big or small. The richly drawn characters, the immersive historical storyline, the wonderful prose make this novel thought-provoking and emotionally compelling to read. While certain elements and some of Ursula’s choices may spark criticism, Life After Life, stands as a dazzling novel with a very original and well-constructed literary skill.

MAX CÒNSUL SALVADOR

2013. The Dream of a New Life: Darling’s Fall from Paradise in NoViolet Bulawayo’s We Need New Names

Elizabeth Zandile Tshele, also known as NoViolet Bulawayo, is a Zimbabwean author born in Tsholotsho in 1981. She adopted her pen name to honor her cultural heritage, with the negative NoViolet representing a traditional Zimbabwean naming practice. Bulawayo moved to the United States to continue with her education and eventually earned a degree in Creative Writing, as well as her Master of Fine Arts from Cornell University in New York. Bulawayo is best known for her debut novel, We Need New Names, a semi-autobiographical novel published in 2013 that follows the story of Darling, a young girl from a shantytown in Zimbabwe who eventually migrates to the United States. The novel has its focus on the struggles of first migration and later adapting to new identities while facing socio-political difficulties. This novel won diverse awards and was nominated for the Booker Prize, making Bulawayo the first Zimbabwean to be shortlisted for the award.

We Need New Names explores several themes: the trauma of displacement, the search for identity, and the weight of a nation’s political struggles. Through Darling’s eyes, Bulawayo depicts Zimbabwe’s fractured society, one where children are forced to grow up too quickly, and dreams are constantly shattered by the harshness of their environment. For Darling, it becomes clear quite quickly that she must flee her country if she expects to have a future. The novel talks about the impact of migration, both physical and emotional, as Darling comes to understand that escaping her past does not necessarily mean escaping its influence.

As expected, when Darling moves to the United States she is faced with the difficulties of being an immigrant in a foreign country, the struggles of not knowing the language, the culture or even the people. With the little girl’s dream of a better life, it becomes obvious rather quickly that Bulawayo uses Darling’s inner conflict to highlight the cultural divide between the immigrant’s longing for home and the disconnect they feel in their adopted land. One rapidly becomes aware that home, and the desire to return to it, is a matter of great importance in the novel. Darling’s desire to escape the life conditions of her motherland (also known in the book as Paradise) gives way to the realization that the home she thought she would find in the US is not as welcoming as she had imagined. This can be seen when Darling writes letters to her family back in Zimbabwe, but intentionally leaves the “bad things” out because “they made America not feel like My America, the one I had always dreamed of back in Paradise” (188).       Darling is a very interesting protagonist. As a young girl in Zimbabwe, she is curious, and full of hope, even as her world unravels around her. As she grows older, Darling becomes more introspective, grappling with her place in the world and dealing with the loss of her childhood innocence. For her, moving to a new country where, at first, she doesn’t feel welcome, becomes a very hard experience, which makes the reader pity her as the story unfolds. The novel is structured in very short chapters that, in a way, mirror the fragmented experience of living in a socially and politically unstable (even unfair) country. This fragmented narrative structure also reflects Darling’s internal conflict, caught between her memories of Paradise and the new reality she finds in the US. It is a certainly troubling experience for the reader, and one of great impact, as one sees what it is like to be a foreigner in a new and wild environment where one is unaccustomed to living. The doubts, pain and insecurities that Darling feels along the story are very visible and impactful on the reader.

We Need New Names is a remarkable work that demonstrates NoViolet Bulawayo’s great talent as a writer. The novel unravels an intense reflection on the complexities of identity, the struggles of migration, and the resilience which human beings are capable of. It really is a worth read that flips one’s feelings upside down and leaves you thinking about the immense difficulties faced by those who must flee in search of new opportunities. It is, in short, an essential read indeed for anyone interested in the immigrant experience or contemporary African American literature.

ALBA BATALLA

2013. The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown: When Nonfiction Adopts the Spirit of Fiction

The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics (2013) is a narrative nonfiction book by American author Daniel James Brown. This story is well-known for being a New York Times bestselling book which inspired besides the 2023 sports drama movie The Boys in the Boat, produced and directed by George Clooney. Brown was born in Berkeley, California, in 1951. He completed a degree in English at the University of California also at Berkeley and a master’s degree from UCLA. Brown taught writing before becoming a professional writer and editor himself. Now he focuses on producing nonfiction narratives, a field in which he has excelled. In 2024, Brown obtained an honorary doctorate from the University of Washington, recognizing his significant literary contribution and his role in preserving and sharing a vast chapter in their legacy.

The Boys in the Boat narrates the real story of the University of Washington’s rowing team and their journey to victory at the 1936 Berlin Olympics during the dark time of Nazi Germany and the period of the American Great Depression. The book focuses on the story of Joe Rantz, one of the eight men on the team, whom the author met at the request of Rantz’s daughter shortly before the old man died. Through four parts, which cover from 1899 to 1936, the reader learns the challenging reality of Joe and his crewmates and how they, together and with the help of their demanding coach Al Ulbrickson Sr. and their fine boatbuilder George Pocock, became one of the best rowing teams in the world. The story emphasizes how hard they train to win the gold medal, the bond they form, and how they never give up, even when life becomes cruel and suffocating. Also, the author offers a detailed historical vision of the spread of Nazism and how Hitler and Goebbels used the Olympics as a propagandistic tool.

The Boys in the Boat is a nonfiction book that can be read and enjoyed as a fiction novel. Brown narrates a sporting event in an engaging literary way that moves away from the classic chronicle format, which is why in many passages, the reader might have the feeling of reading a novel rather than a nonfiction story. The author achieves this impression with detailed descriptions of the different settings and places, which enrich the narrative plot and immerse the reader in those environments. For example, we have descriptions of the New York people from one of the boys’ diaries, claiming that New Yorkers “are all very tired looking, pale, & soft. The people seldom smile & don’t look healthy & full of vigor as out west” (288). In the same chapter, Brown also describes in detail how Joe contemplates the landscape and how he feels about it, saying that “he looked out at the many spires of New York rising through a pall of smoke and steam and heat haze and did not know whether he found it beautiful or frightening” (288). Also, along with the setting and historical reenactments, the development of the characters stands out. Brown uses subjective descriptions to convey the personal perceptions of each character, exploring both their psychology and relevant aspects of their lives. The author focuses, in particular, on Joe Rantz, a young man who fights against family adversities and the economic consequences of the Great Depression without ever losing his temper. The narrator reproduces a conversation between Joe and his girlfriend, in which he explains the reason for his attitude. Joe tells her that “It takes energy to get angry. It eats you up inside. I can’t waste my energy like that and expect to get ahead” (134).

Similarly, through the boys’ diaries and other documentary sources, the author creates a powerful portrait of a turbulent historical period, giving details on each character involved in the plot. In addition, it is crucial to highlight the structure of the narrative, which allows for the presentation of the information in logical and easy-to-follow sequences that facilitate reading comprehension. Thus, Brown builds the story scene by scene, sometimes developing the narrative through spatial and temporal leaps that include previews of events that will happen in the future in an elegant example of foreshadowing. A clear example of this literary resource is found in chapter VI when Brown narrates the tragic end of the Goebbels family, saying that Hilde “was the second of what would become six Goebbels children, all of whom Magda Goebbels would order murdered with cyanide eleven years later” (100). Foreshadowing usually has the power to excite and hook readers to the story, and Brown, with this book, achieves the same outcome.

However, the reading pace is quite uneven in this rather long book. The excessive use of detailed descriptions in multiple situations (like work, family life, or training) causes stagnation and low narrative fluidity in some chapters. For example, when the narrator describes the competitions like a sports commentator offering a report, the reading can become slightly tedious, especially if you are not a fan of rowing. Nevertheless, in other moments, the story flows like the boys’ own boat, in which each oar moves perfectly synchronized with the others, a concept known as “the swing” in the rowing lexicon. Towards the end of the book, the pace of the reading increases, and so does the interest in continuing the story. Hence, the main weak point of the book would be the one mentioned above, as it might trigger episodes of dispersion and disinterest, specifically at the beginning of the story. Still, as the narrative progresses, Brown finds the perfect swing, like the protagonists of this historic feat, transforming the book into a compelling story.

In conclusion, The Boys in the Boat offers an original literary approach within nonfiction, reflected in how the author deals with the story. The book provides objective data, thanks to Brown’s excellent research and documentation work. Also, what stands out particularly is how the author narrates reality as a fictional story, which gives a different and captivating twist to the book and demonstrates his mastery. In addition, this book is a great story about overcoming obstacles; we learn that it is possible to do great things even during the worst times. It is also a story of self-improvement that features moral values derived from rowing, such as commitment, teamwork, and belongingness. Overall, it is an inspiring book that reveals how far people can go with consistent effort and sacrifice.

ALEJANDRO POUSADA DOMÍNGUEZ

2013. The Haunting Scars of War: Richard Flanagan’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North

The Narrow Road to the Deep North (2013) by Richard Flanagan is a powerful contribution to the historical fiction genre. Borrowing its title from a seminal work by the poet Matsuo Bashō, it highlights the duality of humanity: the creation of sublime beauty and the capacity for unspeakable terror, exemplified by the Burma Death Railway. Born in Longford, Tasmania, in 1961 Flanagan drew inspiration from his father’s harrowing experiences as a Japanese prisoner of war and the legacy of Australian hero Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop, who survived the brutal construction of the railway. The novel vividly portrays the dehumanization of war and its aftermath while exploring enduring love amidst unimaginable suffering. Flanagan’s novel received critical acclaim for its haunting portrayal of love and survival, winning the 2014 Man Booker Prize, thus solidifying Flanagan’s reputation as a leading literary voice. A miniseries adaptation starring Jacob Elordi is currently in production.

The Narrow Road to the Deep North follows Dorrigo Evans, an Australian surgeon whose life is deeply shaped by his experiences as a prisoner of war in a Japanese labor camp during World War II. Through a non-linear narrative, the story shifts between Dorrigo’s early life in rural Tasmania, his time on the Burma Death Railway, and his post-war existence, marked by fame but overshadowed by inner turmoil. War becomes the defining force in his life, overshadowing every stage. Despite his efforts to forget, Dorrigo finds himself haunted by his memories of Amy, a love that remains unattainable. In the camp, he is reluctantly thrust into a leadership role, while he struggles with guilt and self-loathing, even as he is hailed as a hero. War, however, is not just an individual experience; it is a communal one, affecting all those involved. Key figures in Dorrigo’s journey include Amy, who is torn between love and duty to her husband; Nakamura, the methamphetamine-fueled camp commander whose blind devotion to the Emperor drives his cruelty; and Rooster, whose brutal masculinity contrasts sharply with Darky, a vulnerable yet courageous prisoner who, after suffering relentless abuse and beatings, ultimately chooses death over further humiliation.

An innovative aspect of the novel is its shifting point of view, through which Flanagan crafts a polyphony of voices beyond Dorrigo’s, all brought to life with beautiful prose. By using this technique, Flanagan creates a cohesive narrative where each individual story contributes to a larger whole: the experience of World War II. Readers witness how war impacts each character differently, with its horrors affecting some more than others. However, all are deeply marked by it, as exemplified by Dorrigo’s haunting recollection of Darky’s “crying,” a memory that “fixes” in his mind (2). Flanagan portrays war as a shared trauma, one that leaves no one untouched. As he writes, duty, sacrifice, and patriotism, especially in the service of the Japanese Emperor, are depicted as more valuable than any individual life: “The war presse[s], the war derange[s], the war und[oes], the war excuse[s], destabilizing and distorting individuals, while justifying personal flaws and transformations” (80). Progress is demanded at any cost, including human lives. However, in moments that seem almost pessimistic, Flanagan offers a wide view of the war’s impact, presenting the devastation it causes to lives, relationships, and identity. Characters find themselves disillusioned in a world that has lost all meaning. It is in this context that the prototype of the tragic hero emerges in the narrative: a noble figure whose virtues and sense of duty are undermined either by personal flaws or the brutal forces of war. While Evans is already disillusioned before his time in the prison camps, the war deepens his sense of alienation, and characters like Ella struggle with their emotions and morality, often viewing themselves with harsh self-criticism. Flanagan portrays his characters, even those who might appear unimportant, as deeply flawed and imperfect, exposing the true nature of humanity in the aftermath of a conflict.

Nonetheless, Flanagan does not grant equal focus or privileges to each character, instead highlighting war as not only a clash of interests but also a conflict of class. In the aftermath, the outcomes for the characters are uneven, with not everyone receiving what they deserve. Flanagan reflects on the inherent bias of war by portraying how those in power inflict brutal punishment on those beneath them, intertwining themes of masculinity and class. War for him not only causes emotional devastation but also perpetuates existing values, making class privilege more apparent. While Dorrigo and Ella’s resolutions may feel prolonged, the contrasting fates of Nakamura and Choi reveal the inequality inherent in war’s aftermath. Some characters such as Nakamura evade justice through a false identity, but others such as Choi unfairly bear the collective punishment for the army’s actions. Though the POWs “had come to believe that to abandon one man was to abandon themselves” (186), the novel demonstrates that individuals are treated unequally. Dorrigo recognizes Nakamura as a “terrifying force that takes hold of individuals, groups, nations, and bends and warps them against their natures, against their judgements, and destroys all before it with a careless fatalism” (293). Yet, Flanagan exemplifies how, rather than showing repentance, figures like Nakamura and Choi embody the war’s dehumanizing and class-driven injustices, lacking any sense of moral responsibility.

In conclusion, The Narrow Road to the Deep North presents a harsh portrayal of a generation shaped by the immediate and lasting consequences of World War II. Echoing the reflective depth of Bashō’s work, Flanagan’s non-linear narrative and shifting perspectives vividly capture the enduring scars of war, on both individuals and society while confronting class, masculinity and love. Through his emotionally charged and evocative prose, Flanagan masterfully conveys a profound sense of isolation in a world stripped of meaning and direction, creating a haunting meditation on loss, resilience, and the fractured humanity left in war’s wake.

NATÀLIA SAUS PRZESTAWSKA

2014. Navigating Loss Through Nature: Helen Macdonald’s H is for Hawk

H is for Hawk, published in 2014, is a memoir by Helen Macdonald, an English writer, historian, and falconry enthusiast born in Chertsey, England in 1970. From a young age, Macdonald had a deep interest in birds, a passion that not only shaped her personal life but also became a significant influence on her writing. The sudden death from a heart attack of her father, a well-known photojournalist, marked a critical change in her life. His passing left Macdonald grieving deeply, and this emotional struggle became the central theme of the memoir. The book has received plenty of praise due to its rich emotional resonance and powerful writing. H is for Hawk was honored with several prestigious awards, including the 2014 Samuel Johnson Prize for Nonfiction and the 2014 Costa Book of the Year, owning its place as a remarkable literary work.

H is for Hawk perfectly combines nature writing with autobiography, providing an honest and reflective exploration of Helen Macdonald’s loss and journey of healing. The primary theme of the memoir is Macdonald’s decision to train Mabel, a Scottish goshawk; a bird that is famously difficult to tame. After her father’s sudden death, Macdonald adopts Mabel, attracted to the bird’s wild nature, as an attempt to deal with her loss. Despite the difficulties of living in university accommodation, she makes the commitment to training the hawk, a process that challenges both her patience and skills. The memoir switches between Macdonald’s reflections on her early love of birds and her present journey of training Mabel. Throughout the memoir, Macdonald also reflects on T.H. White’s book The Goshawk, connecting his struggles as a falconer to her own journey. Thanks to her hawk Mabel, Macdonald learns to deal with her grief, as her relationship with the hawk helps her find a way to move forward.

One of the strongest features of the memoir are the vivid descriptions and emotional depth. The writing in H is for Hawk is beautiful and clear, allowing readers to picture Mabel’s movements while also capturing the deep emotions of grief. Even those who may not share Macdonald’s passion for birds will find her descriptions of falconry and the natural world engaging. One example would be when Macdonald observes Mabel and reflects, “And when I look again she seems neither bird nor reptile, but a creature shaped by a million years of evolution for a life she’s not yet lived” (82). The English countryside is also richly described, immersing readers in the natural settings where Helen Macdonald tames her hawk. Through her exploration of the landscape, Macdonald allows the reader to see the connection between the environment and her emotional journey. The hawk is a fascinating character, vividly described in the memoir with detail. Macdonald’s portrayal of Mabel’s actions and behavior gives the bird a distinct character and highlights her importance to the story. Through the author’s observations, readers learn about falconry and its history, as well as the connection between human emotions and the wildness of nature. In this way, the memoir becomes both an educational and emotional reading experience.

The memoir’s psychological depth is another notable aspect, as Macdonald explores her feelings of isolation, anger, and hopelessness. Her bond with Mabel turns into a symbol for her emotional healing, with the hawk’s wild nature reflecting her desire to be free from all the suffering. Macdonald describes the complexities of navigating loss with honesty, sharing with the reader her internal struggles in a way that deeply resonates. Furthermore, Macdonald’s choice to isolate herself from her surroundings in order to focus on Mabel is portrayed with emotional clarity, showing how loneliness gives her the time she needs to grieve. This isolation is illustrated in the memoir when she states, “I’d wanted to fly with the hawk to find my father; find him and bring him home” (220). She is symbolically looking for her father through her relationship with Mabel, and this moment captures the intensity of her grief as well as her desire for healing and connection. However, the memoir often shifts to focus on T.H. White’s work, which, while interesting, may seem, at some points, unnecessary. Although his book is related to the memoir’s theme, it sometimes interrupts Macdonald’s personal story and makes it feel less focused on her journey of grieving for her father’s death.

All in all, H is for Hawk is a fascinating and exceptionally written memoir that merges nature writing with individual reflection. Helen Macdonald’s journey of grief and healing through her relationship with Mabel, the hawk, is deeply moving. The memoir’s vivid descriptions of falconry and the natural world, along with Macdonald’s deep emotional insights, make it both informative and touching. Although the sections about T.H. White are engaging, they sometimes take the focus away from Macdonald’s personal story. Despite this, the memoir leaves a strong impression with its emotional depth and thoughtful exploration of loss and recovery.

YSABELLA PACHANO CONTRERAS

2014. Phil Klay’s Redeployment: The Impact of the Iraq War

Redeployment (2014), a collection of twelve short stories set in the Iraq War (2003-2011) about the impact this war had on the US soldiers, is an implacable exploration of the human cost of warfare. The author, Phil Klay (b. 1983, White Plains, NY), a former marine (2005-2009), draws from his experience to examine the physical and emotional toll of conflict, including themes of alienation, compromised moralities and masculinity in the army. The collection was well-received and earned Klay the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle in 2014. In 2020, he published his second novel, Missionaries, a story set in the Colombian-Venezuelan border which follows four Latin-American characters whose lives reflect the globalization of violence and war.

Redeployment offers diverse perspectives on war, mixing Klay’s own memories with fictional stories inspired by research, interviews and his own observations. While some stories, such as “Ten Kliks South” and “War Stories” are thought-provoking and harrowing, some stories lack emotionality and create a sense of detachment from the narrative. The title story, “Redeployment,” tells the story of a soldier’s return to the US and his struggles to reintegrate into civilian life. This story establishes a central theme explored throughout the collection: the profound alienation soldiers experience after war and the lack of society’s awareness of their plea. Other stories explore this theme, yet from different perspectives, such as “Bodies”, in which a mortuary affairs specialist coolly counts the bodies of soldiers. “Unless It’s a Sucking Chest Wound”, follows a veteran turned contractor after the war who is still haunted by his past, exploring again the war’s aftermath through identity and the personal values upon returning home. The more memorable stories are “Ten Kliks South,” which is narrated by a young artillery soldier grappling with the responsibility of killing from a distance, and “War Stories,” in which a severely injured veteran is interviewed to share his experiences and tries to reclaim agency on his actions. Apart from delving on psychological themes, Klay also included stories like “Money as Weapons System,” in which he exposes the incompetence and corruption of US aid programs. Both Redeployment (the book) and “Redeployment” (the story) are highly skeptical of US politics and society, as the narrator jokingly says: “We took my combat pay and did a lot of shopping. Which is how America fights back against the terrorists” (11).

One of the most salient aspects of this collection is its critique of bureaucracy and of the absurdity of war. Klay offers an eye-opening alternate reality outside of society’s comfort zone. He is very critical of US society’s ignorance about the war and its unwillingness to actually understand contemporary conflicts, as the narrator on “Bodies” angrily protests: “I was angry. I’d gotten a lot of Thank You For Your Service handshakes, but nobody really knew what that service meant, you know?” (60). Klay’s personal military background lends depth to his narrative which makes the book feel authentic and vivid. His prose is very precise and stark, and his well-timed comedic relief helps navigate the obscurity of the themes. In this way he accomplishes an excellent balance between harsh realism and philosophical depth interwoven with dark humor. Additionally, his choice to use numerous voices to narrate the stories offers a comprehensive, dynamic view of war.

Despite its many virtues, the overall quality of Redeployment appears to be slightly uneven as some stories do not match the stronger pieces in emotional impact. This might be due to Klay’s detached narrative style, which is effective in conveying the gruesome impact of the war but that creates too much distance in some other stories. For instance, “OIF” and “In Vietnam They Had Whores” might feel like filler episodes rather than fully developed stories because they do not offer anything remarkable. Also, Klay often inserts military jargon that might occasionally affect readability to readers unfamiliar with it. In addition to this, the book’s rather neutral stance on war can feel problematic. It seems that Klay is neither antiwar nor a fervent critic of it. In a time such as the contemporary, having no clear opinion on war is a privilege in a world where war shapes the social-political circumstances of humanity. The Iraqi, incidentally, are just ghostly presences in the stories, never fully present.

