Skip to content

Rabeetah Hasnain

  • bio
  • consulting services
  • book reviews
  • contact me
  • home

book reviews

When reviewing books I like to consider the ideal reader. When and where is one most likely to enjoy this book. I try to make my reviews focus on how I felt during and after reading and reflect on lingering thoughts and words. What is the taste in my mouth at the end of the last page?

reads_by_rabeets

Books aren’t sad, you’re sad

No spoiler book reviews!
⚜️New Orleans l @rabeetah19

We start with a Mr. Utterson, a lawyer, talking to We start with a Mr. Utterson, a lawyer, talking to his friend Enfield. The two men are walking in London when Enfield recounts a disturbing incident he witnessed where a man trampled a girl in the night and then moved on as if nothing had happened. Later, the man came back to pay the family for their loss. They identify this man as a Mr. Hyde. The 2 men, horrified by this story, agree to not speak of it as they do not like gossip but you can sense their disgust at how someone could be so casual about a crime and yet have lingering remorse. They drop it until Mr. Utterson stumbles upon the will of a close friend of his - Dr. Jekyll, and finds that he has instructed the transfer of his property to the same Mr. Hyde. 

What I find exciting about reading well-known older tales like this (and Frankenstein) is discovering how different they are from the versions we carry in our heads. My understanding of Jekyll and Hyde had always been simple: a man transforms into another version of himself and maybe there is a potion involved. The story, I found, is far richer, and more layered than that distilled idea, and of course it is. Stories don’t become eternal without depth and without leaving space for multiple interpretations. Here, desire and indulgence sit at the center, tangled up with repression (whether you read that as sexual, social, or something more abstract.) Stevenson moves between longer prose and moments of blunt clarity. Lines like this one - “This, too, was myself,” - did a lot for me. There’s a push and pull between concealment and confession. There is a duality of human, the outer persona, the inner truth, the beautiful and ‘disgusting’ and ‘monster’ in us - that is maybe more honest than we’d like to think. 

✨“Though so profound a double dealer, I was in no sense a hypocrite; both sides of me were in earnest.”
Don’t let the title fool you!! This is not a predi Don’t let the title fool you!! This is not a predictable rehash of racial microaggressions!! Across one novella and six short stories we have some weird, dark, strange moments - some that dip into the speculative or surreal but still always stay believable. A Taiwanese mail-order bride is shipped in a Styrofoam box to her new American husband; two versions of the same woman collide in France, each embodying a different cultural self; a father infiltrates a film set to reconnect with his daughter, only to confront the ethics of the story she’s telling; a dystopian dollhouse becomes a bureaucratic machine deciding bodies and futures; two writers of the same background butt heads at a creative retreat. Through absurdism and drops of horror we get more honest about what our characters see around them and more importantly, what they think about it. 

I found these stories to be inventive and exciting. Some parts felt Black Mirror-esque in their approach: less concerned with traditional character arcs and more interested in exposing what’s off in the world around us. I loved how committed these stories are to their strangeness- from grotesque body horror to biting critique of capitalism and feminized migration and unsettling moral ambiguity. Even when a story didn’t fully land (some pacing issues, and one ending that felt a little too neat or easy), the ideas were still interesting and compelling. There’s a clear thematic unity here, but it never feels heavy-handed. The stories are observant and critical and very much of this moment, which is great, because we’re living in this moment. 

✨But beneath my smile, my jaw clenches. Sophia is the worst kind of woman. The kind who rails against white men and everything they represent but goes ahead and marries one anyway, as if she should be applauded for her performative self-awareness.
Five women whose different backgrounds and persona Five women whose different backgrounds and personal histories bring them to different Gulf countries. Though each woman’s story is different, together they form a reflection on displacement, gender, and labor in a region shaped by wealth, migration, and systemic inequality. Unfortunately, the premise tying together these disparate characters is as fragile as it seems, resulting in a portrait of women in the Middle East that feels reductive and at times even stereotypical.

