Throughout history, philosophers, scientists, and theologians — Plato, Einstein, and St. Augustine, for instance — have written about the nature of time with insight and perception that far transcends any ability of mine to judge. What I do know is what my eyes and reason show me, that change happens constantly and that what was is, at some point, no more. The evidence of that process is, paradoxically, the utter stillness of a cemetery where change itself comes to die, people whose lives are now only moving images on a piece of film, or the reality of a moist green leaf that withers into a dried parchment-like object crackling beneath the feet of busy passers-by.
An arc of piping-hot tea streamed high above my head as the waiter poured the frothy concoction from one tin cup to another, increasing the distance with each pass. In an act that seemingly defied physics, he angled the stream further over my table and channelled the miniature waterfall flawlessly into my glass.
Looking up from the tableside spectacle across the smoky room, I noticed the other diners around me: a young Indian family returning from the temple across the street; a meeting of sleek-looking bankers hunched over spreadsheets; Muslim students wearing traditional songkok hats; and a few uniformed street cleaners taking a break from their morning work. It was as if a microcosm of Malaysia was summoned here, drawn by the allure of this bubbly drink.
As a Black girl, I was told that I had to be realistic, both in my plans for my life and the things that I created. Overwhelmed by such limitations, I allowed rationality to take over even my fantasies and dreams. I let my imagination be throttled not only by questions of how mermaids breathe and survive and transform, but, more importantly: why don’t they just sink all of the ships and flood the world that would put people in chains?
Natasha Bowen takes on these questions fearlessly in the captivating fantasy adventure novel Skin of the Sea, which brings together mermaids, African folklore, and the transatlantic slave trade.
LaserWriter II will likely be adored by readers of a certain age, the ones who enjoyed a visceral relationship to the buzzes and whirs that once emanated from their prehistoric home computing systems — reminders that laser printers and disk drives and modems were cyber cool, yes, but also still mechanical, actual machines with moving parts (unlike an iPhone). Eventually, such things pass beyond repair and just become junk, or curios for retro computing nerds and media archaeologists. But in the deep algorithms of the web, a kind of alchemy is possible. Google “laserwriter ii” now, and the first page of listings you’ll see is for the novel rather than the device. The vocation become object has become something else again: the old hardware, now useless landfill, has been reanimated as literature. The printer has become a text.
“The School for Good Mothers” has drawn comparisons to “The Handmaid’s Tale,” but where Gilead’s extremely rigid social structure might seem horrifyingly unrecognizable, Chan’s setting is far too close for comfort. Parents accused by CPS of abuse or neglect already face uphill battles to get their children back, and poor parents and Black parents are disproportionately targeted for investigations. It’s easy to judge — and readers may be understandably disturbed by the behavior of some housed at the facility — but Chan’s debut shines a light on its mothers’ humanity, mistakes and all.
Hanya Yanagihara’s critically-acclaimed “A Little Life” was an intimate, close-up portrait of four men and their love, shame, and existential loneliness. Her new book, “To Paradise,” is a sprawling, yet similarly intimate epic that is also focused on love, shame, and existential loneliness. Other than these shared themes (and heft), the two books have little in common besides Yanagihara’s masterful, transfixing writing, and her ability to plumb the depths of her characters at their most despicable and at their most tender.
This ambitious novel tackles major American questions and answers them in an original, engrossing way. It has a major feel. But it is finally in such minor moments that Yanagihara shows greatness.
One True Loves is a fantastic tale full of shenanigans, escapades, and lighthearted banter, while also delving into deeper issues of race and the perception of the successful futures of young people of color.
Falling in love and losing a loved one are two of the most common human experiences. Though the two seem diametrically opposed, the arc of our humanity reveals ways in which we can find solace and gravity in both occurrences. Pulitzer Prize winner and New Yorker magazine staff writer Kathryn Schulz’s new book, “Lost & Found,” is a memoir framed simply around two remarkable life events: the death of her father and meeting the love of her life 18 months earlier.