Overall, Redeployment compels readers to face the complexities of war and its effect on the army and the soldiers. Klay’s stories reveal not only the psychological trauma soldiers deal with but also the ethical and moral struggles they encounter in combat. Standing alongside some other works such as Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, this collection highly contributes to contemporary war literature. For readers that enjoy black humor and thought-provoking war stories this book might be a special read. For readers who would like to be reminded of war’s cost this is a very good choice. Ultimately, the book offers a reflection on human suffering and resilience. The narrator of “Prayer in the Furnace,” a US Marine Corps chaplain, reminds us that “We are part of a long tradition of suffering. We can let it isolate us if we want, but we must realize that isolation is a lie. Consider Owen. Consider that Iraqi father and that American father. Consider their children. Do not suffer alone. Offer suffering up to God, respect your fellow man, and perhaps the sheer awfulness of this place will become a little more tolerable” (160). Let’s not forget.

NICO BELLA RIGG MACINNES

2014. Decoratively Depicting Destruction in Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See

All the Light We Cannot See is a unique narrative exploration of fleeting connections, and the unpredictable lives experienced in wartime. Published in 2014, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel brought Anthony Doerr (b. 1973, Cleveland, Ohio) widespread recognition as a fiction author. It has become one of his most established works and was also adapted into a well-received Netflix series in 2023. The novel is celebrated for its innovative narrative structure and its thematic exploration of survival, war’s destruction and the beauty of human connection.

The blind protagonist Marie-Laure inspires the title’s layered reference to both the absence of light—literal and metaphorical—and the unappreciated resilience of human connection. The American author presents a historical but also fantastical depiction of life and relationships during the Second World War. The double bildungsroman follows German Werner and French Marie-Laure while their shared search for stability and purpose amidst destruction unites their contrasting experiences.

Doerr explores the complex balance of separation and unity, duty and free will, and fate, from both Nazi and French Resistance perspectives. The novel unfolds over ten years, cutting between past, present and future, to depict the lives and interactions with, around and accounted by the war. Werner’s narrative explores his gradual realization of autonomy and morality within the oppressive Nazi regime, while Marie-Laure’s emphasizes survival and familial bonds as she navigates life after fleeing to Saint-Malo with her father. The corruptive nature of war underlines both Werner and Marie-Laure’s perspectives. The novel is both heartwarming and heartbreaking as it depicts the gritty, grotesque reality of wartime, noting that “history is whatever the victors say it is” (84), while Doerr tensions both narratives through a constricting opposition of the characters cultural positions.

Although the main conflict of the novel arises from the war, the novel surpasses a simple historical reflection; it is an exploration of the human condition, sacrifice, and the complicated morality of survival. The “light” represents not only Werner and Marie-Laure’s experiences but also the untold stories of countless individuals who suffered to exist in the war and survive it. It is a demand composed of celebration for the lives of resilience and the determination of love and of loss in harsh historical times, of those whose stories would otherwise be buried with their bodies. The novels antagonist, Von Rumple, provides an individual tale of greed and desperation in his quest for the mythical “Sea of Flames” diamond, believed to hold supernatural powers. The setting of 4, Rue Vauborel, the “eye of the hurricane” (209), links past with present, bringing communication to the isolated and ultimately staging the fleeting intersection of these characters lives amidst the chaos of chance and war.

Doerr has an incredible knack for description. The elaborate and somewhat verbose language consistently depicts a vivid image through touch, sound, scent and feeling. Doerr’s manipulation of adjectives is one of the most remarkable features of the text; his extravagant plethora of descriptions build immense depth in his revolutionary and transformative sensory depictions of the world. The immersive, engaging, evocative and imaginative language reflects that Marie-Laure, despite her blindness, is adeptly intelligent of herself and her surroundings. Doerr possesses an astonishingly efficient talent for vivid imagery: “The weather in this place: you can feel it between your fingers” (126), or “eating wedges of wet sunlight” (121). Every sentence in All the Light We Cannot See is filled with intention and meaning, creating a novel of true immersive intrigue, despite the unreserved severity in its historical content.

However, Marie-Laure’s portrayal as a blind character has been critiqued for dramatizing blindness and perpetuating absurd and unrealistic stereotypes. In her article “Anthony Don’t: On Blindness and the Portrayal of Marie-Laure in All the Light We Cannot See,” Sheri Wells-Jensen argues against elements such as her use of a model city to navigate Saint-Malo, as “not a single blind person I have ever met would count thirty-eight storm drains on a walk downtown. We walk to work, to the bakery, and back home again and manage this without the benefit of a single 3D model of the park benches we pass” (Braille Monitor, Vol. 60, No. 7, online). It is therefore important to note that Marie-Laure does not reflect the reality of the blind experience, but rather the novel’s fictional nature takes creative liberties in her character development.

The narrative’s structure alternates between timelines and perspectives, building anticipation for Werner and Marie-Laure’s eventual meeting. Although this suspense generates an engaging climax, this disjoint hinders fluidity and interrupts our investment in the narratives. Furthermore, the introductory chapters that are often only one page long read more like poetry than prose describing the settings and cities rather than the characters or a plot. Although the striking imagery becomes mesmerizing and engrossing as the story begins to unravel, the initial pacing feels difficult to navigate. The length of the novel extends to 530 pages, so being so thick with intricate description and narrative depth, it is not a quick or straightforward novel to read. Nonetheless, a sense of intelligent intention becomes apparent when the narratives of Werner and Marie-Laure unite and the novel comments on the irregular unpredictability of war and the significance of human interaction and connections, however chaotic or fleeting, as although their time together felt tragically clipped, which is only a further testament to Doerr’s thematic communication.

Doerr has an incredible ability to humanize his characters, as he builds each with individual nuance and complexity. Rather than vilifying individuals, he portrays the war’s internal and externally destructive nature as the ultimate antagonist. The intricate internal consequence of the war is presented in Werner’s narrative. His inner conflict explores a distinct psychological depth of character; malleable to his surroundings, Werner moves from innocent to influenced, fighting a complex moral battle with surrounding societal pressures. The novel questions if we can be made to sympathize with a Nazi, because “How do you ever know for certain that you are doing the right thing?” (127), when “you can’t trust anything or anyone” (280). Even Von Rumple is given valid motivation and poised in his efforts of survival. Doerr explores the human condition in its most elemental existence through the various perspectives of those frantically clutching on to what remains of their lives in the devastation of war. All the Light We Cannot See immerses itself in both sides of the violence and upholds the humanity of pacific people from both sides of the war, be it Germans or French. By exploring the lives of the French Resistance, the refugees and soldiers, the novel ultimately highlights and immortalizes the ordinary lives that are overshadowed by war.

The last chapter is beautiful in style, conclusion and content, as it ties together both narrative and thematic elements in a poignant reflection on interconnectedness and resilience. Although the extensive depiction of characters in the present may feel too neatly wrapped up to some, it ultimately reflects on the characters unlikely path of convergence to convey the impact and inspiration of strength in connection amidst the chaos of war. As “We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs” (529), the novel ends in motion, looking towards the future. In the urge to “Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever” (48), the insistence to continue now points towards the knowledge of the existence of hope and the illuminating light of our shared humanity.

KENMY FONG VEGA

2015. Viet Thanh Nguyen’s The Sympathizer: The Dualities of War

The Sympathizer is a fictional historical novel published in 2015 by the renowned Vietnamese professor and writer Viet Thanh Nguyen (b, 1971, Buôn Ma Thuột). Set during the Vietnamese War it centers around a mysterious protagonist and narrator whose name is never revealed. The novel explores themes of war and its profound impact, the protagonist’s struggle with dual identities, and elements of Vietnamese culture contrasted against Western ethnocentrism in which Thanh skillfully intertwines tragically sad events with dashes of dark humor. The novel received several prestigious awards, including the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2016, its most notable accolade. It was also adapted into a TV series, a year after its publication.

The first passage of the novel is probably the passage that captures the essence of the novel to perfection: “I am a spy, a sleeper, a spook, a man of two faces. Perhaps not surprisingly, I am also a man of two minds. I am not some misunderstood mutant from a comic book or a horror movie, although some have treated me as such. I am simply able to see any issue from both sides” (1). Set during the Vietnam War, the novel begins with the protagonist recounting his experiences in a North Vietnamese prison. As he writes a confession letter, he reflects on the events that shaped his life, providing a deep insight into his past and his present situation. The story unfolds as he recounts the events that led to his imprisonment, eventually circling back to the point where it began, in the same prison. The anonymous protagonist leads a double life, for he is both a captain in the South Vietnamese army and a spy for the North. His narrative starts with his escape from Vietnam and his subsequent life as a refugee in the USA.

Nguyen’s novel delves into themes of racism and Western cultural dominance, illustrating the connection between identity and power. This is evident when the protagonist recounts how he assisted an auteur in making a film about the Vietnamese war that failed to give voice to its people, reflecting instead a marked ethnocentric Western perspective. He is left perplexed while reading the script since he felt that in the movie “no Vietnamese had an intelligible word to say” (75). Disturbed by a script that silences his countrymen, he works hard to turn Vietnamese characters from mere background figures into key roles that reveal the harsh and heinous realities of wars, but his efforts are in vain, as he ultimately realizes that he cannot change the director’s mind.

The Sympathizer also delves deeply into themes such as duality and identity. The unnamed protagonist, a very interesting, complex, and well-written character, navigates two different lives. He is often perceived as an outsider and sometimes called a “bastard,” a term that breaks his normally composed demeanor. He embodies a split political identity. As a mole, he is caught between two conflicting political worlds, drawn by force to both Communism and American culture. He recognizes that individuals from both parties are enduring profound suffering because of the war, sympathizing with their pain and struggles, rightfully giving the novel its name. We note this when they are ordered to kill the corpulent major. The protagonist tries to persuade the others not to comply, but he fails. Afterward, he is overwhelmed by guilt, which weighs heavily on his conscience. Moreover, the novel also delves into the conflict between loyalty to a country or cause and loyalty to friends or family, as he has to choose between his country or deceive the people he loves. All these contradictions are intelligently charged with dark humor, sometimes offering a brief break from the harsh realities of war while also bringing a human touch to the story as we are sent back to comical flashbacks of the main character’s early life.

In conclusion, The Sympathizer skillfully blends a complex narrative that explores identity, culture, and loyalty against the hectic setting of the Vietnam War. Viet Thanh Nguyen crafts a protagonist caught between the worlds of espionage and cultural assimilation, offering thoughtful reflections on human experiences during conflict. The novel’s dark humor not only relieves the harsh aspects of war but also humanizes the protagonist’s internal struggles. As the story progresses, it prompts readers to reflect on the moral complexities of loyalty and betrayal, while emphasizing the impact of war on individuals and nations. It ultimately serves as a poignant reminder of the personal costs of war and the hidden struggles often overlooked in historical narratives. I would recommend this book to anyone in search of a compelling and beautifully written story, though it may be a bit challenging for those unfamiliar with the events of the 1970s in Vietnam. Understanding the historical context can greatly enhance your appreciation of the novel, as it might be difficult to follow without some prior knowledge of historical events.

SHEILA RAURELL MARÍN

2015. Prophecy and Paranoia: Chigozie Obioma’s The Fishermen, a Brilliant Nigerian Tragedy

Chigozie Obioma’s The Fishermen is a debut novel published in 2015 that blends tragedy, myth and drama. Born in Akure, Nigeria, in 1986, Obioma presents the reader with his cultural heritage, crafting a story that explores equally human relationships and Nigerian folklore. Obioma has generated international acclaim for his prose and his masterful storytelling. His work has been translated into over 25 languages, and The Fishermen was shortlisted for the 2015 Booker Prize, marking it as a significant contribution to African literature. This novel stands out for its ability to explore universal themes through a Nigerian lens. It delves into the complexities of family dynamics and the fragile boundary between fate and free will. By situating his story in the political and cultural landscape of 1990s Nigeria, Obioma offers readers an intimate portrayal of a complex family while reflecting on broader societal issues. The Fishermen is not just a family saga but a meditation on the power of belief and the devastating consequences of fear.

Set in the Nigerian town of Akure, The Fishermen centers on the lives of four brothers: Benjamin, Obembe, Boaja and Ikenna. When their father leaves town for work, the brothers decide to go fishing to a forbidden river, where they encounter Abulu, a local madman, who prophesies that Ikenna will be killed by one of his siblings, setting off a chain of events that completely alter the family’s life. After this announcement, Ikenna becomes consumed by paranoia, taking distance from his brothers and creating chaos in the family. The once-close siblings find themselves trapped in a web of suspicion, fear and guilt. The story unfolds through Benjamin’s eyes, the youngest brother, who provides really interesting insights into the fragility of human relationships and the impact of loss.

A notable trait of The Fishermen is its ability to intertwine personal tragedy with mythological and cultural undertones. It is really interesting how through Benjamin’s narration, Obioma evokes the oral storytelling traditions of Nigeria, creating a narrative that feels timeless and deeply rooted in its cultural context. The presence of the Nigerian folklore can be felt in the atmosphere of the book and between the lines. Elements such as the description of the brothers using animal metaphors (lions, pythons and eagles) help imbue the story with a mythical quality. This technique not only highlights their individual personalities, but also serves to foreshadow the events to come, as each metaphor carries symbolic weight. The language used is beautiful and poetic, translating to the reader the same love the writer feels for the Nigerian landscape and culture. However, at times readers may feel that this richness in language occasionally overwhelms the narrative, making certain passages overly dense. Nonetheless, Obioma’s prose is captivating and immersive, drawing the readers into a world where the line between superstition and reality blurs, making this minimal effort throughout the novel worth to stop and process. At the same time, Obioma situates the reader within the political and cultural context of Nigeria, subtly referencing at times the nation’s struggles with leadership, corruption and economic instability. This provides a bigger picture to get to know Nigeria, as it provides a bigger picture of the country as a whole.

Another remarkable aspect of The Fishermen is its exploration of the psychological effects of prophecy and fear. Abulu’s role is key in the novel: he delivers the fatal prophecy to the brothers, and it is chilling to read how belief, once internalized, can dictate behavior and shape reality. Ikenna’s descent into paranoia and isolation is portrayed with precision, illustrating how deeply powerful fear can be: “The prophecy, like an angered beast, had gone berserk and was destroying his mind with the ferocity of madness (…) until all that he knew, all that was him was left in disarray” (155). Obioma is able to subtly represent the shifting dynamics of the brother, making the readers’ heart break for the fallout of the brothers. This breakdown is painful to witness, since it is all being narrated through Benjamin’s eyes, whose innocence contrasts sharply with the growing tension among his older siblings. The novel also brilliantly discusses the fragility of human relationships and the destructive potential of miscommunication. The family’s inability to confront the prophecy directly allows it to infect their house, leading to irreversible consequences. This points out to broader societal themes, such as the dangers of superstition and the impact beliefs have on communities.

The Fishermen is a masterful exploration of family, psychology and fate, set against the vibrant backdrop of Nigerian culture. Chigozie Obioma’s storytelling offers a deeply immersive experience that lingers long after the final page. By intertwining personal tragedy with broader societal themes, the novel resonates universally, inviting the reader to reflect on the fragility of human relationships. This novel is a must read for anyone seeking a deeper understanding of the beauty and complexity of Nigerian culture.

NATALIA ALEKSANDRA MERMELA

2015. Naomi Novik’s Uprooted: Between Folklore and Fantasy Fiction

Naomi Novik, an American author of Polish and Lithuanian roots born in 1973 in New York City, published her award-winning fantasy novel Uprooted in 2015. Taking its inspiration from Polish folklore and tales she used to hear as a child, Novik succeeds in capturing in essence the Slavic culture in a way that is accessible to all kinds of readers. The publication of Uprooted brought critical acclaim for the author, and reaped several awards, including the Nebula Award for best novel as well a place as a finalist to the Hugo Award the following year. Even though it has not received a big screen adaptation yet, Uprooted was purchased by Warner Bros. the same year it was published.

The story of Uprooted is set in the fictional rural territory of the kingdom of Polnya. It follows the journey of a young girl named Agnieszka and the way her life radically changes when she is chosen by the Dragon, the village’s wizard who protects the place from the nearby evil forest, which is capable of destroying everything around it. The selection takes place every decade and it is said that only the smartest and most beautiful girl is picked by the wizard. Once she is selected, she follows the wizard to his tower, where she is expected to serve him for the upcoming ten years. Meanwhile, the chosen girl also gets to learn some spells that will be useful later on in the battle with the evil forest. After some encounters with this evil forest, the news of Agnieszka and the Dragon’s victories reach Prince Marek’s ears. He reveals the darker story of the forest through his mother’s past and, together, he and Agnieszka face its deadly power once and for all.

One of the main factors that makes this novel so absorbing, while leaving the reader with a sense of wanting to know more with each chapter, is its description of the scenery. The Wood, despite being an evil forest, fascinates with its ability to spread fear and create a sense of distance within the locations. Agnieszka’s determination to combat the malevolent nature of the forest, as she gains more and more power and knowledge, is admirable and her ways of doing are quite relatable to the reader. From the very start, she is portrayed as a rather well-grounded young woman, convinced that her friend is going to be the chosen one. Yet, when she is selected instead, Agnieszka begins to question her previous presuppositions and gains more confidence, while remaining authentic. Another aspect worth noting is her ability to be critical of the situations presented to her: “She’s been living alone with a man for ten years, so of course she’s ruined, even though the girls all say he never puts a hand on them” (6). After all, Novik narrates the abduction of an underaged girl by a complete stranger. The evolution of Agnieszka’s character keeps the reader engaged until the end and leaves plenty of room for reflection. But it is not only Agnieszka who shows her versatility throughout the novel: the Dragon himself is also slowly revealed to be a more humane and benevolent character, which contrasts with his initial interactions with the protagonist.

There is a significant downside to this otherwise very engaging story: the pacing is quite slow. Novik struggles with the beginning, and the repetition of certain events through the usage of the same words creates a spiral rather than moving forward. There are details that could simply be avoided because they create an unnecessary dense text that sometimes overwhelms. What seems a little unsettling is the relationship between the Dragon and Agnieszka, which one must not forget starts by being quite unpleasant, with various situations where the girl feels mistreated and useless and is even accused of being a spy. Although the relationship eventually takes a positive turn, the reader might be left with a bitter-sweet impression, not being entirely convinced with how things eventually turn out, as suggested by the following passage: “He was irritated with me every time I came into his library, even on the few days that I managed to keep myself in good order: as though I were coming to annoy and interrupt him, instead of him tormenting and using me” (34). The lack of trust in most of Agnieszka’s decisions also gives a sense of frustration, as if the Dragon was the only one that was right, though if that was the case he would not need help in the first place. It is only with the girl’s help that the Wood gets defeated, otherwise, it would keep tormenting generations as it was doing.

In conclusion, Uprooted succeeds in portraying Slavic cultures in an engaging and accessible manner, while providing vivid descriptions of elements that are central to the novel, like the evil forest. Even though the evolution of the characters is arguably notable and worth mentioning, the twisted dynamic makes the story a bit harsh. Overall the positive outcomes significantly outweigh the bad ones making the novel quite enjoyable.

DAVID TALÓ RUBIO

2015. The Fragility of the Black Body in Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me

Ta-Nehisi Coates, an American author and activist born in Baltimore Maryland, in 1975, is a renowned writer and journalist. Between the World and Me is a powerful epistolary work published in 2015. This book earned the National Book Award for Nonfiction and was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. Coates’ volume consists of a long letter addressed to his teenage son, including memoir, history, reflections on racism and self-reflection.

Coates writes to Samori, his fifteen-year-old son, about the harsh realities of being Black in the United States, narrating American history, personal stories, and his struggles growing up. The book is divided into three parts. In Part I, Coates reflects on the challenges of being Black in America, giving advice to his son and recounting personal experiences. In Part II, he harshly criticizes the police brutality responsible for the murder of Prince Jones, framing it as representative of the systemic violence against Black individuals. In Part III, Coates explores Dr. Jones’ grief and resilience following her son Prince Jones’ death, sharing her hardships experienced throughout all her life. The book concludes with Coates addressing his son, highlighting the necessity to continue the struggle with resilience in confronting social injustice, emphasizing the need to avoid the tragic fates that many Black people faced due to police violence and white supremacy.

The book’s central theme is the exploration of the vulnerability and fragility of the black body. Coates illustrates how Black individuals constantly face physical and psychological violence, emphasizing that surviving in America requires adhering to an unspoken code of behavior. Coates recounts his traumatic experiences during childhood, such as his near-death experience when a child pointed a gun at him:

The boy with the small eyes reached into his ski jacket and pulled out a gun. I recall it in the slowest motion, as though in a dream. There the boy stood, with the gun brandished, which he slowly untucked, tucked, then un tucked once more, and in his small eyes I saw a surging rage that could, in an instant, erase my body. (19)

A most significant event that profoundly impacted Coates’ life was the murder in 2000 of Prince Jones, a college student who was shot by a police officer. Although the police officer claimed that Prince Jones had attempted to run over him with his car, many people believe that the killing was unjustified. Coates states that “Prince had been driving to see his fiancée. He was killed yards from her home. The only witness to the killing of Prince Jones was the killer himself (…), and I knew that the prosecutors would believe him” (77). Despite the hopes of Jones’ mother and others, no justice was done. The police officer faced only a demotion and continued working as if nothing had happened. Coates portrays this tragedy as emblematic of a society where justice and safety are often denied to Black individuals. He underscores the need for collective action in order to change and improve society: “‘It only takes one person to make a change,’ you are often told. This is also a myth. Perhaps one person can make a change, but not the kind of change that would raise your body to equality with your countrymen” (96).