The 5 women: college educated and ambitious, Dounia had hoped to work for a living but instead is isolated in the role of housewife. Her domestic worker, Flora, is grieving her infant son’s death and descending into depression in this job. Justine, a museum curator from New York, moves to the region to help with a new museum curation when she becomes entangled with Eskedare, a Ethiopian teenager who has traveled to the U.A.E. on forged documents. And then there’s Zeinah, whose story is the oddest - she is a Syrian student who marries an ISIS fighter and faces the consequences of that. 

On a craft level, it moves fast- each chapter and POV only a few pages long. It’s entertaining at times because of its pace. I found myself speed reading and, in the process, getting pulled into another storyline. Clever to format it that way. But overall, unless those descriptions of each woman really excite you, I think this book does not add anything productive to the conversation and gives flattening realities of familiar narratives that feel sensational.
Each of these plays, Candida, Arms and the Man, an Each of these plays, Candida, Arms and the Man, and Mrs. Warren’s Profession, open by dropping us straight into the detailed domestic or social worlds. Here, tension is already simmering beneath polite conversation. Candida begins in the home of Reverend Morell, where his confident moral authority is complicated by the arrival of a young poet who is in love with his wife. In Arms and the Man, the drama kicks off mid-crisis as a young Bulgarian woman shelters an enemy soldier in her bedroom during wartime, only to find he’s far more pragmatic (and less heroic) than the romantic ideals she’s been raised on. Mrs. Warren’s Profession opens with Vivie Warren, a sharp, independent young woman, reconnecting with her mother, whose mysterious wealth reveals itself to have a controversial source for Vivie. 

I thought Arms and the Man felt the most entertaining (and easiest to read), especially in how it poked at romanticized ideas of war and heroism. I liked the last scene in Mrs. Warren’s Profession and was surprised by how contemporary a lot of the lines felt re: shame- “Women have to pretend to feel a great deal that they don’t feel.” But of the 3, I think Candida was my favorite. It was funny and honest in a brutal way, kind of reminded me of how much more you can get through when your audience is disarmed. It’s maybe the one that feels the most indigestible to me. The dialogue in all the plays is sharp and outrageous- our stubborn characters argue their positions with total conviction, then pivot just as forcefully when they change their minds. There’s also something funny and odd and charming about pages of descriptions that read like psychological profiles in the guise of “stage directions”. These characters are so sure of themselves - do we admire them or do we pity them? My opinion changed every page. 

✨“I suppose a machine could be made to write love letters. They’re all the same, aren’t they?” - Candida
2 families who have been intertwined for more than 2 families who have been intertwined for more than 25 years. Emerson and Retsy, along with their daughter Sophie, host a weekend gathering to celebrate Emerson’s birthday with their longtime friends Amos and Claire and their daughter Anna. Emerson and Amos have known each other since college, and Emerson even introduced Claire to Amos, so the group shares decades of history, intimacy, and resentments. The novel unfolds through shifting interior perspectives, letting readers see the gap between what the characters think and what they say out loud. Midway through the weekend (and halfway through the book) something happens that guides the rest of the novel. 

I really loved the beginning of this book. The inner monologues were sharp, and I think it’s so fun when a novel exposes the crack between what characters think and what they actually say or do. It felt almost deliciously insidious, but also honest about the thoughts we sometimes have about the people closest to us. The prose is good. Unfortunately, the second half lost me completely. The characters became so flawed that they started to feel like caricatures- Emerson and Retsy oddly emotionless and self-absorbed, and Claire more concerned with maintaining social order than supporting her family. I’m sorry, I just didn’t buy it based on what the first half showed us about them. The central conflict felt lazy and underdeveloped, and by the end the moral murkiness felt exhausting. I kept reading because the early writing had earned my trust, but ultimately the novel became a prime example of how strong prose can’t carry a story whose emotional logic doesn’t hold. There were even a few coincidences that felt unintentionally comical (like both the dad and daughter stealing when stressed, haha okay…?). This novel seemed convinced it was making some profound discovery about belief and loyalty, but for me it just wasn’t doing what it thought it was doing.

