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Rabeetah Hasnain

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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

On its surface, this is a memoir about a woman’s p On its surface, this is a memoir about a woman’s path to motherhood through surrogacy after years of infertility and miscarriages. But the book reaches beyond that story (of course), weaving together her Palestinian American identity, family history, addiction and sobriety, marriage, and a childhood spent moving between Kuwait, Beirut, Abu Dhabi, Dallas, and Oklahoma City, often in the shadow of war. Organized around the stages of pregnancy, from preconception through postpartum, the book unfolds in short, fragmented passages that loop through time, braiding together multiple versions of Alyan’s life. Throughout, we see her wrestle with questions of a homeland that exists largely through memory alone.

This is exactly the kind of memoir I love: emotional without relying solely on emotion, reflective without becoming self-indulgent, and analytical without losing its core. The fragmented structure really worked for me. Alyan moves freely between timelines and versions of herself, creating the feeling that every moment in her life is happening simultaneously. There’s something so gritty about a poet writing non fiction- there’s an attentiveness to language that elevates the entire project, and I found this memoir even more compelling than her fiction. Memoirs can be difficult to connect with unless they’re exceptionally well written, but here the personal feels expansive and urgent. Distilled to its essence, this is a book about wanting something and refusing to stop moving toward it. 

✨“A story is like a match. It matters how you carry it. How you angle it to the wind.”
A collection of very short, strange flash fictions A collection of very short, strange flash fictions that move with the logic of dreams or fables. The stories are populated with children, grandparents, jealousy, death, promises, jokes, and all kinds of unsettling figures. Many of them feel almost nonsensical at first, propelled more by mood and anxiety than plot, but there’s an emotional thread running underneath the absurdity that keeps the collection tethered. My favorite story, “For the Safety of Our Country,” follows a new batch of presidents arriving at a hotel where the narrator works. The presidents are helpless, childlike, needing instructions for everything: where the water fountains are, what to do after lunch, how to choose a bed. It’s eerie.

I’m kind of going through an absurdism phase right now, both in what I’m reading and watching, and this collection really worked for me when I let myself surrender to its wavelength. I do think you have to be in the right mood for these stories… if not, they feel frustrating or too random. But I never felt like the collection crossed into that version of absurdism where nothing matters and weirdness exists just for the sake of being weird. These stories build toward something emotionally meaningful, and I think absurdist writing has to do that in order to work. The excerpt below is a good example of what I mean. You can’t sustain this level of odd story telling without their being a purpose. The core here gives the stories permission to get strange. We stay mostly in fever-dream territory rather than “quirky” territory, thankfully. 

✨“Among the Presidents there is one President named Huh. I notice him immediately. His black coat is soft and frayed. If in his graying beard is one half-written poem folded up many times, I won’t be surprised at all. He picks his bed last. I linger, though I shouldn’t, as he opens his suitcase. Nothing but dustpans. He stacks them carefully beside his bed. He sees me coming. Dustpans. It’s unquestionably a hearty collection. Something about Huh makes me want to throw a stone in the sea but there is no sea anymore. And the stones were collected and hauled away years ago.”
Structured in three acts, the book follows Lena Du Structured in three acts, the book follows Lena Dunham from selling the pilot of Girls to celebrityhood, where chronic pain and public scrutiny begin to take over. Though the memoir is focused on her body and health, it expands outward in tendrils, showing how nearly every part of her life becomes tethered back to it. She captures the emotional distortions that happen when your life becomes both spectacle and product. Even when she drifts into stories adjacent to the central narrative, Dunham is skilled at threading them back into the book’s larger concerns with body, performance, and self-perception.

First and foremost we have to admit Lena Dunham is a talented writer. The same sharpness and observational humor that made Girls so compelling (then and maybe even MORE now) is all over this book. I was giddy reading all the simple anecdotes and seeing how she draws conclusions and connections from them. I appreciated how honest it seemed, especially when she was admitting fault, guilt, or pettiness. I also loved reading it on a craft level: the way she uses her health as the connective tissue - weaving in other stories to maintain thematic unity felt skillful. I have to admit I did start losing interest once the Girls years ended, and the final third felt a bit sloggy to me. At times, I sensed a kind of purposeful obtuseness where she seemed bewildered by public dislike but my takeaway was -like, yes, she could absolutely be annoying though nothing close to the level of vitriol she received was deserved. At times I questioned the mission of the book being revelation vs reputation management, which can feel constrained. Still, this was the right balance of juicy, funny, personal, and thoughtful to keep me reading, and there’s no denying how gifted she is on the sentence level.

✨“”It is time,” he said with a pregnant pause “that I ask you if you are happy.” Dumbfounded, I looked at him as if he had asked me what it was like to be a cheetah and whether I was enjoying my life in the savannah. It wasn’t that I didn’t have an answer but rather that the question seemed meant for a different sort of creature entirely.”
Though it is clear from the opening pages that we Though it is clear from the opening pages that we are in a penal colony and that this is a story of prisoners and their warden, there is a disturbing casual nature in their conversations which suggests that they are governed more so by some unspoken fear. In the opening scene, Melquiades, the prison warden, is asking Valdenio, a prisoner returning from burying his dog, what is for lunch. Perhaps they could have the roast piglet instead of chicken, maybe some liquor too. The prisoner agrees and starts the meal. From here, we meet a few of the other prisoners and a prison guard, and soon realize there is something even more sinister at work in this prison than the brutality we already associate with prisons.