Coates frequently critiques American history and the American Dream, dismantling it as a social construct designed exclusively for white Americans. He argues that this idea has been built and sustained through the exploitation of slaves throughout many centuries. Those individuals who naively believe in the fairness of American ideals are called “Dreamers,” and according to Coates they are protected and unaware of the harsh realities faced by black communities:

But part of what I know is that there is the burden of living among Dreamers, and there is the extra burden of your country telling you the Dream is just, noble, and real, and you are crazy for seeing the corruption and smelling the sulfur. For their innocence, they nullify your anger, your fear, until you are coming and going, and you find yourself inveighing against yourself (106)

Coates challenges the educational system that omits critical facts about slavery, segregation and systematic oppression. He asserts that everything he has learned about identity and the reality came from a place known as ‘The Mecca’, as he refers to Howard University, a college founded to educate African-American students. In this place, Coates could at last feel comfortable and find a space to explore and discuss the reality of America: “The Mecca is a machine, crafted to capture and concentrate the dark energy of all African peoples and inject it directly into the student body” (40). Although Coates acknowledges enduring many hardships throughout his life, his pessimistic view of the unattainable Dream might alienate readers seeking a more hopeful and optimistic perspective on the matter.

Between the World and Me is highly recommended for all these readers interested in understanding more about the racial complexities in America. The book challenges readers to reflect on their own perspectives, examining the fragility of Black lives and suggesting the need for a collective movement to take place in order to improve society. For, indeed, Black Lives Matter.

LIDIA DOMÍNGUEZ LÓPEZ

2015. Leila Aboulela’s The Kindness of Enemies: The Complexities of Identity and History

Leila Aboulela’s The Kindness of Enemies (2015) is a deeply compelling literary novel that deftly intertwines themes of identity, belonging, and cultural conflict. Born in 1964 in Sudan, Aboulela draws upon her own experiences, including her education at an American school, to shape the novel’s perspective. A celebrated author, she is widely recognized for her earlier works, Minaret (2005) and The Translator (1999), which delve into the lives of Muslim women navigating their faith and cultural identity within the culture of the United Kingdom. With The Kindness of Enemies, Aboulela broadens her thematic focus, addressing the multifaceted challenges of Muslim identity in a world shaped by the post-9/11 sociopolitical climate.

The Kindness of Enemies skillfully interlaces two distinct yet thematically connected narratives: the story of Natasha Wilson, a Sudanese Scottish academic in contemporary Scotland, and the journey of Imam Shamil, a 19th-century Muslim leader who resisted Russian imperialism in the Caucasus. Through these parallel storylines, Aboulela masterfully explores themes such as cultural displacement, the search for belonging and the moral complexities as well as dilemmas of loyalty in the face of conflict. Natasha, the protagonist of the contemporary narrative, struggles to reconcile her Sudanese heritage with her Western upbringing, a tension heightened when she meets Oz, a student linked to Shamil. When Oz becomes entangled in a counterterrorism investigation, Natasha’s carefully constructed world begins to crumble, forcing her to confront her own biases and fears. Simultaneously, Shamil’s story unfolds, and the kidnapping of his son is narrated, immersing readers in a richly detailed historical narrative, vividly portraying the landscapes, culture, and sacrifices of 19th-century Caucasus.

One of the novel’s most significant achievements lies in Aboulela’s ability to blend these two timelines seamlessly, using them to complement and enhance each other. Natasha’s internal conflicts resonate with the broader historical struggles of Shamil, creating a narrative that feels both personal and universal. This duality also allows Aboulela to tackle controversial themes with depth and nuance, exploring how history continues to shape contemporary identities and conflicts. The author’s exploration of identity is particularly compelling, as we can see in several passages such as “he became more Sudanese as the years passed, perhaps we half and halfs should always make a choice (…) We should nourish one identity to starve the other” (104).

Natasha’s struggles with cultural displacement mirror Leila’s own search for belonging and reconciliation with her multiple identities. These themes are further amplified by Oz’s connection to Imam Shamil, which adds layers of complexity to the narrative. The novel’s portrayal of the modern Muslim experience—particularly in the post-9/11 era—is thoughtful and empathetic, shedding some light on the misunderstandings and prejudices that continue to be present in public discourses. In addition to this, the way in which Aboulela expresses her thoughts is elegant and understated, capturing both the rugged beauty of the 19th-century Caucasus and the misty landscapes of contemporary Scotland with evocative detail. Her writing is effective in portraying the emotional depth of the characters, and the historical sections manage to immerse readers into profound ethical dilemmas, which makes this reading even more appealing and engaging.

Nevertheless, one of the primary challenges lies in the pacing of the dual timelines. Although the historical and the contemporary narratives are thematically intertwined, the contemporary sections, focusing on Natasha’s life, occasionally feel slower and less urgent than the gripping historical narrative of Imam Shamil. This disparity may leave readers more invested in Shamil’s story, which is filled with high-stakes drama, moral dilemmas, and a vivid portrayal of the Caucasus during a time of upheaval. In contrast, Natasha’s storyline, though emotionally rich and though-provoking, often lacks the same sense of immediacy and tension. Moments of reflection and academic discourse in Natasha’s chapter, while necessary for thematic depth, can sometimes disrupt the novel’s overall force. Moreover, the contemporary timeline sometimes feels weighted down by its focus on Oz’s counterterrorism investigation, which, while relevant to the themes of identity and prejudice, is less engaging or dynamic due to lengthy exposition. Despite these minor flaws, The Kindness of Enemies remains a remarkable work of fiction. Aboulela’s ability to address complex and weighty themes with nuance, grace, and empathy ensures that the novel leaves a lasting impression.

Overall, Leila Aboulela’s novel The Kindness of Enemies is a testament to her skill as a storyteller and her ability to tackle complex themes with ease and depth. Through its dual narratives and evocative prose, the novel offers a powerful meditation on the enduring questions of identity, loyalty, and the human ability for resilience. Even though the reading can be slow at times, it is a work that lingers in the mind long after the final page, reminding readers of the enduring connections between history and the present. Undoubtedly, this novel is crucial for contemporary literature as it challenges readers to reflect on their own assumptions about identity and societal placement.

MARIAM DVALI

2016. Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing: A Novel Overflowing with Everything

Madeleine Thien (b. 1974, Vancouver, Canada) is a distinguished short story writer and novelist who explores themes of identity and resilience. Known for Certainty and Dogs at the Perimeter, Thien has found her place as one of Canada’s most compelling and contemporary voices. Her novel Do Not Say We Have Nothing, published in 2016, received wide critical acclaim, including the Scotiabank Giller Prize and a spot on the Man Booker Prize shortlist. Born to Malaysian-Chinese parents, Thien’s writing reflects a profound understanding of transculturalism and historical displacement. This novel blends literary fiction with historical and musical undertones managing to capture the aftermath of China’s Cultural Revolution, both in an intimate and an epic way.

The novel weaves a multigenerational tale, beginning in 1990s Vancouver, where ten-year-old Marie mourns her father’s unexplained suicide. Her encounter with Ai-Ming, a Chinese refugee who takes shelter in her home, gives Marie the opportunity to explore her father’s hidden past, her family and the history of 20th-century China. It is Ai-Ming who retells the lives of her own father, Sparrow, of Zhuli, his young cousin and aspiring violinist, and of Kai, a talented pianist and Marie’s father. Their love for music becomes dangerous in an era when art was subjected to harsh political repression. The brutality of Chairman Mao’s Cultural Revolution ruins their lives, leaving a legacy of loss and exile. Through layers of different narratives, Marie manages to piece together her family’s fragmented history. The novel’s conclusion is thought-provoking; however, it also lacks resolution being full to the brim with unanswered questions, leaving the reader deeply disoriented.

One of the novel’s most remarkable strengths lies in its structure. Thien uses a very original approach, aligning the narrative with musical composition. For instance, the final chapter is titled “Coda,” highlighting the novel’s thematic ties to music. The language itself is saturated with rhythm and harmony. This musicality enhances the storytelling, lending the prose a lyrical quality. Moreover, Thien employs a deeply heartfelt vocabulary and manages to balance humor and poetry effortlessly when she touches upon heavy matters. For example, she reflects on the duality of identity with delicious, dry humor: “First, that in my grade five class, I was an entirely different person. I was so good-natured and well-adjusted there, so high-achieving, I wondered if my brain and soul were separating” (9). Such moments manage to lighten the narrative’s tone and make an otherwise heavy book pleasant to read. The psychological depth of Do Not Say We Have Nothing is another standout feature. Thien crafts characters who are as multifaceted as the historical contexts they inhabit. Sparrow, Zhuli, and Kai are not mere victims of history; they are individuals striving to preserve their humanity amidst chaos. Madeleine’s poetic elegance can be enjoyed in lines such as “She felt ashamed but could not fathom why she should feel this way, if the emotion belonged to him or her” (39), in which she captures the characters’ emotional sensitivities and pays close attention to human frailty and strength.

However, the novel also presents weaknesses. Thien’s commitment to historical accuracy, while admirable, can prove to be overwhelming seeing that, at times, the narrative feels like a Wikipedia entry, inundating the reader with context that lacks sufficient explanation. This approach risks deterring readers unfamiliar with Chinese history, as they may struggle to grasp the significance of Mao’s political ideology and regime. Additionally, the novel’s use of metafiction complicates its understanding. Similarly to The Canterbury Tales or Frankenstein Thien embeds her main story within a narrative frame. In addition, the main story presents various sub-stories, some encoded in “The Book of Records,” potentially frustrating readers who seek a more straightforward narrative. This complexity severely hinders the novel’s pacing, requiring patience and careful attention in order to grasp the full picture which Madeleine presents. Furthermore, the abstractness of Thien’s language can prove overbearing at times. Passages such as, “Inside The Sun Shines on the People’s Square, I heard an unbroken space protecting all three, and also a limitlessness, an ever-expanding room like the desert” (165), while poetic, may feel overly esoteric to some readers. This tendency towards abstraction, combined with the multi-layered narrative and historical density, makes the novel challenging to navigate.

In conclusion, Do Not Say We Have Nothing is a wonderful and detailed exploration of history and identity with Thien’s lyrical prose and intricate storytelling offering a profound reflection on art and politics. While the novel’s complex plot and historical density may challenge some readers, its emotional depth and thematic richness make it a rewarding read. Thien’s novel can thus be compared to a symphony: it demands attentive listening but rewards readers with moments of unfathomable beauty, leaving a lasting impression that lingers far beyond its final pages.

MIREIA ÁLVAREZ CASANOVAS

2016. Breaking the Cycle: The Emotional Depths of Colleen Hoover’s It Ends with Us

Colleen Hoover’s It Ends with Us (2016) is a bestselling romance novel that explores complex themes of love and resilience. Hoover, born in 1979 in Sulphur Springs, Texas, began her literary career in 2011 with her debut novel, Slammed, which quickly earned her recognition. Known for her emotionally charged storytelling, Hoover describes It Ends with Us as her most personal and challenging work, drawing from her own experiences of witnessing domestic abuse as a child. Since its release, the novel has gained in popularity, largely due to its resurgence on platforms like TikTok, ultimately reaching #1 on The New York Times Best Sellers list. In 2022, Hoover released its sequel, It Starts with Us, followed by a controversial but successful film adaptation of It Ends with Us in 2024.

It Ends with Us recounts the story of Lily Bloom, an ambitious young woman shaped by a childhood of witnessing her father’s abuse toward her mother. After her father’s funeral, Lily meets Ryle Kincaid, a charming but complicated surgeon, on a Boston rooftop. They bond over a game of ‘naked truths’, sharing personal details before parting ways. Later, the two reconnect when Lily opens her dream flower shop with the help of Ryle’s sister, Alyssa, leading to a deepening romance and eventual marriage. Yet, as their relationship progresses, Lily discovers Ryle’s dark temper, forcing her to confront her own trauma involving her first love, Atlas Corrigan. When Atlas reappears, Ryle’s jealousy escalates, turning their relationship quite volatile. Lily becomes pregnant after an abusive incident with Ryle, paralleling her mother’s struggles. After Ryle returns from London, where he was completing his residency, and learns about the pregnancy, Lily allows him to be involved, but only during the final weeks. Ultimately, she breaks the cycle of abuse, leaving Ryle but agreeing to co-parent their child.

It Ends with Us has sparked debate, particularly around its representation of the complex issue of domestic abuse. The novel’s marketing as a love triangle between Lily, Ryle, and Atlas creates an expectation of intricate interpersonal dynamics, but the execution falls short. Hoover employs a straightforward yet simple writing style, making the text accessible to a broad audience. However, this simplicity sometimes undermines the emotional depth necessary to fully explore the dimensionality of domestic abuse, missing an opportunity to delve deeper into Lily’s internal struggle. For instance, when Lily encounters Ryle for the first time since becoming pregnant, this is described with the lines: “It’s pounding because I’m terrified of him. It’s pounding because I hate him. It’s pounding because I miss him” (319). The repetition effectively conveys Lily’s conflicted emotions, her simultaneous hatred for and need of Ryle. Nevertheless, the writing lacks the nuance needed to elevate such a pivotal moment, relying on superficial adjectives like “terrified” to convey Lily’s emotions rather than offering deeper insight. Moreover, the complexity of her emotions, such as why she might still miss him, is not totally unpacked. Hoover seems to want readers to recognize how Ryle manipulates Lily, physically and psychologically, which is evident in her response to his actions: “I don’t even believe it was intentional when you hurt me, but you did” (346). It feels as though she is invalidating and justifying his abuse, despite being the victim. Lily seems to view the situation in a distorted way, influenced by Ryle’s manipulation. This portrayal raises questions about whether Hoover is criticizing manipulation, or this is a mere reflection of the author’s perspective on their relationship, which eventually impacts the novel’s credibility.

One of the novel’s strongest features lies in its masterful use of storytelling, seamlessly transitioning between past and present through Lily’s teenage diary. Hoover skillfully integrates these flashbacks, making the shifts feel organic as readers learn about Lily’s past through her rereading of the diary. This narrative technique is essential for helping readers completely understand Lily’s evolving view on relationships and personal growth, as reflected in her diary: “For the most part, I hate men because the only example I have is my father. But spending all this time with Atlas is changing me” (148). Lily’s shifting perspective on relationships becomes indisputable, providing essential context for comprehending her future decisions.

Through these flashbacks, readers also come to know Atlas’ life and their relationship as teenagers, even though he is not reintroduced in the present timeline until chapter fifteen. Despite his absence, Atlas emerges as a protective figure, as seen when he confronts Ryle upon noticing injuries on Lily’s face: “You touch her and I’ll cut your fucking hand off and shove it down your throat, your worthless piece of shit” (198). This moment underscores Atlas’ role as a source of safety and support for Lily, standing in sharp contrast to Ryle’s abusive nature. After Ryle’s final violent act, Lily seeks refuge in Atlas’ home, reinforcing his function as her protector. Conversely, this reliance on Atlas to save Lily raises a significant critique about the novel’s depiction of abusive relationships. While Atlas’ intervention adds dramatic resolution, it risks oversimplifying the complexities many women face in abusive situations. In real life, women in these situations often lack the immediate option of a protective figure to turn to, leaving them vulnerable and isolated. By relying on Atlas, Hoover may inadvertently undermine Lily’s autonomy, portraying her as dependent on external support rather than emphasizing her own strength and agency.

To conclude, It Ends with Us attempts to tackle the sensitive subject of domestic abuse, but it fails to deliver the emotional and narrative depth such a topic demands. While the story effectively employs flashbacks and benefits from a straightforward narrative structure, its oversimplified writing and reliance on dramatic but unrealistic solutions diminishes its impact. Instead of offering a nuanced portrayal of resilience and self-empowerment, the novel often reduces its protagonists’ struggles to surface-level emotions and convenient resolutions. Despite its flaws, the book has sparked essential conversations about domestic abuse, making a significant, if imperfect, contribution to contemporary literature.

EVA MORENO CRUAÑEZ

2016. Beyond Comedy: Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime

Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood is the comic autobiography of South-African comedian Trevor Noah (b. Johannesburg, 1984). The memoir, published in 2016, focuses on Noah’s experiences as the son of a white Swiss father and a black Xhosa mother, a relationship that took place during a time in which interracial relationships were unlawful under Apartheid. Through a perfect blend of humor and ingenious storytelling, Noah offers an intimate perspective on his childhood, while also commenting on hard themes regarding race, abuse and systematic oppression. Born a Crime garnered great acclaim in the United States, including recognition from The New York Times, Booklist, Newsday and National Public Radio (NPR) as one of the best books of the year. The audiobook, narrated by Noah himself, has been highly praised as well, frequently being described by listeners as brilliant.

Born a Crime opens with a two-chapter introduction to the context of South Africa’s history and political background that is relevant to understand the rest of the book. Following this, the narrative consists of a series of short essays, each with its own theme, or a lesson Noah believes he learned from that experience. The volume does not follow a specific chronological order, though all the pieces deal with Noah’s upbringing under the Apartheid regime, and its lasting impact during his later childhood. The central figures Noah talks about are his mother, Patricia, and his abusive stepfather, Abel. Noah recounts the fear of his early life, when his very existence was illegal, as well as the challenges he faced once Apartheid ended. He talks about the bullying he suffered, his alienation and sense of not belonging anywhere due to being mix-raced, and how his mother’s marriage changed their relationship. The birth of his stepbrothers distanced him from her, yet she moved Noah and his brothers into a shack in the yard, to protect them from the physical abuse she herself suffered. In between the essays on his family, Noah also narrates his romantic experiences: how his racial status influenced his relationships and how they shaped his sense of identity.

Although the book is classified as comedy, and one might expect it to be mainly humorous, one of its defining features is how emotionally charged it is. While Noah’s storytelling is captivating and light, and the essay structure makes the book quite addictive, its most fitting description would be intense. Its harrowing and honest narrative offers an insightful commentary on systematic injustice and segregation, and the way these issues impact young people. Born a Crime is not suited for the weak of heart, and it is not a light reading. There are moments that could make the reader need a pause to reflect on the gravity of what they have just read and its implications. For instance, Noah, almost casually recounts how as a child of a forbidden relationship under Apartheid, his parents sometimes left him alone on the street if they spotted a police officer. On another occasion, for example, he describes how his maternal grandmother did not “discipline him” using physical punishment because she feared the consequences. Noah had lighter skin than her, so she was scared of killing “a white person.”

One of the most compelling aspects of Noah’s narrative is his mother Patricia. Despite her flaws, Noah’s mother is undeniably the hero of the story. He portrays her as relentless and strong, with an unwavering love for him that defined who he became as a person. Their convoluted relationship is perfectly captured here: “She taught me to challenge authority and question the system. The only way it backfired on her was that I constantly challenged and questioned her” (158). Despite their constant conflicts and her contradictory nature, Patricia teaches Noah about resilience and fighting for one’s beliefs, which is one of the main themes of the story. In the final essay, the book culminates with the harrowing recounting of when Patricia finally left her violent husband. Noah learns from one of his stepbrothers that Abel found them and attempted to shoot his own children. Patricia, protecting them, was shot in the head, but miraculously survived. This conclusion highlights the themes of resilience and identity that define the book.

Ultimately, Born a Crime is a compelling, addictive and though-provoking memoir. While it may be denser and more emotionally taxing that one might initially expect, it is undoubtedly worth the read. Trevor Noah’s excellent narrative style and voice offer a great internal exploration in a beautifully engaging manner and this memoir could be highly recommended for those seeking a deep, meaningful account of a horrifying reality.

MARC SILVA I MUÑOZ

2017. Love, Loss, and the Afterlife in George Sanders’s Lincoln in the Bardo

The novel Lincoln in the Bardo, by American writer George Saunders (b. 1958, Amarillo, Texas) seeks to delve into the bitter and painful feelings of life. Pain and loss are treated through the characterization of the Buddhist bardo as a liminal space between life and death. The author nurtures the plot by mixing real history and characters with fiction, which gives the narrative an immersive touch of magical realism. Notably, the narrative centers on the death of Willie Lincoln, the son of the then president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln. The events of the book take place on a single night in Georgetown Cemetery in 1862. Through the paternal grief of losing a son, the novel delves into themes of mortality, love, and the collective human experience. Saunders offers a deeply moving and thought-provoking story that redefines what a historical novel can achieve.

One of the most attractive aspects of Saunder’s novel is its unique narrative form. Saunders moves away from traditional narrative, using instead a set of perspectives drawn from historical sources, whether real or invented. He also makes use of the voices of the spirits that reside in the cemetery. This narrative is not chosen at random as it allows readers to experience the story through multiple points of view, offering a multifaceted view, both intimate and panoramic, of the characters and their internal disputes. Hans Vollman, Roger Bevins III, and Reverend Everly Thomas, the main spirits behind the narrative, offer different points of view that converge in a mixture of humor, sadness, and philosophical reflection as they wander through the inhospitable bardo (a sort of Buddhist limbo). Intentionally, the author seeks to reflect the multiple and chaotic voices of the human condition.

Another important aspect shaping the narrative is Abraham Lincoln’s profound pain and grief over the death of his son Willie. Saunders gets rid of the historical president and portrays Lincoln as a father, overwhelmed by the horrific situation, who at the same time needs to be strong enough to take responsibilities as a president during the Civil War. Lincoln’s vulnerability is palpable when he visits his son’s crypt, where he cradles Willie’s lifeless body, humanizing the historical figure and making this scene one of the most poignant ones. After contemplating this scene, the spirits in the bardo can finally confront their own unresolved issues. Lincoln’s characterization seeks to capture the duality of the character: a man burdened by both personal and national tragedies. The president’s grief can be seen as a reflection of the nation’s sorrow destroyed by the spoils of war, making the story both intimate and universal.