✨“Something about his friend seemed to promise a purging. Time spent with Amos was like taking a damp cloth to dusty windows: in its wake, the world of nuance sprang forth. He should tell him, Emerson thought. Why not say it exactly like that?”
Adam Gordon (mid-twenties, American guy) is awarde Adam Gordon (mid-twenties, American guy) is awarded a prestigious fellowship in Madrid, where he is meant to be working on his poems, for which the fellowship was awarded, while immersing himself in Spanish culture. Instead, Adam drifts and doubts. He navigates romantic entanglements, half-translates conversations, exaggerates his artistic depth, and obsessively questions the authenticity of his own emotional responses, especially to art and tragedy. We’re talking about a novel full of character interiority and almost no “real plot”. 

I think being able to name this book as postmodernist really helped me contextualize what it’s trying to do. If you’re easily frustrated by novels where “nothing happens,” this probably won’t be for you. I found it easy to read- it almost moves like a memoir in its candor and clarity. Adam is kind of unlikeable but in that relatable way that we’re all unlikeable. His self-deprecation rarely tips into performative annoyance and somehow it feels genuine? On a craft level, I was fascinated. How do you make a seemingly mundane story or collection of anecdotes compelling? This book accomplishes it through voice. I think you’ll know within the first ten pages of reading if this is a voice you want to follow or not. The narration is frank, precise, and funny that the interior drama becomes the plot. Sometimes it gets irritating but even then it’s aware of itself. And honestly, to hold a reader’s attention in a novel built on doubt, delay, and self-interrogation? That’s an accomplishment in itself. 

✨“Her breath smelled terrible and I told myself to commit that fact to memory, to remember it the next time I was intimidated by her unwavering grace.”
Adolescence through the eyes of multiple narrators Adolescence through the eyes of multiple narrators: all Chinese American girls growing up in New York City. Though this is a linked story collection, I think it reads with the intimacy and cohesion of a novel. Characters reappear across stories and their lives braid together. The collection opens with “We Love You Crispina,” which is my favorite story in the book and functions as a barometer for how you’ll feel about the rest of the book. It’s told all in one eager, young breath with Christina reminding us how poor, tragic, and funny their start in America in the 90s was, changing places to sleep regularly, picking bugs off their bodies, sharing a room with other families- one mattress per family, the three of them scratching her legs together. In other stories, the narrators are observant, evocative, incendiary even. Sharp writing, fast paced. 

I love young narrators written for an adult audience because they’re so good at being funny and devastating at the same time. They provide frank analyses of their families, poverty, migration, and desire. I liked spotting familiar characters as they slipped into one another’s stories and allowed the narratives to blur- made it feel like a whole world had been created for me. There’s also a clear insistence here that there is no monolith of experience, even among people who share similar circumstances. There’s always that looming fear of painting clear villains, of making certain people look bad. I think it’s boring to let those anxieties flatten your work or to be constrained by how something might be perceived instead of trusting the complexity of what you’re actually trying to say. In the hands of a less seasoned writer, stories like these could feel reckless or careless. The book rejects that self-protective hedging entirely, and I really admire that.

✨“It wasn’t fair I had to be me for as long as I lived while other people got to be other people.”
Parallel stories of a mother and son moving throug Parallel stories of a mother and son moving through very different worlds. Sandra leaves for Nepal to attend a spiritual conference, leaving behind her neurodivergent elementary-aged son, Trip, and her ex-husband. The novel shifts between Sandra and Trip’s perspectives as both begin strange, mirrored journeys- Sandra entering a liminal space between life and death abroad, and Trip navigating his own escalating trouble at home. Most of the novel is shaped around the mother/son relationship so we dip into flashback quite a bit. We have different perspectives (Trip and Sandra) and different timelines (now and flashbacks) A lot is happening!