This short book is proof that we don’t need everything to offer some groundbreaking revelation to carry enormous force. I found that the power of this book came from the way it examined human instincts through language. I loved this book in a stylistic way. The scenes were abrupt and cutting - each section felt like a deep inhale. I never felt the absence of detail or smoother transitions because the concision itself felt intentional and artful. More than the plot or even the themes, it was the execution that stayed with me (the sentence structures, the pacing). I don’t know that I walked away emotionally transformed by its central ideas, but I did leave convinced that this is an important, expertly crafted book. It’s hard to find a book that operates and succeeds at this rhythm. It’s a bleak book but it moves fast and I found it beautifully written. 

✨“Who knew what had happened inside these walls.”
Part memoir, part cultural criticism, part experim Part memoir, part cultural criticism, part experimental essay collection about the internet’s influence on identity, memory, grief, and art. Vara traces her life alongside the rise of big tech (from chat rooms as a teen in the early internet era to her career as a tech journalist covering Silicon Valley) while showing us the impact of ai-generated conversations, search histories, Amazon reviews, and essays examining the strange emotional and creative entanglements between humans and technology. 

This premise feels immediate. My favorite sections were the personal ones (of course) - the opening chapters, “Ghosts,” (an essay about her sister’s death that went viral which shows how ai would’ve finished each section of her story) and the later essay reflecting on its reception and unexpected embrace by ai enthusiasts. I also appreciated the contextual history about the rise of tech culture and ai; even when repetitive, it helped ground the personal experiences within a broader timeline of how we arrived here. But - the sections that used ai to demonstrate why you shouldn’t use ai felt tedious quickly turned gimmicky. I wish those sections were shorter excerpts paired with more of Vara’s own analysis because her own writing is concise and thoughtful. Vara also often seems aware of her own detachment or apathy toward the systems surrounding her, but instead of pushing deeper into that discomfort, the book sometimes rationalizes it in ways that felt so close but not all the way there to me. Still, I think it’s an interesting read, especially if you’re skeptical of big tech or unsettled by ai’s growing presence. I’d recommend reading it in spurts - starting chapters, skipping around, staying with the essays that resonate. The exciting thing is that the book almost invites that kind of fragmented reading experience.

✨“But AI language models, being mere parrots, do not have communicative intent. They neither represent an individual perspective nor model the perspective of a potential reader. The language they emit is all signifier, stripped of significance; any significance we perceive is a mirage.”
We meet Natalie who has curated a wholesome, charm We meet Natalie who has curated a wholesome, charming, rustic life with her 6 children, and cowboy husband, and 8 million followers. She is a modern tradwife: raw milk, farm-fresh eggs, prairie dresses. What her audience doesn’t see are the nannies, producers, industrial kitchens, and political machinery behind the performance. And then, one day, Natalie wakes up in the actual reality of 1805 where it is cold, dirty, scary and she is stripped of every modern convenience. 

I feel like I got tricked into reading this book as is the nature of overly contemporary, trendy books. It had the kind of premise that hooks you - tradwife influencer forced to survive the actual historical conditions she romanticizes online and for a while I really thought this book was building toward something sharper. I finished it in part because I needed to know how these 2 worlds would collide but mostly because I wanted to engage in the discourse (sorry!) 

The problem is it never commits to the depth of critique its premise demands. What could have been a biting analysis of the tradwife phenomenon instead narrows itself into a story of personal suffering. I would have loved to see a less safe version of this book- where we dissected the machinery underneath. Instead, Natalie is framed more as a victim and I found this flattening boring. I liked that she was unlikeable- that part felt honest to me. The novel exposes this illusion, but stops short of interrogating the structures that make the illusion profitable and desirable. Not every novel needs to be a manifesto, but when you build a story around such a culturally loaded concept, one layer isn’t enough. The result, for me, is an elevated beach read that feels compulsively consumable but insubstantial. I cautiously recommend it if you’re interested in the topics mentioned, because it is entertaining and I did read it to the last page - fast. But much like the one-minute clips of this exact lifestyle that flood my phone, it’s designed to provoke immediate reaction rather than lasting thought.

✨“The goal of an influencer is not to be lovable, and it is not to be unbearable. The goal is to be both at once. In other words: addicting.”
Alison is 23 and still grieving the drowning death Alison is 23 and still grieving the drowning death of her sister five years earlier when she moves to New York City, hoping distance and a change might help her move forward. Instead she finds herself in the familiar rhythm of early adulthood in a new city: barely making rent on a restaurant salary, living with distant roommates, and drifting through awkward friendships and disappointing dates. Then one night she turns a corner and sees something hovering in the air– a ghost! Stranger still, it looks like a fish! Alison knows immediately what it is: her sister, somehow returned to her. She takes the ghost-fish home and keeps it alive in a pickle jar filled with water in her bedroom.

I was totally ready to suspend disbelief for this strange premise which is obviously tied to the manifestation of grief, paranoia, and obsessive behaviors. I kept waiting for the novel to lean harder into that weirdness but it never really did. Much of the story instead settles into a series of very familiar “new to the city” experiences: restaurant job dynamics, awkward roommate relationships, and bad dating choices. The writing itself is polished, but the narrative felt boringly safe given the potential exciting setup. The only moments that really worked for me were the small ones where Alison’s secret shaped her life, like when she’d be out somewhere but feel the pull to rush home because her ghost-sister was waiting in the jar. I found those glimpses hinted at a deeper, stranger story about attachment/letting go that I kept hoping the book would deliver, but it mostly stayed in lukewarm territory. Once again, sometimes a weird idea isn’t enough to propel a narrative.
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.”
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