Another striking element of the novel is its exploration of the afterlife’s perspective and its representation of the human condition. The spirits in the bardo portray a diverse cross-section of society, each embodying unresolved desires, attachments, and regrets that keep them tethered to the earthly realm. For instance, Hans Vollman remains in the bardo because of his unfulfilled desire to live a life he never fully experienced, while Roger Bevins III clings to the realm due to his longing for acceptance and love, which deeply shapes his narrative and outlook. These characters highlight the universal inner struggle to reconcile with one’s past. As the novel examines these tensions, Saunders incorporates reflections on parental grief, such as when he writes:

When a child is lost there is no end to the self-torment a parent may inflict. When we love, and the object of our love is small, weak, and vulnerable, and has looked to us and us alone for protection; and when such protection, for whatever reason, has failed, what consolation (what justification, what defense) may there possibly be? (74).

This poignant observation resonates deeply with the story’s broader themes of loss and responsibility. Through Willie’s acceptance of his death and his departure from the liminal space, Saunders ultimately suggests that letting go is one of the toughest and bravest acts a human can experience a transformative path to transcendence.

It is worth mentioning that the surreal and experimental elements in the novel draw comparisons to Gabriel García Márquez’s A Hundred Years of Solitude, particularly in their shared use of magical realism to explore such powerful themes. Both authors craft a narrative where the supernatural seamlessly intertwines with human experience, creating a space where grief, love, and memory transcend the boundaries of reality. The spirits in the bardo, much like the Buendía family in Márquez’s work, embody a collective history of unresolved emotions and desires, offering a multifaceted view of the human condition. This interplay of the fantastic and the deeply personal enriches Saunders’s narrative, making it both a homage to the traditions of magical realism and a unique exploration of the themes of loss and transcendence.

Lincoln in the Bardo is a challenging and virtuoso work that defies conventional storytelling to offer a deeply moving meditation on grief, love, and the human spirit. George Saunders skillfully blends history, fiction, and surrealism into a novel that is as thought-provoking as it is emotionally resonant. Nevertheless, its fragmented structure might not be suitable for some readers, as the constant shifts in perspective, the inclusion of historical excerpts, and large number of characters can feel overwhelming and, at times, dilute the emotional core of the story. Despite these challenges, Saunders’s innovative approach provides a richly rewarding literary experience for those willing to embrace its complexity. On a personal level, the theme of letting go of a loved one deeply resonated with me, as I found myself identifying with the struggles depicted in the book. Having said that, the novel’s exploration of such a controversial and complex topic may not appeal to all tastes or readers, making it a work that demands both openness and reflection.

MAR ÁLVAREZ RIDAO

2017. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo: Brilliant, Problematic, and Everything in Between

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (2017) by Taylor Jenkins Reid (b. Massachusetts, 1983) is a renowned bestseller held dear to many readers. In the year of its release, this historical fiction drama was a finalist for the Book of the Month’s Book of the Year award and was nominated for a Goodreads Choice Award for Best Historical Fiction. The story follows the successful actress Evelyn Hugo, who, at 79, narrates her life to young journalist Monique Grant. Evelyn, having lost her loved ones, offers Monique exclusive rights to her biography but keeps her motivations in the shadows.

The narrative unfolds through Evelyn’s relationships with her seven husbands, exploring themes of ambition, love, identity, and loss. Growing up in poverty, Latina Evelyn disguises her Cuban background and rises to Hollywood fame in the 1950s with her refreshing image; then she finds her true love, Celia St. James, another actress, which leads to a secretive, tumultuous relationship shadowed by societal lesbophobic prejudices along several decades. The plot reveals Evelyn’s complex web of relationships and choices, culminating in revelations about Monique’s dead father, and consequently, her connection with Evelyn. The elderly star’s terminal illness leaves Monique introspectively considering love, identity, and legacy.

One of Evelyn Hugo’s strongest features is its ability to keep the reader engaged. Its pacing is self-conscious yet exciting, intertwining Evelyn’s personal and professional struggles with broader societal challenges. The characterization is smooth while the novel authentically portrays the struggles of LGBTIQ+ individuals in mid-20th-century Hollywood, enriching its worldbuilding. Evelyn Hugo emerges as a flawed yet compelling protagonist, her ambition and vulnerability intricately balancing her persona, as it can be seen in her worries about the possible exposure of her relationship with Celia: “No one is going to back us, Celia... We’d tell the truth about our lives, and they’d bury us. We could end up in prison or in a mental hospital” (170-171). Yet, while the novel offers a truthful depiction of LGBTIQ+ struggles, the reliance on tragic narrative may unintentionally reinforce limiting stereotypes. Future works either by Reid or others might benefit from exploring more celebratory portrayals of queer identities from the past century. Indeed, the community could benefit from having happy LGBTIQ+ love or identity stories and leaving drama behind so that its members can enjoy positive input about their lives. Yet, despite leaning into dramatic tropes, Reid’s novel captivates with its vivid descriptions and psychological depth, making Evelyn’s journey both heartbreaking and somewhat triumphant, despite tragedy.

While the narrative is entertaining, as noted, some plot aspects feel overly dramatic or contrived. The premise of the seven husbands, though thematically rich, risks feeling excessive. Certain marriages, such as the last one, appear forced, primarily inserted to advance plot points rather than deepen character development. Beyond this, the connection between Evelyn and Monique is pivotal to the story, yet it risks feeling overly staged, undermining its emotional resonance and handling. Reid’s approach to the plot twist feels underdeveloped. Certain events, such as Evelyn’s relentless marriage manipulations, stretch plausibility, weakening the story’s otherwise strong foundation. Despite these criticisms, the complexities of Evelyn’s life sustain reader investment, even if the elaborate drama occasionally overshadows subtler themes.

Another of the novel’s most remarkable elements is its portrayal of bisexuality, avoiding reductive labels and presenting Evelyn’s struggles with authenticity. The representation of lesbian relationships is refreshingly explicit, offering visibility without deviating it as complementary. Evelyn’s assertion that she is bisexual—”Don’t ignore half of me so you can fit me into a box” (123)—encapsulates her defiance against societal norms and oppressive behavior even inside the LGBTQ community. Furthermore, the intimate moments between Evelyn and Celia are depicted emphasizing emotional and physical connection—”I lifted her dress and slipped my hand up her thigh. I held her against the door, I kissed her, and with one hand I touched her the way I knew she liked” (231)—instead of leaving the reader awaiting for the sex scene that will never come because it is left implicit somewhere. This is one of the most frequent criticisms this kind of story gets. The novel’s commitment to exploring different identities, especially in its nuanced depiction of lesbian and bisexual relationships, is of great value. Its wider influence, however, could be limited by its dependence on tragedy as a narrative device, indicating the need for more varied storytelling that incorporates colorful queer narratives.

In conclusion, Taylor Jenkins Reid’s The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is a compelling exploration of ambition, identity, and LGBTIQ+ representation. Nonetheless, its reliance on melodramatic tropes and occasional narrative contrivances limits its impact, even as its nuanced characters and vivid storytelling captivate readers. Even so, the novel captures both the glamour and struggles of Hollywood. By intertwining Evelyn’s story with broader discussions of identity and ambition, Jenkins Reid crafts a narrative that resonates beyond its historical setting, offering a lens through which contemporary audiences can reflect on progress in LGBTIQ+ representation.

NIHADE EL HABBAJ

2017. Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad: A Story about Struggle and the Search for Freedom

Colson Whitehead is an American author, born in 1969 in New York, celebrated for his unique, rich, and engaging writing style. One of his most famous works is The Underground Railroad, first published in 2016. This novel was Oprah’s Book Club pick, a Pulitzer Prize for fiction (2017) and winner of the National Book Award. Additionally, it was a top 10 Sunday Times bestseller. Whitehead’s novel represents a significant contribution to 21st-century African American fiction, blending historical fiction, neo slave narrative, and magical realism. Apart from this famous work, Whitehead is also known for other works including his second most popular book The Nickel Boys. Both this novel and The Underground Railroad have been adapted as, respectively, a film and a series.

The Underground Railroad is set in 1850 across different states like Georgia, Indiana and North and South Carolina. It is a third-person narrative written from the perspective of Cora, the protagonist, and other secondary characters. Cora, a young, enslaved girl, is determined to escape the horrors of plantation life. After facing a harsh and isolated life—her mother escaped the plantation years earlier, leaving Cora alone— Cora’s desire for freedom is fueled by the brutal violence and the oppression she faces daily. Inspired by the real-life underground railroad, a network of safe houses for runaway slaves, Whitehead reimagines the historical underground railroad as an actual network of subterranean trains used to transport enslaved African-Americans to freedom. Guided by the conductor Caesar, and pursued by the slave catcher Ridgeway, Cora’s journey takes her through different states, each related in a unique way to slavery and race relations. The journey begins in South Carolina, a more progressive society where African Americans are given jobs, education and health care but at a horrible cost, motivating the continuation of the escape. It culminates in a final confrontation in Valentine Farm, a Black community that offers refuge and belonging before being shattered by a violent attack. The narrative mixes historical events with fictional elements, highlighting themes of freedom, resilience, and the harsh realities of American slavery.

Whitehead excels in capturing the brutality of plantation life and the psychological toll on the enslaved individuals making Cora’s motivations and struggles deeply relatable. The novel emphasizes the harsh life in the plantations and the violence faced by the enslaved. The reimagining of the Underground Railroad as a literal train system adds an element of magical realism that amplifies the narrative’s symbolic depth. Each character contributes uniquely to the narrative, such as Ridgeway, who represents the brutal enforcement of racial hierarchies. The illustration of North Carolina’s racial cleansing policies—whereby African Americans and those aiding them face extermination—is particularly haunting, serving as a chilling reminder of historical atrocities. Similarly, the portrayal of the Valentine Farm community in Indiana offers a brief glimpse of freedom and unity before being destroyed by violence. The railroad itself serves as a metaphor for the perilous and secretive journey toward freedom, while Cora’s character highlights the additional constraints placed on women within the racial hierarchies of the time.

The Underground Railroad is a remarkable narrative yet it has a minor flaw. Ridgeway, while a compelling antagonist, occasionally feels more symbolic than fully fleshed out as a character. Additionally, the mix of historical realism with fantastical elements may divide readers. Some might find that the magical realism, while inventive, lessens the historical gravity of the narrative. However, the story’s realistic historical foundation helps to balance and overcome this minor critique.

In conclusion, Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad is a powerful novel that may have left a lasting impact on literature. The narrative highlights the main sufferings in the history of the United States, using a realistic historical background blended with fictional elements. Through the character of Cora and other secondary characters, Whitehead illustrates the horrors of slavery and the resilience of those fighting for freedom, with the Underground Railroad serving as a significant symbol of their deep suffering. Despite a minor critique, its unique representation of historical events creates a deeply moving and thought-provoking story.

MARTA FERNÁNDEZ CARRILLO

2017. Loyalty, Identity, and Contemporary Tragedy in Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire

Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire, published in 2017, is considered a contemporary retelling of Sophocles’ Antigone due to its numerous parallels with the Greek tragedy. The novel was highly praised for covering complex themes such as the overlapping of personal and political conflicts, and loyalty and identity issues. Shamsie (b. 1973), is a British-Pakistani author who often addresses topics such as the sense of belonging or displacement in her novels, just as she does in Home Fire. Indeed, Shamsie’s birthplace, Karachi, Pakistan, is mentioned in the book, as the Pasha family is of Pakistani origin. The novel addresses readers interested in social and political themes and those who enjoy emotional and tragic narratives and literary fiction.

The plot centers on the Pasha family: Isma, the eldest of the three siblings, and Aneeka and Parvaiz, whom Isma has raised after their parents’ deaths. All of them face the challenge of being Pakistani while dealing with their father’s jihadi past. Isma, who is now free as her siblings have grown up, accepts an invitation from a professor in the United States that finally allows her to prioritize her education and career. In Massachusetts, Isma meets Eamonn Lone, the son of Karamat Lone, a British Home Secretary known for his policies against Muslims. Later, back in London, Eamonn meets Aneeka, and he becomes interested in both her beauty and mysterious personality. Meanwhile, Parvaiz seeking to understand his father and longing for connection, is manipulated by a terrorist organization exploiting his vulnerability. He is persuaded to join a militant group in the ISIS caliphate by Farooq, a recruiter. Eventually, he realizes that he is trapped and regrets his decision, so he seeks help from his twin sister, Aneeka. Aneeka remains fiercely loyal to him while she starts a relationship with Eamonn; hence, personal and political interests collide and lead to a catastrophic conclusion.

Shamsie’s novel attracts readers with its rich exploration of identity and belonging, as she vividly portrays through the characters the struggles of British Muslims torn between cultures. Isma’s rational and calm personality contrasts with Aneeka’s defiance, as Aneeka frequently questions the policies of Eamonn’s father toward Muslims. Not to mention that she intends to use her relationship with Eamonn as a bridge to secure her brother’s safe return to the United Kingdom:

I was with him because I thought he could help. Ask him, he’ll tell you, I wanted my brother to be able to come back. It’s all I want now... Because I wanted him to want to do anything for me before I asked him to do something for my brother. (139, original ellipsis).

This illustrates Aneeka’s sense of loyalty to her family and her identity. One particularly remarkable moment occurs when Aneeka uses a scarf to cover her head and Eamonn questions the fact that she wants to cover herself: “‘Why’d you have to do that?’ he said, and she brushed the end of the scarf against his throat and said, ‘I get to choose which parts of me I want strangers to look at, and which are for you’” (55). The scarf symbolizes her willingness to remain faithful to her identity since she uses it in public to assert agency over her culture. Moreover, in this scene, she makes quite clear that no one will have the power to change her traditions and beliefs.

Shamsie’s narrative in Home Fire is also outstanding because of the multi-perspective structure she uses in order to allow readers to understand each character’s internal conflicts and perspectives. Moreover, Shamsie’s ability to address contemporary political issues such as Islamophobia and controversial immigration policies makes the novel unique. Her use of Antigone as a foundation is particularly engaging, creating a similar central conflict, making numerous parallelisms with the characters such as Aneeka with Antigone, and providing a tragic ending. However, at the end of the novel, the storytelling might feel slightly abrupt and dramatic. For instance, in the final scenes, when Parvaiz dies trying to escape the caliphate and Aneeka travels to Karachi to retrieve her brother’s body, a tragic bombing leaves Aneeka’s political protests and her fight against British immigration policies unresolved. Aneeka defies the state’s authority on several occasions and she attracts media attention. However, even though she remains ultimately loyal to her identity and her family, the reader may feel that she had more to say.

In conclusion, Home Fire skillfully explores family and identity issues and the coincidence of personal with political matters. Shamsie’s multi-perspective narrative and her examination of each character make the novel so unique and attractive to the reader since it is easy to connect with every character’s perspective. By covering themes such as identity and struggles with immigration and inclusion in a country like the United Kingdom, the author addresses contemporary issues and stigmas in our society towards Muslims, offering readers a thought-provoking and emotionally striking experience.

ARIADNA LITZELL ALEIX

2018. Sleeping to Forget: Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation

My Year of Rest and Relaxation (2018) by Ottessa Moshfegh (b. 1981, Boston) quickly became a New York Times bestseller, standing out for its dark humor and psychological insight. The author is also known for novels such as Eileen, which was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize. The protagonist of My Year of Rest and Relaxation is a young girl living in New York in the 2000s. The novel is literary psychological fiction exploring themes of privilege, introspection and self-imposed isolation. Through her unique writing style, Moshfegh provides the reader with dark humor and fascinating insight into the mind of her unique protagonist.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation deals, as noted, with a beautiful young girl, whose name is not known, and who seems to lead an ideal life. She is a graduate of Columbia University from a privileged background and lives in an apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. However, she does not seem to be satisfied by her surroundings, and begins to fall into a deep isolation, preparing herself for a year-long sleep. This young woman finds a psychiatrist who gives her a prescription for psychotropic drugs, and she begins her new routine of sleeping, eating pizza, and practically never leaving the house.

As the novel progresses, we discover various events that make us understand how the protagonist has reached this point of deep isolation. She did not have a normal childhood, her mother was an alcoholic, and her father ignored her; even her mother’s death showed how little she cared for her own daughter. In addition, this girl has been obsessed for years with her ex-boyfriend from college, who always treated her in a very unpleasant way. She is also constantly trying to end her friendship with the ultra-loyal Reva, her best friend since college, and the only person who truly cares about her. In short, from the very beginning the protagonist commits acts of self-destruction but offers no self-criticism about her behavior.

One of the strongest features of the novel is how the author has managed to create such a strong protagonist, though this is a novel about a passive girl who decides to just sleep throughout a year. Moshfegh creates a main character that the reader may even dislike at some points. This is because of her obnoxious behavior, how she treats others, and the way she manages to detach herself from the reality that surrounds her. Besides, the protagonist is a highly privileged person, since she inherited all her parents’ money when they died, and can afford to leave her PR job for a year. The choice of this privileged and selfish protagonist may cause readers to feel discomfort, since her reality is far removed from that of the majority. By choosing her protagonist as the first-person narrator, Moshfegh allows herself to write literally everything that the character thinks, without any filters. The protagonist manages to express her dark feelings in a kind of humorous tone, but without being funny at all. Yet, the way in which the novel is told makes it impossible for the reader to put it down. This is a novel that can be read very easily and in a short time. The writing is good, the characters are very interesting and there is a notable psychological depth that allows the reader to continuously assess the thinking of the main character.

The plot is not the strongest feature of My Year of Rest and Relaxation, though there is a quite dramatic twist at the end, when the 9/11 attacks of 2001 take place. The protagonist maintains the same behavior throughout the novel, hating everything and everyone around her, especially Reva, and only caring about her drugs and sleep. However, her year of sleep and isolation necessarily ends with the 9/11 attacks. This event seems to awaken a part of the protagonist that we only get to see in the last short chapter, which is just one page long. Suddenly, she seems to have a zest for life and an appreciation for the people around her. When she sees a photo of a woman falling off one of the Towers, the young woman writes: “I am overcome by awe, not because she looks like Reva, and I think it’s her, almost exactly her, and not because Reva and I had been friends, or because I’ll never see her again, but because she is beautiful” (289). She is overwhelmed by the beauty of life, even as she witnesses tragedy, and this makes her want to survive.

In My year of Rest and Relaxation, the author offers readers a unique, entertaining story, told by an unlikeable protagonist who hates everyone and everything that surrounds her. Exploring themes such as isolation, privilege, and selfishness, the author demonstrates her capacity to write an interesting novel out of a seemingly eventless basic plot. The psychological insight of the novel and the ultimate twist in the plot make it an unexpectedly compelling read that can’t be missed.

VÍCTOR LÓPEZ DOMÍNGUEZ

2019. Fascism: A Warning by Madeleine K. Albright, a Convenient Heads Up

The political essay Fascism: A Warning was first published in 2018. Its author’s background is of exceptional relevance. Madeleine Albright, who passed away in 2022, was an American diplomat and political scientist born in 1937 in Prague, former Czechoslovakia, as Marie Jana Korbelová. Her family fled the country with her a decade later, hoping to escape the rise of a Communist, pro-USSR dictatorial regime. These circumstances allowed Albright to thrive within US society, eventually assuming important public roles such as that of Ambassador of the United Nations or even being the first woman appointed US Secretary of State. Albright was granted multiple awards and distinctions, among them the Presidential Medal of Freedom of 2012.

Albright’s Fascism: A Warning begins with an extensive opening that details her experience as a youngster fleeing from totalitarianism. In these first lines, she introduces the reader to the topic of the book, as she recounts how her family had to escape from their home country, Czechoslovakia, not once, but twice. Then, she proceeds to bring forth her understanding of fascism. Subsequently, the different chapters of the book focus on providing an analysis of different figures that are either clearly fascist or can be associated with her conception of fascism. Thus, she analyses dictators such as Benito Mussolini, Adolf Hitler or Vladimir Putin, among many others, and how they managed to subdue and destroy their respective democracies. The book delves into the political and social strategies used by these demagogues, always serving as a benchmark for comparison with Donald Trump, who is certainly the objective of this text’s critique and was in the second year of his first term when Albright’s volume was published.

There are numerous aspects in this book that must be appreciated. Firstly, the timing of the message sent by the text could not be more convenient. Albright saw the need to write at a time when the world is experiencing a re-emergence of the authoritarian message. Therefore, her analysis of this political phenomenon contributes to shedding light on the dangers and potential consequences of these types of populist discourses in the present. Additionally, the volume and its warning could not come from a person more capable of delivering it, given Albright’s education and first-hand experience in politics and international relations. Her background certainly helped create a personal and deeply informed piece of work. It must also be highlighted that this book serves as a historical review of all the fascist leaders she dissects, as every chapter is devoted to the history of one of them. Thus, not only does the book have considerable historical value, but it also aids the reader to understand how the twisted mind of these individuals develops. Moreover, the text also delves into how the populist discourse of demagogues can manipulate and convince a society whenever there is an empty space of dissatisfaction left by the incompetence of the ruling power. The author rightfully identifies nationalism as an invaluable tool for fascists, which they use to unite a society against a supposed common enemy.

Contrastingly, although only a few, there are aspects of this book that could be improved so that the message, which is of special relevance, might get through more efficiently. While Fascism: A Warning offers a clear description of the dangers behind the re-emergence of the fascist ideology during the 21st century and it does so in a clear stylistic manner, the delivery is, arguably, too soft. Whereas Albright made an effort to constantly include parallelisms between the past she describes and the present circumstances, this is not done with the urgency that the situation requires. Some readers might even see the events described as something that belongs to a distant time. An aggravating factor might be the author’s vague description of her conception of fascism, although this could have been done as a way to extend it to figures beyond those that are popularly conceived as fascist. Although this method allows Albright to widen her discourse throughout the book, it blurs her message; the volume lacks in the end tangible suggestions for action. The loose organization of the book also affects reader engagement as it is not always clear what the core aim is, particularly in relation to current circumstances.