My favorite part was the scene in the cave- I love when I can feel the impact of what I’m reading on my body and man I was like scratching my neck and taking deep breaths reading that part. I think that was the most exciting part of the book! I like books about ‘the afterlife’ and the surreal mechanics so I think that’s why I stuck with it. I just wish it had gotten stranger. Cool idea, lukewarm execution. The description of this novel was more entertaining than the novel itself. It’s hard to write such a contradictory review but again I liked what it was doing with the idea of a bardo from a contemporary lens and I even liked the ending (rare in new fiction!) But so much of it just wasn’t doing what I wanted it to or maybe I just wanted this book to be something else. Perhaps this is a good book to read to understand how it’s not enough to just have a good idea for a book.

✨“Will I fit?” I said.
“Only sinners cannot pass, Auntie.”
We start with 12 year old Harper, the youngest of We start with 12 year old Harper, the youngest of three sisters, before Father Andrew in a church her family hasn’t stepped foot in since her parents decided to have an open marriage. She’s there to confess all her lies but also to seek guidance. She has a fear that her father might be planning to kill himself. What seems like a heavy premise is laced with levity: Harper’s oddities, Father Andrew’s quietly observant and funny narration. Each chapter that follows rotates narrators, widening the lens and building a layered portrait of this family and the people orbiting them.

What I loved most about this book was the atmosphere. The environment feels lived-in and specific. I was enthralled by literally every storyline of each character introduced, of whom we are given details that seem small/irrelevant only to see them cleverly reappear later. The tone is casual and consistently amusing– though I’d say every hundredth line teeters on almost too quirky for my taste. I have a limit for tongue-in-cheek cleverness; this book didn’t cross it, but it got close. 

As for that central plot: it’s sensational and I feel like to enjoy it you have to confront/acknowledge its melodrama. I didn’t really care for it but it kind of also wasn’t the main point- just something that happened in the background almost. The ending was boring and easy and I have criticisms about the structural integrity of the book, sure. But I had fun. I’d give it a 4/5 for the reading experience, probably lower for the “lingering” experience. I’m reading a lot these days, and I appreciated having something lighter in the mix. People are always asking me for books that aren’t devastating but are still smart and well written and this is a great example of that. Clever lines, fully realized characters, humor threaded through tension. Not everything has to wreck you to be worth your time.

✨“If I had to guess, gun to my head…”
“No one is holding a gun to your –”
“Gun to my head, I’d say, I’m incredibly, painfully, mythically bored.”
We start with the artist Basil Hallward who is bei We start with the artist Basil Hallward who is being urged by his friend Lord Henry Wotton to showcase the incredible painting Basil is completing. They both agree it’s masterful, his best work yet, but Basil is adamant about not selling it because he has put too much of himself in this painting. Instead, the art will go to the subject of the painting: Dorian Gray, who is young, beautiful and impressionable. Under Lord Henry’s influence, Dorian comes to believe that youth and beauty are the only currencies that matter, and that they must be preserved at any cost. And so, Dorian attempts to follow his advice to the most grotesque extreme.

I urge you to seek out the uncensored version, the novel Oscar Wilde actually intended before he was forced to dilute it into something safer, longer, and less honest. Censored editions rarely announce themselves as such, so finding the original requires intention. The uncensored text doesn’t recoil, its queerness is not coy, its desire is not disguised. This book is relatable with funny lines. We are all clinging to youth in some way, terrified of decay, and bargaining with time. But more than that I liked how much of Wilde was represented in these characters and the arc of the story itself. This quote from Wilde about the book is revealing and devastating: “Basil Hallward is what I think I am: Lord Henry what the world thinks me: Dorian what I would like to be—in other ages, perhaps.” These characters all have different tragic ends, and so did in many ways, Wilde. 

Dare I say that choosing the censored version is, in itself, an act of homophobia? I don’t… but read the uncensored version. 