In conclusion, Madeleine Albright’s Fascism: A Warning is an exceptional work that holds huge historical value, and that was released at a very appropriate time regarding its content. Although it would benefit from a few tweaks in its structure and a message delivered more directly, it is essential to read since it aims to motivate its audience to stand up in defense of the democratic values now more at risk than ever in the USA and all over the world.

HANNAH KLEINMAN

2019. Black, British, Other: Beyond the Checkboxes in Bernardine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other

Bernadine Evaristo, born in London in 1959 to a British mother and a Nigerian father, has made use of her personal experience in her eighth novel Girl, Woman, Other. This Booker Prize winning novel was published in 2019 and has since gained plenty of attention, as it treats brilliantly the contemporary topic of minorities’ struggles in everyday life. Weaving together the lives of twelve characters, predominantly Black British women, the author creates an interconnected storyline, exploring themes of race, gender, class and identity. Girl, Woman, Other has been celebrated for its thematic ambition, despite some criticism for its unconventional poetic writing style, based on the lack of punctuation.

Girl, Woman, Other has no traditional chapters, being instead divided into four sections, each providing a glimpse into the inner life of three characters. Although the use of different timelines makes it complicated to specify a time frame, Evaristo effectively interconnects each character’s story either through their relation or using common denominators like mutual hurdles (such as sexuality or gendered identity), with each character aiming to navigate them independently. These themes are explored through the protagonists’ unique experiences in their own timelines. Starting with Amma, a Black lesbian mother and playwright and finishing off with her white, old novelist friend Roland, Evaristo constantly traces parallelism in their lives. It is only in the epilogue that they converge at a theatre event, bringing together the various threads of the narrative and defying the illusion Amma states early on: “I realized I was on my own” (8).

Evaristo’s novel stuns at the presentation of a richly diverse cast, representing numerous genders, sexualities, classes and generations. This diversity of inner thoughts and experiences combined with natural and realistic dialogue creates a multidimensional and authentic atmosphere. In the process of reading Girl, Woman, Other, this allows the reader to develop a personal connection with the characters and an empathetic understanding towards their hardships. In a progressive world marked by high individualism, this enables mutual comprehension. Evaristo’s storytelling is further reinforced by the geographic and historical context. Though all are English, the protagonists’ homes differ in location and in their position in the cultural canvas that affects the experiences of marginalized groups in contemporary Britain. Through the use of her poetic and lyrical writing style, the author succeeds at creating vivid imagery that helps delve into her multiple fictional world. The living of their struggles by proxy provides the novel with psychological depth that is surely crucial for the predominantly positive resonance it has received. In addition, the thought-provoking mixture of personal and political themes makes it a timeless work of writing that can stay relevant in future societal developments.

However, the complications of fitting twelve lives into a novel of around 450 pages become evident when comparing the character depth provided for each of the protagonists. On the one hand, not all receive equal focus on their development, leaving some narratives seemingly rushed. Evaristo, who claimed to initially have wanted to fit in 1000 characters, has already tremendously diminished her ambitions. However, she possibly could have taken a step further in reducing the number of people and instead have reinforced character depth. Occasionally, the lack of character exploration defeats the idea of creating a work of literature saturated by modern concerns like gender and racial equality, as it appears to reduce a character to solely these traits.

On the other hand, Evaristo’s excessive use of detail throughout parts of the novel also weakens its readability. The exaggeratedly thorough description of mundane elements, though possibly aiding the worldbuilding and relatability, makes it draining to stay engaged, affecting the pacing. The author’s conscious decision to create a fragmented plot with nonlinear and multi-perspective structures is cleverly executed, but it is a difficult choice for a work that includes such a broad variety of people. This may disorient the reader, a problem which is further reinforced by the almost total lack of punctuation. Ironically the title shows the highest density of punctuation to be found in the novel. Assuming this has been done to create better flow and symbolize the seamless interconnection of the characters, it defeats the purpose by making it too demanding to distinguish between events and dialogues.

Bernadine Evaristo has created a daring novel with the vison to explore the complexities of Black British identity, gender and social dynamics. Her ambitions are admirable and the outcome results in an innovative plot style that she combines with an inventive writing style. Though the topics treated speak to a broad range of people, the book requires time and concentration to dive into. For readers willing to engage with its experimental form, it can be an insightful read.

JUAN DIEGO FALZONE AUBERY

2019. Undying Love: Favel Parrett’s Masterful and Emotional There Was Still Love

Although generally acknowledged to represent a physical space, the feeling of home can take on increasingly abstract forms, sometimes representing indeed a feeling or, in some cases, people. Whether it is a single person or a group of individuals, family or not, this feeling can make itself present and help relieve some of the pressures of the world. This notion of home, along with the individuals who help each other survive and find joy in life, is perfectly exemplified by Favel Parrett’s (b. 1974, Australia) domestic and historical fiction work There Was Still Love (2019), the winner of the Indie Book of the Year award at the 2020 edition.

This emotional novel, set mainly at the beginning of the 1980s with momentary flashbacks to previous decades, alternates between Melbourne and Prague, following the lives of Malá Liška—also known as “Little Fox”—and Luděk, the grandchildren of two Czech sisters separated during the Nazi invasion of Czechoslovakia. The novel foregrounds their child-like point of view when observing that, despite their separation, their grandmothers—sisters Máňa and Eva, respectively—still maintain a close relationship, with their lives moving in parallel despite physical distance. With vivid and emotional descriptions spread throughout the book, readers can immerse themselves in the story, observing the difficulties added to the sisters’ lives by the 1968 Czechoslovakian Revolution and their efforts to stay present in each other’s lives, along with the burdens that immigration, particularly in Máňa’s case, and life itself, in both cases, have taken on them. It must also be noted that, despite being a work of fiction, the novel is partly inspired by the author’s own experiences, along with those of her cousin.

From the moment the novel begins, the reader is witness to an incredibly tender and emotional writing style, lovingly—and languidly—describing domestic spaces and demonstrating an emotional connection to what could be considered simple elements of one’s day-to-day experiences, such as a sound or a smell. This is exemplified in the following quote, “She lights a match and the gas ring explodes blue—pooof. That sweet smell of gas” (4). Furthermore, the passage works as an excellent example of another of the main characteristics of the book, which is the use of the noted child-like point of view, allowing for an interesting perception of the world while being permeated with a feeling of nostalgia for the past, as well as contrasting the perceptions of Malá Liška and Luděk, with the former appearing to be more innocent or, in a certain way, more romantic, and the latter being harsher and realistic.

This intense contrast serves as an interesting representation of the difference between the lives of the two sisters. It must be noted, however, that despite the contrasting perceptions of the two children, there are some common factors that demonstrate the way in which their lives follow parallel paths, to a certain extent. One of those is the children’s noticeable love for their grandparents, who appear to be the primary parental figures in both of their lives, and carry the world’s weight on their shoulders, protecting and sacrificing themselves constantly for the children. Another similarity between the lives of Malá Liška and Luděk is their gradual loss of innocence, despite some differences. Whereas from the beginning Luděk appears to have a more realistic perception of the world, Malá Liška’s loss of innocence can be said to begin in the following passage, occurring after an episode in which, while shopping, a man standing in line behind Malá Liška and her grandmother mutters a slur against the latter, “I look up at my grandma, and she looks completely normal—her face still like stone. But then a tear, just a small one, spills down her soft, powdered cheek and she does not wipe it away” (138).

Despite all the positive aspects of this novel, it must be noted that it might prove difficult for some readers due to, mainly, two factors. In the first place, the novel maintains what could be referred to as a fragmented narrative style, constantly switching between locations and eras, in order to provide information on the background of the characters, in particular of Máňa and Eva, the grandmothers, and Bill, the former’s husband and Malá Liška’s grandfather. Although successful in regards to the creation of an emotional attachment to these characters by allowing readers to witness the hardships they have been forced to overcome, it should be taken into account that this style might be confusing for some. In the second place, it must be admitted that the story can feel aimless at points, as if nothing of relevance was occurring, due to the lack of an explicit conflict, which some readers might find tedious, although this is compensated by the gripping and sentimental story of the family.

Considering all the aforementioned aspects, Favel Parrett’s There Was Still Love is highly recommended, particularly to readers who enjoy domestic stories and works about immigrants, and the lives they must live outside of their native territories. It offers a brilliant, highly emotional recollection of different moments throughout life, as well as a masterful portrayal of the undying love present in some families, represented through the point of view of two children and their loving relationship with their grandparents.

DAYANA DA SILVA FERNÁNDEZ

2019. Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House: An Innovative Chronicle of Abuse

In the Dream House is a memoir written by American short story author, essayist, and critic Carmen Maria Machado (b. 1986, Allentown). This book, first published in 2019, was critically acclaimed and subsequently won the 2021 Folio Prize. It became one of the author’s most widely recognized works, alongside the horror-inspired short story collection Her Body and Other Parties (2017), which was a finalist for the National Book Award for Fiction.

The memoir presents a collection of vignettes that explore Machado’s abusive relationship with another woman, as well as the aftermath of their relationship. The book delves into Machado’s experience with love, lust, and sexuality leading up to her college years, where she starts her first lesbian relationship with her abusive partner, referred to as “the woman in the Dream House.” While narrating her story, Machado explicitly differentiates between her persona before, during, and after her traumatic relationship through the use of pronouns. Retelling her years with the woman in the Dream House, she uses the second person “you,” allowing for the possibility to engage in a dialogue with herself, through which she reflects on her experiences throughout the book. Beyond this, Machado uses various literary devices and genres in each of these chapters to represent the distressing nature of her experience, with titles such as “Dream House as Noir” or “Dream House as Sci-fi Thriller” introducing each distinct narrative lens.

In the Dream House tackles the topic of domestic violence in lesbian relationships not only by narrating Machado’s experience but also by analyzing the implications of this issue in terms of perception and recognition, from both inside and outside the queer community, connecting her personal story to a larger systemic issue. Machado underscores the fact that abusive relationships between queer women are not commonly considered and discusses the importance of having such conversations. She addresses this gap while challenging the idea of queer individuals as inherently unproblematic, claiming there is a need for them to be perceived as human beings with flaws: “In trying to get people to see your humanity, you reveal just that: your humanity. Your fundamentally problematic nature. All the unique and terrible ways in which people can, and do, fail” (261).

Framing her relationship within the “Dream House,” Machado sensibly criticizes the idea of lesbian utopias. She highlights the fact that the notion of queer relationships being immune to similar power dynamics of abuse present in heterosexual relationships is, indeed, a dream. In the chapter “Dream House as Idiom,” she explicitly discusses the concept of house as a place where only “the person in charge is secure” and “everyone else should be afraid” (88). In this regard, she also reflects on the pressure present within the community to protect its image from the heteronormative world that is already prejudiced towards queerness: “The irony, of course, is that queer folks need that good PR; to fight for rights we don’t have, to retain the ones we do. But haven’t we been trying to say, this whole time, that we’re just like you?” (261). With every aspect discussed, Machado provides the reader with a valuable perspective to understand the broad issue of the existence and alienation of domestic violence within lesbian relationships, and she ultimately achieves her goal of starting a conversation about the issue.

The book’s fragmented and sometimes disjointed nature might be, nonetheless, challenging for some readers. In the chapter “Dream House as Choose Your Own Adventure®,” for example, Machado presents a series of reactions to the events narrated that forces the reader to go to specific pages depending on their choice: “If you apologize profusely, go to page 190” (189) or “to dream about the past, go to page 202” (198). This authorial game disrupts and explicitly discourages the linear reading of the book, possibly disengaging the reader, as too much focus is put on the structure rather than the emotions. In the same vein and as mentioned previously, the book presents a blend of elements that blur the line between genres and allow the narration to go beyond the memoir. Contributing to the richness of the narration provided, Machado references myths, fairy tales, and other media, creating parallelisms between her personal experience and universal accounts. This approach could be unappealing to readers seeking a conventional memoir, as the rawness and introspectiveness commonly found in this genre are pushed aside in favor of innovative narrative devices, intertextuality, and analysis. Such is the case for “Dream House as Bluebeard,” where Machado uses the folktale of “Bluebeard” to explore the first instance of physical abuse from the woman in the Dream House. As she decides to stay in the relationship despite the violent act, she draws a parallel with Bluebeard’s newest wife’s reasoning: “You are being tested and you are passing the test; sweet girl, sweet self, look how good you are; look how loyal, look how loved” (67).

In conclusion, In the Dream House offers an innovative approach to the genre of the memoir. Machado not only tells a story through a stylistically diverse narration but also provides context for the topic at hand, offering diverse perspectives on domestic abuse in lesbian relationships to initiate a needed conversation and encourage further discussions.

MARC ZARCOS GARCÍA

2020. Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet: A Feminist Reimagining of Shakespeare’s Legacy

Maggie O’Farrell was born in Coleraine, Northern Ireland, in 1972. She is celebrated for her emotionally rich and lyrical novels, including The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox and the memoir I Am, I Am, I Am, which won the Costa Book Award. Hamnet, published in 2020, is a historical fiction masterpiece that imagines the life of William Shakespeare’s family during the late 16th century. The novel won the Women’s Prize for Fiction in 2020 and has been praised for its vivid prose and emotional depth. Set in Stratford-upon-Avon, Hamnet has thrilled many readers by dealing with themes of love and loss, blending historical detail with rich storytelling.

The novel follows the untimely death of Hamnet, Shakespeare’s only son, at the age of eleven and its devastating impact on his family, particularly his mother, Agnes (O’Farrell’s reimagining of Anne Hathaway). Alternating between two timelines, the narrative delves into Agnes’s life before she meets her husband and the events leading to Hamnet’s illness and death. The story vividly captures family dynamics, particularly Hamnet’s bond with his twin sister, Judith, and Agnes’s unique abilities as a healer and seer. O’Farrell also manages to connect Hamnet’s death to the creation of Hamlet, exploring how grief and loss inspire art. Although the novel centers on personal tragedy, it provides a richly textured depiction of Elizabethan life. The story’s emotional power lies in its focus on the domestic sphere and the unspoken moments of love and sorrow, rather than on Shakespeare’s literary legacy.

Yet, while O’Farrell’s prose is undeniably beautiful, her writing occasionally succumbs to overwriting, especially in her descriptions. Her tendency to use overly elaborate phrases with many adjectives and extended metaphors sometimes detracts from the emotional immediacy of the narrative. A simple scene might feature sentences weighed down by layers of imagery, attempting to convey every texture, sound, and smell in a moment. While this style creates an immersive atmosphere, it can also overwhelm the reader, making the prose feel self-conscious or indulgent. The descriptions of nature and daily life, though lush and poetic, occasionally stray into excess, as though O’Farrell is too determined to leave no sensory detail unexplored. This style may polarize readers; some will admire the lyrical richness, while others might find it slows the pacing and dilutes the raw emotional power of the story. Nevertheless, when her descriptions strike the right balance, they are evocative and deeply moving, capturing the fragility and beauty of life in ways that resonate long after the book is closed.

Another notable element is the characterization of Agnes. She is one of the novel’s most fascinating components, as she is imagined by O’Farrell as an empowered, feminist character, almost a witch, who challenges social expectations. In this portrayal, Agnes is not merely Shakespeare’s wife but a deeply intuitive woman with her own identity, skills, and agency. Her connection to nature and her role as a healer establish her as a figure of strength and independence in a time when women were often relegated to the domestic sphere. Agnes’s relationship with Shakespeare challenges traditional gender roles; while he pursues his career in London, she remains the central pillar of the family, managing the household and raising their children. Yet, O’Farrell’s depiction avoids simplistic heroism. Agnes is not flawless but complex, grappling with grief, self-doubt, and her struggles as a mother. Through Agnes, O’Farrell crafts a feminist reinterpretation of historical narratives, giving a voice to a woman who has been overshadowed by her husband’s immense legacy. Agnes’s mystical abilities, such as her gift for reading people’s inner lives and her connection to the natural world, elevate her role beyond that of a supportive spouse, making her a richly layered character in her own right. By placing Agnes at the heart of the story, O’Farrell reclaims the narrative for women and families often overlooked in the biography of the male genius. Agnes is both a product of her time and a timeless figure of resilience and agency, embodying a quiet yet profound empowerment that will shock contemporary readers.

In conclusion, Hamnet is a richly imagined and emotional novel that demonstrates Maggie O’Farrell’s skills as a storyteller, even if her descriptive prose occasionally leans toward overwriting. The vivid but sometimes overly elaborate descriptions reflect her dedication to creating an immersive world, though they can slow the narrative’s pacing. At its core, the novel is a powerful exploration of grief, motherhood, and resilience, brought to life by Agnes, a reimagined and empowered character who defies social norms. By centering Agnes and her struggles, O’Farrell reclaims the story of a family often eclipsed by history, offering a fresh, feminist perspective that modern readers will definitely value. Then, if you are a Shakespeare fan, Hamnet is definitely an essential narrative to add to your record.

GERARD ALEGRE PRAT

2020. Breaking Boundaries: A Review of G.M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-manifesto

George M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue is a powerful and deeply personal memoir-manifesto that explores the intersections of race, gender, and sexuality through the lens of the experiences of the author’s growing up as a queer Black person. Published in 2020, the book has become a groundbreaking work in the young adult nonfiction genre, celebrated for its storytelling and its commitment to marginalized voices. Johnson (b. 1985), an American journalist and LGBTQ+ activist, uses their own life as a lens to address issues like systemic racism, homophobia, and the struggles of self-discovery. The book has garnered widespread critical acclaim, earning recognition from organizations such as the American Library Association and appearing on numerous ‘best of the year’ lists. By weaving memoirs with social commentary, Johnson offers a deeply resonant narrative that speaks directly to young readers while also educating and inspiring readers of all ages. Its impact has been felt beyond the literary world, sparking important conversations about representation and inclusivity in education and media.

The book is structured as a series of essays, each narrating pivotal moments in Johnson’s life. They share stories of their childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood, tracing their journey toward self-acceptance and identity. The memoir begins with their upbringing in Plainfield, New Jersey, highlighting the strong influence of family, particularly their grandmother, Nanny, who serves as a source of unconditional love and wisdom. Johnson writes about formative experiences, including grappling with the constraints of traditional masculinity, confronting bullying and discrimination, and navigating their sexuality. Through deep personal anecdotes, they explore the first crushes, moments of sexual awakening, and the challenges of coming out. Alongside these intimate reflections, Johnson addresses broader social issues like the violence faced by Black queer individuals, the stigmatization of HIV, and the enduring impacts of systemic oppression. The book is both a memoir and a call to action, urging readers to challenge societal norms and advocate for greater inclusion and equity. As Johnson states in his book, “When people ask me how I got into activism, I often say, “The first person you are ever an activist for is yourself. If I wasn’t gonna fight for me, who else was?” (102). The volume’s narrative bridges the personal and the political, offering an integrated portrait of a life shaped by identity and resistance.

One of the most compelling aspects of All Boys Aren’t Blue is its raw honesty. Johnson’s writing is unflinching, whether recounting joyous childhood memories or moments of pain and trauma. Their ability to articulate the complexities of identity and the intersections of race, gender, and sexuality is a testament to their skill as a storyteller. The book’s conversational tone makes it accessible, creating a sense of intimacy between Johnson and the reader. This accessibility is particularly impactful for young readers who may see themselves reflected in Johnson’s story or gain a better understanding of experiences outside their own. As the author mentions, “many of us connect with each other through trauma and pain: broken people finding other broken people in the hopes of fixing one another” (32).

The memoir’s exploration of family dynamics is another strength, as Johnson portrays their family not only as a source of love and support but also as a microcosm of larger societal challenges. Nanny emerges as a prominent figure, her wisdom providing a powerful counterbalance to the external challenges Johnson faces. Johnson’s essays are also notable for their willingness to tackle difficult and often taboo subjects, such as sexual abuse and internalized homophobia. These discussions are handled with care, offering a sense of validation and healing for readers who may have experienced similar struggles.

However, while the book’s directness is one of its greatest strengths, it has also been a source of controversy, with some critics objecting to the explicit discussions of sex and trauma. While these critiques are largely rooted in efforts to ban or censor the book (the American Library Association’s Office of Intellectual Freedom named it the third most banned and challenged book in the United States of 2021), they underscore the tension between representing lived realities and catering to a young adult audience. Some readers may find certain passages uncomfortable or too explicit, though others argue that this level of honesty is necessary to reflect the challenges faced by queer youth. Another critique of the book is that its essay-collection format, while effective in highlighting specific moments, can feel disjointed at times, leaving readers wanting more cohesion in the overall narrative arc. Despite these minor criticisms, All Boys Aren’t Blue is groundbreaking work that fills a critical gap in young adult literature. It offers representation for queer Black youth who are often overlooked in mainstream media and literature while also fostering empathy and understanding among broader audiences. Johnson’s ability to balance deeply personal storytelling with broader social commentary ensures that the book resonates on multiple levels.

In conclusion, George M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue is a deeply moving and necessary memoir-manifesto that challenges societal norms while celebrating the resilience and beauty of queer Black identity. By sharing their story with vulnerability and courage, Johnson not only empowers readers to embrace their true selves but also calls for a world that is more inclusive and affirming. While the book’s explicit content may not appeal to all readers, its honesty and commitment to truth make it a vital contribution to contemporary literature. For those seeking stories of self-discovery, resilience, and the power of authenticity, All Boys Aren’t Blue is an essential read that will leave a lasting impact.

NICO BELLA RIGG MACINNES

2020. The Powerful Voice of the Dead: The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka

Shehan Karunatilaka’s The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida is a remarkable novel that outshines its detective fiction and ghost story premise. Published in 2020, this dark comedy novel tells a gripping narrative set within Sri Lanka’s tumultuous history. Originally published in the Indian subcontinent in 2020, as Chats with the Dead, Karunatilaka’s novel has since assumed several guises just like its closeted gay protagonist. To connect with an international audience unfamiliar with Sri Lanka’s civil war and cultural nuances, the book was significantly reworked and has since been translated into 32 languages to became the 2022 Booker Prize winner, surpassing the reach of the author’s first novel, Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew. Born in 1975 in Colombo, Karunatilaka grew up in a city fraught with political upheaval and violence which stood as a profound influence for his narrative’s most elemental surrounding.

The story follows Maali Almeida, a self-proclaimed “gambler, photographer and slut” (1) and his experience in a surreal, bureaucratic afterlife as he learns he has seven days, or “moons”, to uncover the mystery of his death and ensure that his photographs —which expose government crimes against civilians and the corrupt officials responsible —are revealed to the Sri Lankan society. This multifaceted narrative has ghosts, evil spirits, politicians and a tragic love affair, all within a vividly crafted afterlife. Karunatilaka describes it as “a conventional detective story with the twist being the corpse is the detective” (in BBC’s World Book Club, 2023). Interpersonal relationships between Maali, his pretend girlfriend Jaki, and his secret lover DD, are nuanced and captivating, with Maali’s desperate attempts to direct them toward his hidden photographs offering moments of dark comedy amid tragedy.

In the final chapters, Maali faces a choice to move into the “Light” or risk eternal entrapment in the chaotic “In Between.” The “In Between” is an ambitious, chaotic and often humorous portrayal of the afterlife as an imperfect system, “The afterlife is a tax office and everyone wants their rebate” (4, original italics). Its restless ghosts and disorganization mirror the novels depiction of the country’s dysfunctional system. Karunatilaka’s knack for worldbuilding shines, and despite its gruesome descriptions of violence and destruction the novel is determinedly engaging. Although the protagonist is a firm Atheist, many of the ghosts, demons, human and animal spirits are draw from an assimilation of religious beliefs, as seen in Mahakali, the central demon of the “In Between” and are attributed the wisest one-line dialogues. In this afterlife, Karunatilaka allows the many victims of Sri Lanka a powerful voice after death.

Maali Almeida’s character draws inspiration from Richard de Zoysa, an activist and journalist murdered in 1989. Both shared middle-class, English-speaking identities and lead closeted lives. The novel’s setting is tied to Sri Lanka’s complex civil war of 1989, in which the government fought the Tamil Tigers, the Indian Peacekeeping Force turned violent, and a youth-led Marxist uprising was brutally suppressed. As each group or political term held various abbreviations, the novels war-based terminology is quite complex and requires time and a strong memory to become familiar with. Where massacres, torture, and mass burials become increasingly common, these inform the novel’s commentary on how war ultimately devalues and destroy human life. “Every ghost in the story represents a real, unsolved murder or atrocity,” explains Karunatilaka in his BBC Book Club interview.

While the novel draws heavily from historical events, it reads more like urban fantasy, driven by its inventive plot rather than a purely historical narrative. The novel’s intricate plot is structured by the ticking clock, moving through each day of Maali’s “seven moons” with a clear and direct focus. This deadline drives the narrative forward, and grounds the novel’s philosophical and supernatural elements. Piecing together his own truth amidst persuasive forces of helpful and misleading guidance, Maali’s unstoppably binding and engaging journey twists, turns and then twists again as he plays the detective ghost. The revelation of Maali’s murderer is shockingly unforeseen, and tragically perfect in emphasizing the societal commentary on courage, violence and war. Karunatilaka’s skill for screenwriting emerges in the 400-page plotlines balanced pace, narrative tension and reveal. In one of its most poignant moments, Maali discovers he was beaten to death with his own camera, a brutal irony reflecting the power of photographic documentation and his life’s work eternalizing atrocities.

Karunatilaka’s vision of the afterlife draws on Buddhist concepts and classic horror tropes. Manipulating the common conception that one dies a second death once your name is last spoken, the meticulous rules of this afterlife drive the plot: ghosts can only visit places where their bodies have been or where their names are spoken. The novel is chaotic and unpredictable, feeling alike Maali, that “you are a leaf in a gale, blown by a force you can neither control nor resist” (208), the methodical structure underlies the novel allowing the plotline a frenzied creativity while maintaining its coherent drive.

Although the second person narration proves initially challenging to follow, it immerses the reader in Maali’s experience and allows the novel to consider the concept of the self; questioning whether our ‘true self’ originates our thoughts or merely observes them. Balancing dark realities with humor, the novel confronts the brutalities of Sri Lanka’s decades-long conflict in a way that is both harrowing and engaging. Karunatilaka explained this humor was essential, as “without it, the novel would have been difficult to write and impossible to read” (in BBC’s World Book Club, 2023). This wit enriches Maali’s character, as it often surfaces in his introspection and adds depth to his psychological intricacies. Maali is a flawed but compelling protagonist who is also deeply cynical about humanity. However, while his spiritual arc bends towards hope in the end, he does not undergo any real personal change, with the novel prioritizing plot progression over character growth.

The title draws from Sri Lankan folklore, which tells that a soul hovers around its body for seven days before moving on. Karunatilaka intertwines this belief into a layered narrative of history, religion, and imaginative worldbuilding, structured by the detective plot’s increasingly unravelling significance. In the end, Maali observes, “all becomes dust. All stories conclude with a fade to black” (148). The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida is poignant, unforgettable, and a novel of unmistakable value.

DIANA HURTADO GALVIS

2020. A Tale of Love, Struggle, and Healing in Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason

Sorrow and Bliss (2020) is a novel that explores themes of mental illness, the consequences of being misdiagnosed, and how one deals with them through their relationships. The novel was published by Meg Mason (an author born in New Zealand), a full-time journalist who has worked for The Times, The Financial Times, Vogue, and Elle, among others. As a writer, she has been recognized for her witty and emotional writing. Prior to Sorrow and Bliss Mason had published two other books, Say it Again in a Nice Voice (2012), a memoir of being a new mother, and You Be Mother (2017), her debut novel. Mason won the British Book Awards prize for Fiction Book of the Year in 2022 for Sorrow and Bliss and has been shortlisted for the 2022 Women’s Prize for Fiction for the same novel.

Sorrow and Bliss follows Martha, a woman in her late thirties who has spent half her life struggling with a mental illness that no doctor has been able to diagnose correctly. This lack of a clear diagnosis has left her in a constant state of introspection as she attempts to understand the root of her pain and its devastating impact on her relationships. The story begins with a birthday party thrown by her husband, Patrick, an event that strikes readers because of Martha’s hateful behavior towards him. With this introduction, the narrative then shifts back to her youth, providing insights into her eccentric family dynamic. Martha’s father is a failed poet and an emotionally distant man, while her mother is egotistical, selfish, and often emotionally neglectful. Martha’s sister, Ingrid, is her longtime accomplice and the only one who seems to understand her. Patrick, who “is always just there” (265), is central to the novel because, despite being unappreciated by Martha, his love for her is unwavering, and his efforts to be resilient are one of the reasons the narrator is able to redeem herself and understand the complexities of familial and romantic love.

Mason’s writing is sharp and insightful, as she cleverly blends a range of themes into the larger, profound scope of mental illness. She explores identity through Martha’s lifelong struggle with her undiagnosed condition, as Martha reflects on her past mistakes, her behavior and what it means to be a woman soon to be in her forties—a time when she feels it’s time to start again. Martha learns to start apologizing for her mistakes, “triaging my crimes, letting myself address the smallest or one of the smaller ones first” (261). Mason also explores the complexities of family and romantic love, illustrating how relationships, even in their most complicated forms, can ultimately offer healing when one feels lost and alone. Thus, the narrator concludes that “I have been loved every day of my adult life. I have been unbearable but I have never been unloved. I have felt alone but I have never been alone and I’ve been forgiven for the unforgiveable things I have done” (263).

The richly drawn characters are among the novel’s greatest strengths. Martha’s undiagnosed mental illness and the resulting behaviors evoke mixed emotions in the reader, making her both relatable and challenging to empathize with. Her portrayal as a flawed and raw individual invites the reader to judge her treatment of her family while simultaneously offering insight into her complex personality as her struggles are revealed. Similarly, Martha’s mother is portrayed with equal complexity. The strained and often non-existent mother-daughter relationship underscores the challenges of processing a stigmatized illness within a family. However, the transformation of their relationship into one of healing and mutual understanding is a deeply emotional and pivotal moment in the novel.

As noted, the most powerful aspect of the novel is Mason’s portrayal of mental health—its perceptions, misconceptions, and the stark reality of life for those who struggle with it. Through Martha’s voice, Mason captures the profound difficulty of living with an illness that often goes unseen. Martha poignantly describes what it feels like to exist without truly wanting to: “I do not try and explain that it isn’t that you want to die. It is that you know you are supposed to be alive, feeling a tiredness that powders your bones, a tiredness with so much fear. The unnatural fact of living is something you must eventually fix” (36). However, Martha’s illness is never explicitly named, which some readers may find frustrating since it detracts from the realism of the story. In addition, the complexity of her struggles can sometimes feel repetitive or monotonous. For example, Martha’s recurring internal monologues about her feelings of inadequacy and despair slow the pace or diminish the dramatic events.

Sorrow and Bliss is a powerful exploration of mental illness, relationships, and personal redemption. Mason’s sharp writing and relatable characters compel readers to devour the novel in a single sitting, while encouraging them to reflect on their own relationships, struggles, and resilience. The combination of witty words and raw emotion ensures that readers will not just read the novel but experience it.

AMINE IMRAN TECIMEN

2020. Matthew McConaughey’s Greenlights: Interesting Story, Unoriginal Message

Greenlights (published in 2020) is a best-selling memoir and self-help book by Academy Award winning actor Matthew McConaughey (b. 1969, Texas, USA), a man widely recognized for his successful carrier in the romantic comedy genre as well as his roles in major films such as Interstellar and The Wolf of the Wall Street. On the website dedicated to the book, McConaughey describes his book as a “a love letter to life” and explains that he wrote it by going through his diary entries with the span of more than 30 years.

The book is a compilation of poetry-like quotes and mottos, reflections, photos, and philosophical advice arranged in a thematical relation to McConaughey’s memories in a chronological narrative. It starts with his family and childhood, and it documents all his life until the time of the book’s publication, especially detailing the beginning years of his career and his travel adventures. The writing style is conversational and informal, often including curse words as well. The title refers to the author’s philosophy of not missing opportunities in life. This is one of the main lessons, or recommendations, the author includes, among others such as: just do it / chase what you want, create a life that is worth living, take risks, make your company one that you like. To make it motivational, inspiring and entertaining seems to be his intention for the book.

McConaughey’s memories are pretty unique in some senses. An example can his trips to Amazons and Mali, which are the parts that are sure to pique some extra attention and curiosity from the reader. Another potentially interesting aspect is that the book offers some insight into fame and wealth from the perspective of someone who was not born into money but gained it later in his life. Hence, it might be said that McConaughey’s point of view is more grounded compared to the majority of celebrity memoirs. Overall, the narrative of his memories is interesting enough to be easy to read.

Is the author qualified to preach his worldview? Is he entitled to promote his knowledge? To be able to take a self-help book seriously, the reader must give a positive answer to these questions. And to do so, the author must prove some superiority of knowledge or insight of some sort, or at least, an air of mystery to keep the possibility of it. With Greenlights, it is just difficult to be convinced enough of McConaughey’s wisdom to see in him any authority to give others advice. One of the big reasons why this is so is the way in which he underestimates the readers’ intelligence and in turn, is perhaps a bit too proud of his. Often, the explanation for simple advice drags on too long or is repeated too much. McConaughey goes on listing too many words in a way that not only feels random and disrupts the flow, but that comes across as trying too hard. It is as if we can see him, after dropping a very basic wordplay, leaning back on his chair crossing his arms, proud of himself for sounding so smart and original. Here’s an example:

We’re all storytellers in the movie business.

That’s what we do.

We play make-believe.

And when we do it well, we make you believe. (173)

This and other passages come across as smug and self-satisfied when an obvious idea in a mediocre way of expression is offered as a revelation. To be fair, McConaughey never claims to be wise, though he is indeed educated. But as mentioned, publishing a book with more than half of its content presented as advice presupposes that there needs to some claim of offering people something new.

This is not the only frustrating aspect of the memoir. In more than one occasion, it reads as misogynistic. The author seems to criticize or make fun of women in a much harsher way than he ever does with men. “Being a man” is obviously a major value for him, and the problem with that is not just about the word choice. Many comments regarding the concept makes it clear that he equals confidence with masculinity. It is the underlying presence of what he and Hollywood regards as ‘charisma’, which is basically portrayed as a testosterone race. That the privilege of being a white, Christian, straight male is never acknowledged does not help. It is an incredibly privileged position to be able to hold the conviction that every pain is a blessing, to be able to go on adventures without having to worry about basic safety, to have the opportunities in the film industry that McConaughey did, and so on. And it really takes away from his message of chasing one’s dreams, when he does not even seem to notice that his reality is obviously not everyone else’s.

Overall, Greenlights is an entertaining book, but it barely offers anything to learn from. Although the author seems to have good intentions in aiming for the inspirational, I believe the insufficiency of the self-awareness of his tone cannot escape frustrating any reader who does not already possess a similar worldview.

MAX CÒNSUL SALVADOR

2021. The Struggle of Politics and Communication in Space: A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine

Anna Linden Weller, also known by her pen name Arkady Martine, is an American author born in April 1985 in the city of New York. She is best known for her work in science fiction, particularly for her Teixcalaan series, which mixes political intrigue, space opera, and cultural exploration. She has also worked as a historian and has a background in Byzantine and Medieval studies, which have no doubt influenced her writing style and settings. Her debut novel, A Memory Called Empire (2019), won the Hugo Award for Best Novel in 2020, and its sequel, A Desolation Called Peace (2021) was highly praised as well. Martine is also known for her deep engagement with worldbuilding in literature, using quite complex and detailed settings to explore both the personal and the societal consequences of imperial power dynamics. Her novels often rely on themes of language, translation, and the intersection of personal identity with larger political forces.

Following the events of the first book, A Memory Called Empire, Mahit finds herself deeper in the machinations of the Teixcalaanli Empire and must cope with the tense relationships between her home station, the empire, and other factions within the empire itself. In this sequel, the main threat reveals itself to be an unknown alien entity called “the extranormal,” and Mahit, together with the Teixcalaanli captain Three Seagrass, must solve the mystery of what this entity is and what it wants from the Teixcalaanli Empire. The pacing this time is quite more intense and fast compared to the first novel in the duology, essentially revolving around the political maneuvering that Mahit and Three Seagrass must enforce in order to avoid an intergalactic war and achieve a renewed state of peace in the Empire.

Similarly to the first novel, one of the more prominent features of A Desolation Called Peace is the continued exploration of language, culture, and identity. The Teixcalaanli Empire itself is a multi-layered construct, built around various stations and planets throughout the starry sky, with Martine weaving in influences from history and politics to create a world that feels very alive and dynamic. As one progresses in the story, the true weight of Mahit’s odyssey feels heavy, and the reader can really understand very early that, were Mahit to fail in her mission, the whole Empire would fall victim to a disastrous outcome. The “extranormal” presents a very mysterious and dangerous threat, but its presence also acts as a catalyst to explore the limitations of language and the difficulty of communication between species in this universe.

Following the events of A Memory Called Empire, this sequel also delves deeper into Mahit’s character, exploring her personal growth as she becomes more involved in the intricacies of empire-building, governance, and the complexity of personal and political identity. There is palpable tension between Mahit’s cultural heritage and her role as an ambassador, and the story shows how she grapples with the idea of empire. As the novel progresses, there is a clear evolution in Mahit’s character as she slowly steps away from her past as a citizen in a smaller world and becomes the political figure that the Teixcalaanli Empire needs. Mahit and Three Seagrass’s relationship also continues to evolve in interesting ways. The tension between their respective roles (Mahit as a diplomat and Three Seagrass as a military officer) is explored in depth while their interactions reveal plenty about their personalities and the pressures of their positions. New and interesting characters are also introduced in A Desolation Called Peace, some of whom add complexity to the political intrigue of the story.

The novel’s style is quite unique, the same as in the first book. Martine’s background as a historian really influences the setting of the duology and reminds the reader of a political system similar to the Mayan Empire. The fictional universe of Teixcalaan is overall very beautifully crafted and feels truly ‘far from home’, which really makes for a very enjoyable experience. In spite of this, it should be mentioned that some of the names for the different characters feel strange and even difficult to pronounce or remember.

All and all, A Desolation Called Peace is a fantastic reading experience for anyone who enjoys the genre of space opera, with a plot that evolves at a very fast pace, though it maintains a level of mystery and tension throughout the whole duology. As an SF fan, I am very happy to recommend Martine’s still ongoing Teixcalaan series, for it is an exciting adventure, filled with interesting characters and a beautiful universe, full of life in the distant stars.

REBECCA CAREY ARRIBAS

2021. Patrick Radden Keefe’s Empire of Pain: When Wealth Becomes an Addiction

Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty by Patrick Radden Keefe is a nonfiction volume that navigates the controversial history behind one of America’s wealthiest families. Published in 2021, this work uncovers the Sackler family’s pivotal role in the US opioid crisis through their pharmaceutical company Purdue Pharma. The author, born in Boston, Massachusetts, in 1976, is an acclaimed writer and journalist celebrated for award-winning texts such as Say Nothing (2018). As a result of the author’s superb combination of history, biography, social critique, and powerful storytelling, Empire of Pain has received the Baillie Gifford Prize for Nonfiction in 2021 and was considered the Business Book of the Year 2021.

Keefe’s book traces the rise and fall of the Sackler family since this dynasty first gained their fortune and prestige thanks to their pharmaceutical empire. The family, once respected, is now best known for developing OxyContin, a powerful drug blamed for the opioid epidemic in the United States, started in the 1990s. The narrative delves into the family’s early adventures while exploring their suspect marketing strategies to increase profit at the expense of public health. Keefe begins his story with Arthur Sackler, the eldest of the three first-generation children. Arthur put himself through college and worked hard to pay for his two younger brothers’ education, Mortimer and Raymond. As adults, the three set a wide range of businesses, one of them being the worldwide known Purdue Pharma.

While Arthur made money with the very popular sedative Valium, his brothers created OxyContin, a drug more powerful than painkillers such as morphine. As a result of their devious business tactics, OxyContin became a widely used prescription: “The drug became one of the biggest blockbusters in pharmaceutical history, generating some 35$ billion in revenue. But it also led to a rash of addiction and abuse” (4) in patients without a previous history of abuse. The Sacklers’ invention caused widespread harm across the United States in the so-called opioid crisis, as Purdue Pharma knew but downplayed OxyContin’s addictiveness. A vast range of individuals who were prescribed OxyContin by their doctors became addicted; once they failed to obtain it in legal ways, they found themselves forced to use other drugs obtained illegally, such as fentanyl or heroine. This widespread addiction to OxyContin increased the wealth of the Sackler dynasty while the family did not take responsibility for the crisis, while it sunk many Americans into despair and death.

One of the volume’s strengths is its ability to raise awareness about drug addiction. Keefe exposes how the Sackler family profited massively after promoting the drug as an effective and revolutionary painkiller, with no side effects. The narrative explores their moral negligence and how greed can influence an individual’s actions by revealing how the family turned aside the responsibility just to keep gaining money at the expense of the badly affected patients. Keefe’s comparison of the Sacklers’ luxurious lifestyles and the tragic consequence of addiction emphasizes the human cost of their selfish actions. Furthermore, the author’s thorough research reveals the family’s internal documents and brings out key testimonies, which provide his narrative with solid background information and great authority. Keef’s journalistic skills guarantee that the information provided is trustworthy and valid. Another of the narrative’s strengths is that the author’s storytelling is vivid and compelling which, as a result, ensures that the issue addressed impacts the reader’s opinion. Keefe’s ability to explore complex legal concepts and medical terminology in an accessible manner for the reader enhances the book’s impact on the audience.

A drawback of Empire of Pain is its length and density. At over 500 pages, the book’s many details can make readers seeking a lighter reading experience feel overwhelmed due to the unfamiliarity with the subject matter, specific pharmaceutical terminology. The intricate legal, pharmaceutical, and financial concepts along with the historical data demand significant focus and patience. Nevertheless, these elements are vital to fully comprehend the Sackler family’s origins and influence and how the opioid crisis could have such a huge impact on the American society. While many individuals became addicted to OxyContin, the Sackler dynasty became richer, maintaining that “Addicts want to be addicted” (257) and defending that “Raymond and Mortimer had worked [very] hard to build this company” (323). Thus, by only focusing on the process of building the company and denying that they were guilty of the addiction which many Americans suffered, Purdue Pharma continued to produce OxyContin and achieving financial benefits. Consequently, readers realize that money can become an addiction too and make individuals prioritize financial gain over ethical consideration. Justice, in their case, acted slowly and partially, protecting the Sacklers rather than their victims.

In conclusion, Empire of Pain is an essential work of investigative journalism. The author raises awareness about addiction and the devastating impact of corporate greed while uncovering the secrets of one of the richest US families of the 20th and 21st centuries. While its length and complexity may deter some readers, the narrative is a necessary read for those readers seeking to learn more about the opioid crisis and its broader implications for the health system. Empire of Pain is a powerful reminder of the human cost of greed and lack of responsibility when issues like these arise. It serves as a crystal-clear representation of addiction and its terrible consequences, not only to certain substances but to money.