✨“For there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”
This book opens with our narrator describing his n This book opens with our narrator describing his new surroundings: confined in a concrete stall with two others, a structure engineered so they can stand but never sit. Waste drains through metal grates beneath them. Pear pulp, their only sustenance, drips down the walls. They are condemned together. If this already sounds exhausting, it is but know that the entire book is not spent in this chamber. For a book this slim, things move fast. 

This is a physically uncomfortable book. Claustrophobic. I was squirming and frowning the entire time. I read it in one sitting, I think mostly because I just wanted it to be over (positive!) I heard about this book in relation to ”A Short Stay in Hell” (reviewed on this page years ago) and that book, much like this one, is short and excruciating, and has stayed with me for a long time. I think about it all the time. The Divine Farce, though more descriptive and physically gross, has not had the same longing effect on me but I think it’s worth it to read both these books in conversation with one another. 

The Divine Farce is philosophical if you want it to be. Absurdist if you don’t. Is it heaven, is it hell? Is it both, is it neither? An allegory for human contentment? A thought provoking commentary on loneliness? Meaning-making under confinement? Sure! Take what you want from this book but do know that it’ll haunt you, at least for a while.

✨“To the extent that heaven above is isolation, it seems to be hell. To the extent that hell below is a crowd, it apparently is heaven. Maybe we are condemned to an endless nagging sense of discomfort balanced against comfort, satisfaction against the itch to escape.”
A slim novella told in two linked stories by the s A slim novella told in two linked stories by the same unnamed narrator, set in Vienna against the backdrop of a music and opera school. In the first, “Under the Basilisk,” a high school girl finds herself in rivalry with Joachim, a charming and popular boy, as both pine for Lea, his soon to be girlfriend. They form a strange and lopsided love triangle. The second story, “The Birch Trees,” takes place a couple years later: the same narrator, still aching for love, becomes obsessed with a straight 32 year old woman who repeatedly invites her over and holds her attention by recounting her own romantic and sexual exploits with men, keeping intimacy deliberately out of reach. This story slides further into the uncanny, culminating in a Ouija board séance that summons a ghost and exposes promiscuous secrets.

What an odd little book! And somehow a perfect winter read. I read it in one sitting, struck by how little time it spends on context and how much space it gives to desire, rivalry, and longing. There’s an umbrella of music over everything, and I loved the narrator’s voice: precise, yearning, and self-aware. The two stories are connected just enough to speak to each other while remaining meaningfully distinct, and they know exactly when to end. I preferred the first story for its stillness and attention to small actions, which allowed me to fully sink into its nostalgia, but both sustain a mystical, suspenseful quality that lingers. 

✨“Lea would go sit on my windowsill, just above my bed, and from there she would blow smoke into the courtyard. I do not know where I would go in these moments. Did I lay there and look at her? I do not remember. It seemed to em that the walls of my room had become her. This face and its features reflected over and over in the windowpanes around her. Laying there, I remembered thinking these thoughts, I felt as if I had no body at all. I remembered the feeling that this must, this must be a moment to be had over and over again, that the moment must not end. This was the feeling Lea gave me.”
Professor of literature Azar Nafisi chronicles her Professor of literature Azar Nafisi chronicles her life in Iran before, during, and after the Iranian Revolution, culminating in a secret, all-women literature class she hosted in her home every Thursday morning for two years. Through close readings of Western classics (many of them banned in Iran at the time), Nafisi traces how private lives, intellectual freedom, and especially women became contested under an increasingly totalitarian regime. Structured around four literary anchors (Lolita, Gatsby, Henry James, and Jane Austen), each section focuses on a different stage of the Iranian Revolution, tracing the tightening of state control alongside Nafisi’s evolving understanding of oppression vs resistance, from revolutionary idealism to enforced conformity and, eventually, private rebellion.

I was attached to this book. I found its layering to be clever and multi-faceted: I learned more about the canonical texts themselves, I learned more about Iranian history, and about the social and political atmosphere of the revolution. I also came to understand literary criticism more as a lived practice rather than a solely academic one. I saw how these texts were used as a lens to better understand political terror, moral compromise, and interior freedoms. Nafisi’s account of living under a totalitarian regime is unsettling, and what’s more chilling is how familiar so much of it feels now- policing of bodies, erosion of language, slow normalization of fear, this fundamental difference in belief of what is good and what is right. There’s a rare and extraordinary convergence here: philosophical inquiry, academic literary analysis, history, memory, and personal narrative. This is one of the most important books I’ve ever read.  

✨“The worst crime committed by totalitarian mindsets is that they force their citizens, including their victims, to become complicit in their crimes. Dancing with your jailer, participating in your own execution, that is an act of utmost brutality.”

✨“It’s frightening to be free, to have to take responsibility for your decisions.”
Set in Ukraine, 2022, we start with Yeva - a biolo Set in Ukraine, 2022, we start with Yeva - a biologist living alone in her mobile lab, devoted to saving a rare, nearly extinct species of snail. To fund her research, she works in the country’s booming marriage-tour industry, entertaining men who have traveled to Ukraine in search of love, something she herself has no interest in. Running alongside Yeva’s story are sisters Nastia and Solomiya, who pose as a hopeful bride and her translator while secretly searching for their missing mother, a longtime activist who disappeared after protesting these romance tours. Their stories collide in strange, escalating ways until the looming tension finally breaks when Russia invades.

This book started weak for me. I found it slow, occasionally corny, and at times a bit sensational, and I wasn’t convinced the pieces would come together. Right when I was about ten pages from putting it down, it surprised me and then it kept surprising me. The novel shapeshifts as it goes, piling on events in an unusual albeit intentional way. I wouldn’t call it experimental, but it is ambitious and mostly successful, feeling meta and relevant in a way that’s truly dependent on the plot rather than being lecturey- something I am very sensitive to and dislike. The perspective shifts work, the voices feel distinct, and the accumulation of events do a good job of showing the chaos of an everyday life before becoming even more heightened by war. Though I was resistant to the initial premise, by the middle I was interested, engaged, and entertained. My recommendation: give this book a solid 100 pages before deciding whether to keep going.

✨“It’s what you all do, in the free world. You waste your freedom and your clear skies on things that don’t matter, like politeness and the perfect lawn.”
A slim and loud novel in stories that follows thre A slim and loud novel in stories that follows three brothers growing up in Brooklyn with a Puerto Rican father and a white mother. The book opens in childhood and moves steadily toward fracture. The same narrator (the youngest brother) carries us through each section, though most of the book is told in the collective we: the boys as a single, feral unit before individuality settles in. 

What I appreciated the most was how perfectly the form matched the story being told. These short, sharp chapters felt like flashes of memory vs a linear narrative. Though, nothing overstays its welcome. The book is fast, direct, and exacting, which I really need in something this short. I’m always drawn to stories narrated by children that are not meant for children, something I find hard to do without it feeling corny but this book succeeds. The voice captures the honesty of a child’s way of seeing. Through this lens, we witness the family’s love and violence, the weight of toxic masculinity, and new found sexuality. The boys idolize their father even as they absorb his rage. I also loved the voice, especially in the way mundane moments are heightened simply by the child narrator’s partial understanding of the world. Moments feel charged but lacking vocabulary and as the writer I imagine that took great restraint. I found this book to be emotionally precise and sure of what it was. 

✨“We wanted more. We knocked the butt ends of our forks against the table, tapped our spoons against our empty bowls; we were hungry. We wanted more volume, more riots. We turned up the knob on the TV until our ears ached with the shouts of angry men. We wanted more music on the radio; we wanted beats; we wanted rock. We wanted muscles on our skinny arms. We had bird bones, hollow and light, and we wanted more density, more weight. We were six snatching hands, six stomping feet; we were brothers, boys, three little kings locked in a feud for more.”
Tara Selter is stuck in a time loop. November 18 b Tara Selter is stuck in a time loop. November 18 began as an ordinary day where she was in Paris for work, met up with an old friend, stayed in a hotel but the next morning she awoke to odd similarities only to discover that it was November 18 again. Book I follows Tara as she tries to understand and escape this loop, testing different strategies, occasionally looping her husband Thomas into the mystery, but ultimately confronting the problem alone. Book II shifts tone: there’s less frantic searching for an exit and more acceptance of the loop as a permanent condition, along with a growing urgency to figure out how to live within it rather than beyond it. The series spans 7 books, though only the first 3 have been translated into English so far.