MIRIAM PACIENCIA SÁNCHEZ

2021. Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H-Mart: Cooking to Overcome Pain

Crying in H-Mart, published in 2021, is Michelle Zauner’s first book. This memoir opens with her New Yorker essay describing her experience of shopping in H-Mart, a Korean-focused grocery store, after her mother, Chongmi, died from cancer in 2014; Zauner also describes the deaths of her grandmother and aunt. Zauner, a Korean-American songwriter and musician born in 1989, is the lead singer of the indie pop band Japanese Breakfast. Food, for the author, became a way to connect and maintain her Korean heritage, which once was tied to her mother. “So, when I go to H Mart,” she writes, “I’m not just on the hunt for cuttlefish and three bunches of scallions for a buck; I’m searching for memories. I’m collecting the evidence that the Korean half of my identity did not die when they did” (11).

Zauner’s memoir tells the story of her growing up as an Asian-American only child with a mother whose parenting style was nothing like that of her friends’ mothers. Living outside the woods of Eugene, Oregon, she frequently found living up to her mother’s firmly un-American high expectations difficult. However, Zauner established a connection through food and, more importantly, by demonstrating she did possess a refined palate to her mother. As she grew up, performance became an outlet for Zauner to express herself through music. Eventually, her move to the East Coast to study and play gigs distanced her from her mother and her ethnic identity. It was not until her mother’s diagnosis of terminal pancreatic cancer that Zauner was forced to confront who she was and whether her connection to her Korean heritage was still standing.

Zauner uses a beautiful, lyrical prose that flows easily and transmits not only her pain at the loss of her mother but her anger against the injustice of death. She remarks how her connection to her Korean heritage mainly depended on her mother, who cooked her traditional food from her home country; however, the mother never taught the daughter how to cook, nor is Zauner fluent in Korean. It was not until her mother’s death that Zauner became interested in learning how to cook Korean food; thus, her trips to H Mart eventually led her to write the book. Anyone who has ever lost someone, especially from a cruel disease such as cancer, can see themselves reflected not only in the ways Zauner is trying to keep the memory of her mother alive through their connection to food but also the anger she feels at seeing women around her mother’s age alive and breathing. It is this arbitrary description of her anger that resonates with the reader because everyone can see their pain reflected in her words:

My grief comes in waves and is usually triggered by something arbitrary. I can tell you with a straight face what it was like watching my mom’s hair fall out in the bathtub, or about the five weeks I spent sleeping in hospitals, but catch me at H Mart when some kid runs up double-fisting plastic sleeves of ppeongtwigi and I’ll just lose it, (5)

Zauner voices the feeling of how grief is not a constant companion but rather sneaks up on anyone out of the blue to remind them of what they lost, a scenario that after living through COVID-19, many readers may see as mirroring their situation.

Zauner’s memoir is both heart-breaking as well as utterly relatable in such moments as when her father screams at the medical staff of the hospital, feeling the complete devastation of seeing his wife suffering and being unable to do anything to stop it. Facing the death of a loved one, or more precisely accepting bearing witness at the process of someone dying, seems to rush all the events in the life of the author. Michelle decides to move her wedding forward for the sake of having her mother in attendance, but more profoundly wishing that she could miraculously cure her mother, which is nothing more than wishful thinking. Zauner’s prose, as well as her actions, reflect the devastation of losing her mother, and it is through making food that the author finds a way of keeping her mother alive while finding a form of self-care within the recipes.

Zauner’s memoir is a tribute to all the ways in which her mother cared for her through the years and reflects how often she dismissed her caring and took it for granted. Her book captures the universal and yet profound experience of grief. Through food, she creates a narrative that bridges culture, tradition and identity, which ultimately shows her resilience and how, even in the darkest moments, something is still left that connects us to what has been lost and the persons we miss.

ALEJANDRO POUSADA DOMÍNGUEZ

2022. Language, Imperialism, and Resistance in Rebecca F. Kuang’s Babel: Or the Necessity of Violence

Babel: Or the Necessity of Violence (2022) by R.F. Kuang is a groundbreaking work of speculative fiction that blends historical fiction with dark academia. Drawing from Kuang’s background as a translator, the novel delves into the intersections of language, colonialism, and power, in an alternate 19th-century Oxford during the First Opium War (1839–1842). Kuang reimagines history through magical realism and linguistic alchemy while subverting the academic escapism popularized by the Harry Potter saga to criticize imperialism and systemic oppression. Rebecca Kuang, born on May 29, 1996, in Guangzhou, China, and raised in the United States, has quickly gained recognition in recent years. Following the success of her Poppy War trilogy, Babel premiered as a number one New York Times Best Seller and was awarded Blackwell’s Books of the Year for Fiction in 2022, solidifying her status as a prominent figure in speculative fiction. She is also the author of Yellowface (2023), an acclaimed novel about the world of publishing.

The novel follows Robin, an orphaned Cantonese boy brought to London and raised by the enigmatic Professor Lovell, who trains him for admission to Oxford University’s prestigious Royal Institute of Translation, known as Babel. This towering institution serves as the epicenter of magical translation, with enchanted silver bars granting Britain unmatched global dominance. However, as Robin befriends fellow students, two of whom also come from colonized lands, he uncovers the sinister truth beneath Babel’s grandeur: its magic sustains an imperialist machine built on exploitation and oppression. Torn between his dream of belonging to Babel’s glittering world and his growing awareness of its violent cost, Robin is drawn into the Hermes Society, a covert resistance movement led by his half-brother Griffin. As Robin witnesses Britain’s atrocities during the Opium War and its insatiable greed for silver, he takes a fateful stand, killing his abusive father, Lovell. Joining his friends in rebellion, Robin resolves to dismantle Babel’s oppressive magic. Seizing the tower to destroy its silverwork, Robin deals a devastating blow to the British Empire leaving its future uncertain.

One of the most remarkable achievements of Babel is its expansive historical foundation. Drawing from her expertise as a translator, Kuang immerses readers in the intricacies of language, writing, and translation, lending unparalleled credibility to the story and the setting of the plot. While infused with a touch of magic and dark academia, the narrative masterfully balances realism and fantasy, making its world feel startlingly plausible beyond other fantasy narratives such as Harry Potter. However, this is not a mere academic account of translation lore: Kuang seamlessly weaves linguistic art into the story, enriched with a necessary layer of magical realism. In a world driven by British economic ambitions to stand as the leading global power, translation is weaponized as an imperial tool. It proves to be “a necessary endeavour, however futile, to move” between languages (537). Even though some footnotes may be dense, they enhance the rich worldbuilding and highlight the violence perpetuated through linguistic imperialism. Kuang explores the duality of language as both a bridge and a blade for the empire. Students are coerced into “living exclusively in English” (20) effectively erasing their connection to their native tongues, yet are simultaneously required to preserve those languages only to inflict damage and harm their homelands (20). This contradiction lies at the heart of Kuang’s narrative.

Similarly, Babel is not just a fantasy novel; it is also an exploration of the consequences of violence and its role in erasing bonds and escalating conflicts. Kuang examines these themes through a group of friends from different ethnic backgrounds, including Robin, Victoire, and Ramy, who, despite being awarded scholarships, still feel like outsiders at Oxford, a place where privilege dictates the social hierarchy, relegating foreigners to the margins. The protagonists find a group in which they can “talk about anything” and “share all the indescribable humiliations they felt being in a place they were not supposed to be” (89). In this group, Robin finds not only companionship and understanding but also strength to confront the system that oppresses them. However, despite the emotional depth they share, the characters remain somewhat flat, largely since Kuang devotes only one chapter to explore their individual perspectives. As a result, their personal stories feel stereotyped, and readers are left with mostly Robin’s viewpoint throughout the narrative. Although the group dynamic is a familiar literary trope, it is not fully fleshed out, which somewhat diminishes the richness of their roles in the story. In any case, Kuang conveys the idea that class and prejudice destroy friendships as betrayal and murder reveal.

In conclusion, Babel offers both a deep appreciation for literature and language and a sharp critique of the devastating consequences of imperialism for marginalized nations. Kuang goes beyond the framework of an innocent fantasy novel about friendship, delving instead into the broader conflicts of colonization, thereby expanding the book’s appeal to a wider audience. Ultimately, the novel demonstrates that while violence and conflict are deeply damaging, these realities can sometimes be unavoidable.

VALERIA RODAS ZÚÑIGA

2023. Spare by Prince Harry: The Depths of Grief and Societal Pressure of the Privileged

Spare, the memoir by Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex, was published in January 2023, and it immediately became an international best-selling volume and a trending topic of discussion. Harry, the younger son of the late Princess Diana and of the Prince of Wales Charles (now King Charles III), has been under the media’s spotlight throughout his whole life. The curiosity surrounding his private life further increased in 2020 when he and his US-born wife, Meghan Markle, left the royal family and their duties. It was around this time that Harry decided to publish a ghost-written autobiography, actually penned by US journalist and writer J. R. Moehringer.

The narrative in Spare takes the reader back in time to Prince Harry’s early years, starting with the tragic death of his mother Diana in 1997, when he was only 12 years old (she was 36). The book then discusses his school years, his military service, and his rise in the royal family as the second heir to the throne after his elder brother William. A large amount of the story is occupied by his tense relationship with his family, especially with his father and brother. As the years go by, the memoir explores Harry’s battles with the pressure of being a royal family member under constant media scrutiny. The memoir concludes with Harry and Meghan Markle’s marriage and their choice to resign from their royal responsibilities, settling in California, in 2020.

Spare frequently uses a repetitive, self-pitying tone that has been subject of much criticism. Harry’s complaints, especially those involving his father and brother, take up a large amount of the volume. For example:

Far better, in my mind, not to think about certain facts, such as the cardinal rule for royal travel: Pa and William could never be on the same flight together, because there must be no chance of the first and second in line to the throne being wiped out. But no one gave a damn whom I traveled with; the Spare could always be spared. (43)

The extreme one-sidedness comes out as imbalanced and can often distance the reader. Prince William is shown as being extremely picky and critical, and there is little to no effort made by Prince Harry to comprehend the pressures his brother must be experiencing as the future monarch. Similarly, Harry’s relationship with his father Charles is portrayed negatively. Although there are justifiable causes of discontent, the story feels biased because Harry’s errors in these disputes are not acknowledged. The rest of the family are given a limited, frequently harsh portrayal, and it is only Harry that is given a layered character with mostly good traits. Additionally, there are moments when the book seems repetitive, particularly when Harry retells events that have already received plenty of media coverage, such as his military service in Afghanistan, his marriage to Meghan Markle, and his choice to quit the royal family. Harry’s own view of these matters is appealing but not as momentous as he believes.

These public parts could have been condensed to prevent redundancy and give more room to the personal thoughts that let the reader delve into Harry’s past relationships, royal duties, and mental health issues, precisely the ones that give the book an introspective tone. Spare has many appealing features despite its weaknesses, especially in its raw honesty and the psychological depth with which Harry examines his difficulties. Harry’s journey with mental health is one of the book’s strongest features. He is not afraid to talk about his pain following the death of his mother or the trauma of being harassed by the tabloid media all the time, once the newspapers deemed the time of mourning was over and the Princes were old enough to stand scrutiny:

I’d dealt with the British press all my life, but they’d never before singled me out. In fact, since Mummy’s death an unspoken agreement had governed press treatment of both her sons, and the agreement went like this: Lay off. Let them have their education in peace. Apparently that agreement had now expired, because there I was, splattered across the front page, made out to seem a delicate flower. Or an ass. Or both (57).

Harry’s openness on these topics is uncommon, especially for a public figure, and he offers important insight into the frequently concealed emotional challenges of people who appear to have it all. Many readers will find Harry’s openness in discussing his personal struggles—such as his therapy sessions, substance addiction problems, and the effect of living as a royal—to be both courageous and captivating. Here he reflects his opening up to his then girlfriend Meghan after a quarrel:

We both knew my anger hadn’t been caused by anything to do with our conversation. It came from somewhere deep inside, somewhere that needed to be excavated, and it was obvious that I could use some help with the job. I’ve tried therapy, I told her. Willy told me to go. Never found the right person. Didn’t work. No, she said softly. Try again. (353)

The extreme pressures that come with belonging to the royal family are minutely described in the book. Harry provides a glimpse of the negative aspects of being a celebrity through his thoughts on the media’s intrusion into his personal life, and the way they treated his bride and later wife, which was often racist. The book shows how Harry’s mental health and sense of identity suffered as a result of the continuous media attention and criticism.

In conclusion, Spare offers a close-up look at Prince Harry’s life and is an intensely personal memoir. Despite its flaws, such as its biased descriptions of family members, the book makes a brave and significant addition to the discussion of mental health, fame, and individual freedom within the context of the ancient British monarchy.

LIDIA DOMÍNGUEZ LÓPEZ

2023. Rebecca Yarros’s Fourth Wing: A Story of Wars, Love, and Dragons

Rebecca Yarros, born in August 1977, in Washington D.C., is a bestselling American author renowned for her emotionally charged, genre-spanning novels. Her 2023 release, Fourth Wing, the first book in The Empyrean series, has gained international acclaim as a romantasy key work, seamlessly blending elements of fantasy and romance. Celebrated for its intricate worldbuilding and compelling characters, Yarros’s novel won the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Romantasy. In addition to her foray into fantasy, Yarros has captivated readers with contemporary romance works such as The Last Letter (2019), The Things We Leave Unfinished (2021), and her Flight & Glory series. Over the course of her career, Rebecca Yarros has received numerous awards and accolades cementing her reputation as a versatile and impactful storyteller.

In Fourth Wing the story begins with Violet Sorrengail, the daughter of a high-ranking general in the imaginary kingdom of Navarre. Violet is forced to enroll in dangerous, harsh training to become an elite dragon rider at Basgiath War College. There, she meets Xaden, whose father was executed by Violet’s mother for leading a rebellion years ago. Violet manages to survive training, bonds with two powerful dragons —Tairn and Andarna—, and develops an unexpected connection with Xaden, which complicates her journey. As Violet uncovers hidden truths about the war and the college’s role in it, she is thrust into larger conflict that challenges her beliefs, forcing her to choose between survival and standing up for what is right. Combining romance, action, and richly crafted fantasy elements, Fourth Wing delivers a gripping tale of courage, love and self-discovery.

Even though romance may not appeal to all readers, the seamless blend of romance and fantasy in Fourth Wing is one of the novel’s greatest strengths. The slow-burn romance between Violet Sorrengail and Xaden Riorson is skillfully woven into the larger narrative. This dynamic relationship provides an emotional anchor that complements the high-stakes action and drama, adding depth to the characters and their interactions. Xaden’s vulnerability and intensity, for instance, come through in moments like when he confesses, “If I get my hands on you, really, honestly get my hands on you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop” (459). While the pacing of the narrative can feel uneven at times—alternating between slower exposition and bursts of rapid, intense action—this structure allows for a thorough exploration of the characters’ complexities and the intricately crafted world of Basgiath War College. These quieter moments of introspection and worldbuilding enrich the story, making the dramatic sequences more impactful. Yarros’s engaging narrative style, with its vivid descriptions and emotionally charged prose, draws readers into the story and ensures that they remain invested in Violet’s journey, even when the pacing occasionally falters. The novel’s focus on resilience, loyalty, and personal growth resonates on a universal level, appealing to a wide audience, including those who may not typically gravitate toward romance or fantasy. By balancing character-driven moments with thrilling action, Fourth Wing creates a compelling and memorable reading experience, demonstrating that the integration of romance can enhance, rather than detract from, a high-stakes fantasy narrative.

Despite its many strengths, Fourth Wing is not as original or innovative as it may seem to some readers. Its lack or originality stems from its reliance on well-established tropes and its notable similarities to the works of Anne McCaffrey. As a pioneering figure in dragon-centric fantasy, McCaffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern series, started in 1967, laid the foundation for many conventions of the genre, and Yarros’s novel draws heavily from these influences. The concept of a prestigious dragon-riding institution where only the most skilled of fortunate survive echoes McCaffrey’s Weyrs, where riders are trained and bonded with an intelligent, sentient dragon. Yarros’s mantra “A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead” (63) reinforces the centrality of this bond, mirroring the psychic links that are so integral to McCaffrey’s world. Additionally, both series delve into the social and political hierarchies of their dragon-riding societies, focusing on the interpersonal dynamics and struggles within these communities. Violet’s arc, as an underestimated underdog who becomes a formidable dragon rider, parallels the journeys of McCaffrey’s protagonists. While Fourth Wing executes these elements effectively, it often feels derivative, relying heavily on familiar tropes like the ‘chosen one’ narrative and enemies-to-lovers romance without introducing significant innovation. For readers seeking a wholly original take on dragon fantasy, these parallels may diminish the novel’s impact. Nonetheless, its emotional depth and engaging storytelling ensure it remains a memorable addition to the genre.

Overall, Fourth Wing is an engaging novel that transports readers to a vividly crafted world teeming with war, danger, and majestic dragons. Its detailed setting and high-stakes narrative immerse readers in the treacherous environment of Basgiath War College. However, it is important to note that while the novel excels in execution, it does not break new ground in terms of originality. Readers seeking groundbreaking innovation may find this novel predictable.

ALBA BATALLA

2023. Rebecca F. Kuang’s Yellowface: Anything to Achieve Literary Fame

Yellowface (2023) is a novel by Chinese-American novelist Rebecca F. Kuang. In Yellowface, Kuang narrates real-world issues through a humorous and satirical perspective, adopting a different stance from her previous works, such as Babel, which explored fantastic worlds and war-related conflicts. Kuang was born in Guangzhou, China, in 1996. She completed an MPhil in Chinese Studies from Cambridge and an MSc in Contemporary Chinese Studies from Oxford. She is currently pursuing a PhD in East Asian Languages and Literatures at Yale. Kuang is already a New York Times and Sunday Times bestselling author, a remarkable achievement for such a young author. Her work has won the Nebula, Locus, Crawford, and British Book Awards. In recognition of her success, she was named to the Forbes 30 Under 30 list in 2024.

Yellowface narrates the story of Athena Liu and June Hayward, two former college classmates. Liu is a famous Chinese-American writer, while Hayward is an unsuccessful white American author. One night, while they are together at Athena’s house, Athena unexpectedly dies. June then decides to steal Athena’s latest manuscript and publish it as her own work under the alias Juniper Song. The problem comes when, after achieving success with this novel based on historical Chinese events, accusations of plagiarism and of cultural appropriation emerge on social media. However, this does not stop June, who has become addicted to fame and money. From this point on, the story pictures the power of social media, the reality of the publishing industry, and June’s wild strategies to avoid cancellation, highlighting how far a human can go to save their reputation after being exposed as a fraudster.

Yellowface is a novel that criticizes the US publishing industry. It is a funny and satirical thought-provoking story that deals with topics such as racism, cultural appropriation, prejudice, social media toxicity, and hypocrisy in today’s society. In addition, the novel has a suspenseful tone that arouses the need to know how the story will end. Since the narration has a fast and smooth pace, the reader can quickly engage with the story, told in just over 300 pages divided into 24 well-structured, balanced, and fluid chapters. Yellowface is written in a first-person present tense, making the plot highly immersive.

The reader learns from the beginning that June is an impostor, an unreliable narrator who has no interest in justifying her questionable actions. She even believes that she is not doing anything wrong and confesses the following: “I’m skilled with words. I know how to lie without lying” (221). June, in short, is simply trying to convince us (and herself) that appropriating another writer’s manuscript is not as ethically problematic as it might seem. Through this, Kuang perfectly portrays the mindset of a woman trapped in her own paranoia. From a psychological perspective, June is a complicated character. She is self-centered but insecure at the same time. Therefore, she tends to seek constant social approval because the thought of being a failure provokes her uneasiness. In one of her many challenging moments, she says: “my God, I want to be back in the spotlight” (193), a sentence that reflects how she constantly needs attention and validation to feel complete.

Yellowface, however, has a slight drawback, which is its resolution. The final plot twist can be a little disconcerting, and ambiguous. Perhaps Kuang wanted the story to end by subtly conveying the message that the literary industry is a cycle that repeats itself and authors just try to survive in it. As June says, “I get it (...) it’s just playing the game. It’s how you survive in this industry” (308). This reflects that June finally understands (and accepts) how the publishing industry works. In addition, it is important to highlight that Yellowface, a rabidly contemporary novel, suffers from the inevitable immediate obsolescence of the current era. For example, Kuang talks about Twitter when this name has already changed (now it is called X). Also, June claims to only respect those with verified profiles on Twitter, as she believes they are the elite. After reaching thirty thousand likes in one day, she says that this “is the most attention I’ve ever gotten on Twitter, much of it from literary luminaries and internet personalities with verified checkmarks” (25). However, since the publication of this book, X has changed its policy regarding checkmarks, and now anyone can buy a verification.

In conclusion, Yellowface is a compelling novel that, from the very beginning, successfully manages to immerse the reader in the plot. It is a story that uses the publishing industry as a tool to criticize racism, cultural appropriation, greed, the dark realities of social networks, and social hypocrisy. Kuang treats these topics with a mix of satire and humor without losing the true essence of her critique. She presents a novel that, apart from being entertaining, captivates readers with its sarcastic criticism of the literary industry, the commercialization of literary production, and the unethical attitudes of its protagonists.