What struck me about the first book is that it gives me something I’ve always wanted from time-loop narratives but rarely get which is the mundanity of everydayness. The claustrophobic sameness of waking up to the exact same day over and over again. We sit with the repetition and the despair of it, the occasional bursts of excitement when novelty feels possible again, and the days that feel unbearable. The slowness here is deliberate, and it works. There’s a real commitment to inhabiting those emotional states rather than rushing through them toward plot. As Tara oscillates between trying to escape and learning how to endure, the story transforms. Once acceptance enters the picture, the narrative opens into something entirely different. I really enjoyed these 2 books, and I’ve already started Book 3. The second volume ends on a tempting cliffhanger, but because the plot begins to shift so significantly, it doesn’t feel fair to fold that next book into this review. These books feel especially right for January, when winter deepens and our own days begin to blur into the same quiet stillness.

✨“How can I say it is good that the world stands still? How can I say it is good that it doesn’t move, that there is nothing I can accomplish, that nothing happens? How can that be good?”

✨“I have exchanged my hope for a mood and a frying pan.”
We meet Margo, a 37-year-old living in the DC area We meet Margo, a 37-year-old living in the DC area with her husband, Ian. Over the past 18 months, they’ve lost eleven bidding wars trying to buy a house. When Margo hears about a strategy where buyers make a deal with a seller before a house ever hits the market, and then finds herself with an opportunity to try it, she becomes a little obsessed.

This is a light (for the most part), easy, well-written read. Nothing earth-shattering or emotionally devastating, but honestly a pretty realistic portrayal of what it feels like to try to buy a home right now. The novel dips into wacky by way of slight absurdism but somehow I still believed it. Even when Margo veers into extremes, the emotional core held for me.

This isn’t the kind of book I usually reach for but I found it to be a welcome break from literary fiction. The narrator is unlikeable in that very specific, slightly exaggerated way that still feels familiar. I didn’t love her, but I recognized her, which counts for something. I don’t think this is a book that will live with me long after I post this review, and that’s okay. We need books like this too. If everything I read moved me deeply, I’d have a hard time knowing where I stand. Best Offer Wins is fine, exciting, and relatable in flashes and sometimes that’s exactly what you want. If you’re in the process of buying a house (or have survived it), or you want a bit of a real-estate-adjacent thriller, I think you’ll enjoy it.

✨“I’m clapping now, like a lunatic.”
We open in an unnamed South American city at a lav We open in an unnamed South American city at a lavish party thrown for a Japanese businessman, Mr. Hosokawa, whose love of opera, and devotion to the celebrated soprano Roxane Coss, has drawn him there. Diplomats, dignitaries, and guests mingle under the assumption of ceremony and excess, until a group of armed insurgents storms the house and the evening becomes something else entirely: a prolonged hostage situation. 

Despite the physical confinement of this novel it felt vast and encompassing. The omniscient narrator moves fluidly among a long list of characters and through that we’re able to see each character fully- revealing private fears, past lives, and quiet desires. No one feels incidental. There’s a great building of chronic tension in the novel which is always present, even in the lighter scenes. You never forget the circumstances. And then there is crafted acute tension, specific to each character. Some moments felt a little too convenient or flattened by the novel’s allegorical leanings. But for me, those scenes didn’t undo the larger emotional logic of the book. I liked seeing the heightening of pressure. I loved the ending and controversially, I even appreciated the epilogue. It made a lot of sense to me. That’s exactly what I think would happen in this situation. This is a great, well written, plot heavy novel that still makes room for interiority. 

✨“Wearing shoes in the house was barbaric. There was almost as much indignity in wearing shoes in the house as there was in being kidnapped.”

✨“It makes you wonder. All the brilliant things we might have done with our lives if only we suspected we knew how.”
Obit is a book of poetry structured as a series of Obit is a book of poetry structured as a series of obituaries for things, concepts, and intimacies that have been lost. Victoria Chang writes these elegies in the aftermath of losing her parents: one to death, the other to dementia. Though the book is slim (just over 120 pages), it took me more than five months to finish because each poem demands breathing room. Formally, the poems share a strict, almost administrative structure, each an obituary, but emotionally, they feel solitary and distinct. That tension is part of what makes the collection so powerful. Chang is a careful guide through grief: steady and precise. The effect is cumulative but never blunted. Each poem opens its own quiet cavern.

I think this book is accessible, clear, intentional, not clouded by indecipherable meaning, while still being beautiful. The difficulty comes from recognition, from the way grief here is not abstracted but itemized. Chang writes obituaries not only for her parents, but for everything that dies alongside them: Privacy Voicemail, Music, Appetite, Civility, My Mother’s Lungs, My Mother’s Teeth. Loss multiplies. It spreads. I’ve read many poems and books about dead or dying parents, and I assume this is a grief so profound it reorganizes a person, making writing almost inevitable. What I appreciated here was the originality of Chang’s approach and the restraint of the form, the way meaning deepens rather than spills. 

It’s hard to have a favorite poem in this collection but the one I kept going back to and re-reading was the poem dedicated to Language, which starts like this: “Language- died brilliant and beautiful on August 1, 2009 at 2:46 pm. Lover of raising his hand, language lived a full life of questioning. His favorite was twisting what others said…”

My recommendation: read this book slowly. Let the poems sit with you. Obit doesn’t rush, and it doesn’t want you to either.

✨“If you cut out a rectangle of a perfectly blue sky, no clouds, no wind, no birds, frame it with a blue frame, place it faceup on the floor of an empty museum with an open atrium to the sky, that is grief.”
Omar El Akkad opens this collection of linked nonf Omar El Akkad opens this collection of linked nonfiction essays with a steady, unflinching gaze that widens from the personal to the global as he wrestles with Western imperialism and the hypocrisies that shape our world, especially through the lens of Palestine. 

This book layers personal experience with current events to uncover cruelty. I found the book only got stronger as it went on, deepening with a kind of intentional repetition that felt not redundant but clarifying, almost rhythmic. I read it in one sitting. This isn’t a recycling of headlines or a neatly contextualized summary of Palestine for someone skimming the news. We know there is an ongoing genocide in Gaza. We know the ways we are complicit. What this book does is more intimate: it interrogates why this matters to all of us, and how some of us get to not care at all. I know reviews of a book like this can spiral into questions about intended audience or approachability or whatever, but I don’t know or care who it was written for. What I do know is that it’s exceedingly well written- anecdotal at the right moments, expansive at others, aware of the reader’s place in the machinery. On a prose level: clear, captivating, poetic. I consider myself well versed in this subject matter, and still found great meaning here. I think you would too.

✨“In a hospital. In a refugee camp. In their beds. While making dinner for their children. While holding their siblings. While cycling. While playing on a beach. In a market. In an incubator. Struggling to breathe, under the rubble. While trying to drag a loved one from the middle of the road. While burying the dead. While scavenging for food. While selling vegetables. While swimming in the sea, trying to catch fish. While playing soccer. While waving a white flag. With their hands raised in surrender. With their hands tied. While running away. At a checkpoint. In a torture camp. In a safe zone. In a school. While delivering aid. While waiting on aid. While performing surgery. While sitting down in a chair. By drone, from the safety of great distance. Live on air. Away from sight.”
Follow on Instagram

Proudly powered by WordPress