KENMY FONG VEGA

2023. An Irish Mother’s Journey Through Resilience and Grief: Paul Lynch’s Prophet Song

Prophet Song is a dystopian novel published in 2023 by Paul Lynch (b. Limerick, 1977), an Irish, award-winning author of five novels. Prophet Song, his most recent work, won the 2023 Broker Prize and was shortlisted for the An Post Irish Novel of the Year. Set in Ireland in the near future, the story unfolds after a far-right national party seizes power and establishes a new police force, the GSBN, converting the country into a totalitarian state. It follows the life of the Stock family, six members in total. Eilish the mother of four children and main character of the novel, is a resilient woman who finds herself at the heart of political turmoil and must take care of her children alone, after the father of this family, Larry, is wrongfully incarcerated. Eilish is forced into extraordinary circumstances, balancing her duties as a mother with the urgent need to protect her family from a regime that grows more repressive every day.

Eilish is, in her own words, “a molecular biologist by training, I have a PhD in cellular and molecular biology” (180). Her husband Larry is a teacher. Together they have, as noted, four children: Mark the eldest, is 16 years old; Molly, their only daughter, is 14; Bailey is 12 and Ben is still a baby too young to talk. Since Larry is a trade unionist who advocates for teachers’ rights he is seen as an enemy of the state. Thus, Larry is “arrested by the GNSB, denied access to a solicitor and remains in detention without recourse to the courts” (120). From this point on, the whole family are labeled as traitors and are denied any of the logical human rights that would be guaranteed in a free, democratic society. Throughout the story, readers witness how essential liberties such as habeas corpus, the right to a fair trial, and the freedoms of press, speech, expression, and association are systematically taken down. Eilish, now the only person responsible for caring for her children and for her own ill aged father, endures a multitude of tragic events, beginning with Mark’s being drafted for mandatory military service. Against his mother’s wish to flee the country, Mark ends up joining the rebel army. Bailey starts to exhibit aggressive behavior and Molly falls into depression, highlighting how each child has their own way of coping with trauma. Despite these overwhelming circumstances, Eilish wants to remain in Ireland, clinging to her rather absurd belief that Mark and Larry are alive and will eventually return, and hoping that other nations will intervene in the conflict as she hears in the news.

Lynch’s novel delves into the profound repercussions of war and fascism, centering on the immense burden and grief of a mother who must keep her composure for the sake of her children, ensuring they feel secure throughout several tragic and deeply moving events, heartbreaking enough to make the most unemotional readers shed tears. We experience firsthand the emotions of a worried mother who only wants to keep her children safe. At times, the children lash out at Eilish or question her abilities as a mother, since they are unable to fully understand the devastating consequences of living under an authoritarian regime. Nevertheless, she still comforts her children, as a protective maternal figure whose primary role in the novel is that of a mother. She gives them the warmth they need and becomes their safe place in the middle of all the chaos. There’s a powerful example of this in a scene in which Eilish has an argument with Bailey, and he lashes out at her, saying some truly hurtful things:

“(...) See, this family is a joke (...) you’re a fucking joke as well. I wish I never had you for a mother (...)”

The flat of her hand has struck his face (…) It is then that Bailey’s face folds and he cries (like the child he is), he shakes his head and will not be held but she takes him in her arms and will not let go, feeling from within her the whole of her love. (155)

Lynch is known for his unique writing style, which not only makes the story itself unsettling but also challenges the reader through its structure. The paragraphs are long, with few or no pauses, creating a sense of suffocation and leaving the reader with the sensation of being unable to catch their breath. Both the story and the structure are designed to provoke a sense of unease. The web of characters is simple, the story centers around a family with a few secondary characters such as Carole, Aine or Eilish’s father, Simon. However, this simplicity is precisely what draws the reader closer to the characters. We share Eilish’s anger in moments of tension and we profoundly empathize with her during moments of extreme sorrow. Lynch masterfully conveys emotions through his intimate narrative style immersing readers in her fears, grief, and resilience, creating a powerful emotional connection to her journey and struggles.

In conclusion, Prophet Song is a masterfully written novel that delves into the devastating consequences of war, fascism, and the profound effect they have on individuals and families in an until then supposedly safe Ireland. Through the intimate lens of Eilish’s experiences, Paul Lynch presents a heartbreaking plot of resilience, love, and grief. The novel’s unsettling structure, mixed with its accessible and relatable cast of characters, invites readers to feel every moment of tension, sorrow and hope alongside its protagonist. By immersing us in Eilish’s world Lynch not only tells a story of survival but also compels readers to reflect on the importance of freedom. This is a novel that remains in your head long after the final page, leaving a stain in the reader’s heart and soul, it is undoubtedly a must read.

MIREIA ÁLVAREZ CASANOVAS

2023. In the Shadow of the Double: Naomi Klein’s Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World

Naomi Klein’s Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World (2023) is a widely acclaimed nonfiction work that blends memoir and political analysis. Born in Montreal, Canada, in 1970, Klein gained international recognition with her debut book No Logo (1999), which cemented her status as a leading voice in socio-political discourse. Her subsequent works have addressed critical global issues such as capitalism, climate change, and organized labor, further solidifying her reputation as a social activist and intellectual. In 2021, Klein became a professor of climate justice at Columbia University. With Doppelganger, Klein deepened her exploration of societal fractures, earning the Women’s Prize for Nonfiction in 2024.

Doppelganger investigates the unsettling and multifaceted idea of the double, combining autobiography with sharp cultural critique. The narrative begins with Klein’s experience of being mistaken for Naomi Wolf, the feminist author of The Beauty Myth (1990), who has recently shifted ideologies from progressive activism to far-right conspiracy theories, collaborating with figures like Steve Bannon, Donald Trump’s strategic advisor. This confusion between Naomi Klein and the Other Naomi serves as a point of departure for Klein’s critique of the far right’s role in eroding collective trust, fostering misinformation, and amplifying individualism shaped by capitalism. Klein examines the dangerous resurgence of Nazi rhetoric and the “mirror world,” a distorted online realm where social media avatars obscure reality. Through an exploration of disability injustice, government pandemic responses, and fitness culture’s obsession with optimization, Doppelganger exposes how power structure and ideological shifts have fractured identity and community in the past three years, particularly in the United States.

One of the strongest features of the volume is its clear, dynamic, and honest writing style. Klein excels at conveying complex ideas in a natural and emotional way, effortlessly engaging readers. A key strength of Klein’s writing style is the balance between factual rigor, supported by reliable sources cited in the Notes section at the end of the book, and personal experience. This blend lends credibility to the narrative’s “mirror world,” making it both relatable and thought-provoking. Klein does not merely share her opinions; she creates a piece that challenges readers intellectually. By weaving open-ended questions through the narrative, such as, “What do we do when we seem to be surrounded by warped doubles and imposters?” (71), Klein invites readers into her own thought process. Her ability to propose new ways of looking at familiar ideas and recontextualize them makes the book especially compelling. In doing so, Klein questions societal norms and assumptions we often take for granted, such as the intersection of diagonalism, the fitness world, fascism, and autism. For instance, Klein offers striking insights into the far right’s influence: “Their ‘question everything’ led to many of us not questioning enough” (118). This observation highlights Klein’s ingenuity in articulating ideas in a way that bridges the personal and the political. Her writing transforms the text into a collaborative exploration, urging readers to grapple with the same dilemmas that guided her writing. This interactive dynamic showcases her skill in psychological depth, as she taps into universal uncertainties and fears.

Klein’s central argument about the “mirror world” is skillfully developed through the confusion between herself and the “Other Naomi,” which serves as a unifying thread throughout the book. Drawing on this experience, Klein uses the concept of mistaken identity as a lens to explore broader global issues, allowing her to integrate seemingly disparate topics with coherence and depth. Her critique of Wolf’s ideological shift, for example, highlights this approach: “It appeared that Wolf did not want to tear down elite power structures—she wanted to enter them” (24). This observation becomes a launching point for examining elite power structures more broadly, a strategy Klein employs across other themes to maintain a sense of cohesion despite the narrative’s wide range.

However, the confusion around the “Other Naomi” provides a central thread but risks becoming repetitive as the book progresses, with the storyline leaning too heavily on this singular focus. This tendency sometimes draws attention away from Klein’s primary objective: unpacking societal fractures. The critique becomes particularly evident when Klein reflects on Wolf’s language, writing, “But throwing the term ‘fascism’ around is what Other Noami does, and hadn’t she helped make the word very absurd?” (151). Klein raises a valid concern about the misuse of ‘fascism’, which has diminished its urgency and significance. Yet this problem extends beyond Wolf, who may serve as a symbol for the far-right; her actions alone do not represent the full scope of the group’s weaponization of language to advance ideological agendas. While framing Wolf as a representative figure for this critique is a logical choice, the recurring focus on her risks narrowing the argument’s breadth. Though initially engaging, this emphasis on Wolf’s personal failings can detract from the central exploration of systemic societal fractures.

To conclude, Doppelganger is a compelling exploration of societal fractures through the lens of the “mirror world,” where identity and reality blur. Klein’s clear and emotive writing masterfully blends factual analysis with personal insight, enhancing the text’s credibility. The recurring confusion with Naomi Wolf provides a unifying thread, yet its repetitive focus at times narrows the book’s broader critique of systemic issues. Despite this, Klein’s ability to challenge assumptions and provoke critical thought makes Doppelganger an intellectually engaging work, inviting readers to reconsider the complexities of our fragmented world and their own roles within it.

Disclaimer and Creative Commons License

DISCLAIMER

The book in the hands of the reader collects reviews written by the students enrolled in the first edition of the core subject ‘Contemporary Literature in English’ which I taught within the BA in English Studies, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona (2024-25). As an academic work, this volume requires no permission or license from third parties since it is published for the only purpose of disseminating knowledge. The quotations from primary sources and the images of the book covers are here used for this end. The editor and the authors have not received nor will receive any earnings from the online publication of the volume.

Sara Martín, editor

April 2025

CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE

Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs (by-nc-nd)

You are free: to Share—to copy, distribute and transmit the work under the following conditions:

Attribution—You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

Non-commercial—You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

No Derivative Works—You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work. You’re specifically forbidden to generate academic research and publications based on this volume, though you may quote from it. If you wish to cite it, the correct citation would be:

Martín, Sara (ed.). Reviewing Contemporary Anglophone Fiction and Nonfiction. Bellaterra: Departament de Filologia Anglesa i de Germanística, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, 2025.

Followed by the URL of the Dipòsit Digital de Documentació, UAB http://ddd.uab.cat

Notice—For any reuse or distribution, you must make clear to others the licensing terms of this work. If in doubt, contact the editor, Sara Martín (Sara.Martin@uab.cat)

Notes

[←1]

See “Producing E-books on Fantasy and Science Fiction with University Students: Classroom Projects.” Mapping the Imaginative II, Christian Ludwig and Elizabeth Shipley (eds.), Universitätsverlag Winter, 2020, 163-184.

[←2]

See the materials I produced for the subject, ‘What You Need to Know about… Contemporary Anglophone Literature’ here: https://ddd.uab.cat/record/305685.

[←3]

A few notes. The fiction and nonfiction reviewed here usually has a variety of editions. I asked students to reference by page number the quotations, but I have ultimately decided not to insert the information of the specific edition they used. The references, then, might not match all editions of the same work. The reviews are organized in chronological order by year of publication of the work reviewed. The reviews themselves were all written in the Autumn of 2024.

Table of Contents

Preface: An Experiment in Teaching

1990. Holy Wood Dreams and Discworld Schemes: A Satire of Cinema in Terry Pratchett’s Moving Pictures, Sheila Raurell Marín

1990. The Dynamics of Friendship, Betrayal and Journalistic Ethics: Janet Malcolm’s The Journalist and the Murderer, Natalia Aleksandra Mermela

1990. Karim’s Journey: The Struggle of Belonging in Hanif Kureishi’s The Buddha of Suburbia, David Taló Rubio

1990. Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park: An Entrapping Novel for the Reluctant Sci-Fi Reader, Mariam Dvali

1991. A House, Two Families, and a Touch of the Surreal: Tim Winton’s Cloudstreet. Marc Silva i Muñoz

1991. A Powerful Story of Adaptation and Identity: Julia Alvarez’s How the García Girls Lost Their Accents, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

1991. Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander: Time-travelling Romance (and the Issue of Rape) , Marta Fernández Carrillo

1991. Trauma and Treatment: The Duality of Pat Barker’s Regeneration, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

1992. Defying Conventions: Gender Autonomy and Character Complexity in Alasdair Gray’s Poor Things, Eva Moreno Cruañez

1993. Quoyle’s Knots: Untangling Annie Proulx’s The Shipping News, Natàlia López Arenas

1993. On Surviving and Paving One’s Way: Octavia E. Butler’s Gripping and Complex Parable of the Sower, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

1994. Alice Munro’s Open Secrets: A Critical Review of Characterization and Setting, Marc Zarcos García

1994. A Fresh Take on Criminal Psychology: Caleb Carr’s Brilliant and Darkly Mysterious The Alienist, Diana Hurtado Galvis

1995. Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Blue Flower: A Realist Love-Letter(?) to Romanticism, Amine Imran Tecimen

1996. The Conflicted Journey of Self-Empowerment in Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding, Tània Márquez Fernández

1996. George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones: A Very Realistic Fantasy without a Hero to Save the Day, Ysabella Pachano Contreras

1996. Chaos and Identity: Exploring the Brutal World of Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club, Gerard Alegre Prat

1996. Layers of Struggle: Historical and Personal Insights in Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

1996. Lost in London Below: Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

1997. Beyond the Battlefield: Love and Overemphasis in Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain, Rebecca Carey Arribas

1997. Ian Rankin’s Black and Blue: Engaging Characters and Unmet Expectations, Kenmy Fong Vega

1997. Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things: The Literary Excellence of Devastating Family Tragedy, Alba Batalla

1997. Sebastian Junger’s The Perfect Storm: Against the Fury of Nature, Lidia Domínguez López

1998. Susan Orlean’s The Orchid Thief: Robbing Readers of the Flower of Time, Mariam Dvali

1998. Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods: Humor, Friendship, and Wonders, Sheila Raurell Marín

1998. Pussy’s Delusional Adventures in Patrick McCabe’s Breakfast On Pluto, David Taló Rubio

1998. Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible: Narrating Historical Remorse and Self-growth, Valeria Rodas Zúñiga

1999. Unspoken Battles: Trauma, Family and Healing in Melvyn Bragg’s The Soldier’s Return, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

1999. A Story of Privilege, Power and Trauma: J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

1999. A Journey Through Imperfect Lives: Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Marc Silva i Muñoz

1999. Master and Servant: Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, Natalia Aleksandra Mermela

1999. The Duality of Cultural Expectations: Anita Desai’s Fasting, Feasting, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

1999. Joanne Harris’s Chocolat: A Sweet Tale of Progress and Tradition, Nihade El Habbaj

1999. Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Laura Hillenbrand: Romanticizing Horse Riding, Marta Fernández Carrillo

2000. The Outlaw as National Hero: True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey, Eva Moreno Cruañez

2000. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon: Too Much, Mar Álvarez Ridao

2001. An Exploitative Low-Wage Investigation: Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

2001. Truth, Religion, and Survival in Yann Martel’s Life of Pi, Natàlia López Arenas

2001. Atonement: Ian McEwan’s Art, Maria Olivé Manzano

2002. Joseph O’Connor’s Star of the Sea: Successful yet Overdone, Víctor López Domínguez

2002. Jennifer Worth’s Celebration of Life and Humanity in The Midwife, Diana Hurtado Galvis

2002. Beyond Death: Richard K. Morgan’s Dystopian Future in Altered Carbon, Marc Zarcos García

2003. Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner: A Childhood Lost to Guilt, Dayana Da Silva Fernández

2004. Love, Loss, and Tradition: Nadeem Aslam’s Maps for Lost Lovers, Gerard Alegre Prat

2004 (2016). Rebecca Solnit’s Essential Act of Creating Hope in the Dark, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

2005. Unpacking Jeannette Walls’s The Glass Castle: Resilience and Transformation, Ysabella Pachano Contreras

2005. Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking: A Journey Through Grief and Healing, Kenmy Fong Vega

2006. My Name Was Judas: C.K. Stead’s Rewriting of Christianity, Valeria Rodas Zúñiga

2006. Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love: A Romanticized Inspirational Journey, Nihade El Habbaj

2006. A Fragile Flame: Why Cormac McCarthy’s The Road Remains a Powerful Reflection on Resilience, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

2007. The Mythos of the Self: Kvothe’s Journey in Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

2007. The Voice of the Marginalized: Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

2007. Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policemen’s Union: The Mystery of Identity and Place, Sheila Raurell Marín

2007. Exploring a Post-Human Planet: Insights from Alan Weisman’s The World Without Us, Marc Silva i Muñoz

2007. Junot Díaz’ The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: Fukú, Family Issues and Societal Struggles, Lidia Domínguez López

2008. Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth: Short Story Treats for the Unaccustomed Mind, Mariam Dvali

2008. Aravind Adiga’s The White Tiger: Let Time Decide Its Absolute Value, Mar Álvarez Ridao

2008. Survival and Subversion: An Analysis of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games, Adrià Dulcet Pardo

2008. Survival, Power, and Rebellion: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

2009. Brooklyn: A Demonstration of Colm Tóibín’s Authorial Talent, Maria Olivé Manzano

2009. Action and Deep Bonds: Exploring James Dashner’s The Maze Runner, Eva Moreno Cruañez

2010. Ethics, Exploitation and Duality in The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot, Marc Zarcos García

2010. Life’s Cruelty and the Loss of Hope in Lauren Beukes’ Zoo City, Natàlia López Arenas

2011. Divergent by Veronica Roth: More Popular Dystopian YA Fiction, Amine Imran Tecimen

2011. The Power of Language: Embassytown by China Miéville, Gerard Alegre Prat

2011. Life through Time: Stephen King’s Gripping and Profound Exploration of Time and Life in 11/22/63, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

2012. John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars: A Heartbreaking Time Capsule, Dayana Da Silva Fernández

2012. Home Sweet Home?: A Raw Journey Through Trauma and Redemption in Toni Morrison’s Home, Diana Hurtado Galvis

2013. Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life: The Endless Circle of Rebirth

2013. The Dream of a New Life: Darling’s Fall from Paradise in NoViolet Bulawayo’s We Need New Names, Max Cònsul Salvador

2013. The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown: When Nonfiction Adopts the Spirit of Fiction, Alba Batalla

2013. The Haunting Scars of War: Richard Flanagan’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

2014. Navigating Loss Through Nature: Helen Macdonald’s H is for Hawk, Natàlia Saus Przestawska

2014. Phil Klay’s Redeployment: The Impact of the Iraq War, Ysabella Pachano Contreras

2014. Decoratively Depicting Destruction in Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

2015. Viet Thanh Nguyen’s The Sympathizer: The Dualities of War, Kenmy Fong Vega

2015. Prophecy and Paranoia: Chigozie Obioma’s The Fishermen, a Brilliant Nigerian Tragedy, Sheila Raurell Marín

2015. Naomi Novik’s Uprooted: Between Folklore and Fantasy Fiction, Natalia Aleksandra Mermela

2015. The Fragility of the Black Body in Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me, David Taló Rubio

2015. Leila Aboulela’s The Kindness of Enemies: The Complexities of Identity and History, Lidia Domínguez López

2016. Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing: A Novel Overflowing with Everything, Mariam Dvali

2016. Breaking the Cycle: The Emotional Depths of Colleen Hoover’s It Ends with Us, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

2016. Beyond Comedy: Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime, Eva Moreno Cruañez

2017. Love, Loss, and the Afterlife in George Sanders’s Lincoln in the Bardo, Marc Silva i Muñoz

2017. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo: Brilliant, Problematic, and Everything in Between, Mar Álvarez Ridao

2017. Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad: A Story about Struggle and the Search for Freedom, Nihade El Habbaj

2017. Loyalty, Identity, and Contemporary Tragedy in Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire, Marta Fernández Carrillo

2018. Sleeping to Forget: Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Ariadna Litzell Aleix

2019. Fascism: A Warning by Madeleine K. Albright, a Convenient Heads Up, Víctor López Domínguez

2019. Black, British, Other: Beyond the Checkboxes in Bernardine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other, Hannah Kleinman

2019. Undying Love: Favel Parrett’s Masterful and Emotional There Was Still Love, Juan Diego Falzone Aubery

2019. Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House: An Innovative Chronicle of Abuse, Dayana Da Silva Fernández

2020. Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet: A Feminist Reimagining of Shakespeare’s Legacy, Marc Zarcos García

2020. Breaking Boundaries: A Review of G.M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-manifesto, Gerard Alegre Prat

2020. The Powerful Voice of the Dead: The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka, Nico Bella Rigg Macinnes

2020. A Tale of Love, Struggle, and Healing in Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason, Diana Hurtado Galvis

2020. Matthew McConaughey’s Greenlights: Interesting Story, Unoriginal Message, Amine Imran Tecimen

2021. The Struggle of Politics and Communication in Space: A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine, Max Cònsul Salvador

2021. Patrick Radden Keefe’s Empire of Pain: When Wealth Becomes an Addiction, Rebecca Carey Arribas

2021. Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H-Mart: Cooking to Overcome Pain, Miriam Paciencia

2022. Language, Imperialism, and Resistance in Rebecca F. Kuang’s Babel: Or the Necessity of Violence, Alejandro Pousada Domínguez

2023. Spare by Prince Harry: The Depths of Grief and Societal Pressure of the Privileged, Valeria Rodas Zúñiga

2023. Rebecca Yarros’s Fourth Wing: A Story of Wars, Love, and Dragons, Lidia Domínguez López

2023. Rebecca F. Kuang’s Yellowface: Anything to Achieve Literary Fame, Alba Batalla

2023. An Irish Mother’s Journey Through Resilience and Grief: Paul Lynch’s Prophet Song, Kenmy Fong Vega

2023. In the Shadow of the Double: Naomi Klein’s Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World, Mireia Álvarez Casanovas

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