Book Review: The Weary Blues

Book Review: The Weary Blues by Langston Hughes 

Goodreads Description: The Weary Blues is Langston Hughes's first published collection of poems, immediately celebrated as a tour de force upon its release. Over ninety years after its publication, it remains a critically acclaimed literary work and still evokes a fresh, contemporary feeling and offers a powerful reflection of the Black experience. From the title poem "The Weary Blues," echoing the sounds of the blues, to "Dream Variation," ringing with joyfulness, to the "Epilogue" that mimics Walt Whitman in its opening line, "I, too, sing America," Hughes writes clearly and colorfully, and his words remain prophetic and relevant today.

My Review: Nearly 100 years ago, Langston Hughes published his first poetry collection, The Weary Blues, a modern classic that propelled him to the top of the literary scene in Harlem in the 1930s. The Weary Blues takes us on a wide journey through various aspects of Hughes' life, introducing us to Harlem in its heyday, the impact of the Blues, and the beauty and strength of the black community. Hughes combines familiar contemporary language with classical poetry forms, structures, and allusions to give his poetry a sense of timelessness, which makes it accessible to a wide variety of readers. Hughes' collection constantly brings together opposing dichotomies on the page to demonstrate their ultimate similarity: ugliness and beauty, black and white, joy and suffering. In this way, The Weary Blues draws on multiple aspects of the human experience to create a rich image of life as a black man in 1920s America. 

Langston Hughes is known for his involvement with the Harlem Renaissance, a period of cultural revival for black art during the 1920-30s, which laid the groundwork for civil rights movements and the Black Arts Movement of the 1960-70s. Throughout his poems, Hughes plays with major ideas that shaped the Harlem Renaissance - such as art as propaganda to support black civil rights movements, and double consciousness - the idea that black people experience two separate 'consciousnesses': life as a black person and an American. Hughes utilizes his poems as a form of propaganda to fight back against white oppression by showcasing blackness and black people as divinely beautiful, while highlighting the suffering and disconnect that comes from systematic oppression. In that way, many of his works are extremely powerful, and when taking the collection in whole, it's hard not see the outpouring of love that Hughes has for his community, his heritage, his country, and ultimately himself. It's this self-love and self-respect that allows Hughes' art to advocate for his community while refusing to submit to a lesser station in society to earn acceptance. His poetry loudly states: we are beautiful, we are strong, and we are capable of greatness, so why don't we deserve a seat at the table? It's a message that never gets old. 

The influence of Blues music remains strong throughout the entire collection. Hughes had a deep understanding of rhythm and infused this into the bones of his poems. The titular poem, "The Weary Blues" does an excellent job at recreating the sound of a Blues song, but it's "The Cat and the Saxophone" that really captures this Blusey feeling for me. The poem feels a bit all over the place, with people talking over a Blues song, but the use of caps, line breaks, rhythms, and stresses expertly recreates the sound of a swinging trumpet and its long soulful notes. The parts of the collection that are less focused on music, such as the sailor arc, utilize different rhythms that emphasize silence (think calming ocean white noise) which sharply contrast with the Blues pieces. This is what makes the Blusey pieces really pop, as readers can hear the difference between the various rhythms. The collection utilizes classical poetry forms throughout, while also mixing in more expressive free verse poems that capture the lack of structure during certain parts of Hughes' life (his sea-faring poems are largely freeverse). This change of form and style gives a refreshing diversity to the pieces in this collection, however, Hughes largely sticks to simple page arrangements while constructing his poems, leaving little for the eye to feast on besides the meat of the stanzas themselves. Many of the poems are short, some even only three lines long, and while his short pieces are meaningful, it feels like a potential is missed out on by not experimenting more with the white space. This may be an unfair criticism, since concrete poetry and experiments in white space didn't really kick off until the 1950s, but I did find myself really missing the aesthetic arrangement, especially for those really short, powerful pieces. 

All in all, Langston Hughes' first poetry collection is filled with joy, pain, music, and wisdom, all packed within tight little stanzas. Even after 100 years, his astute observations and use of language resonates with readers of any background and makes The Weary Blues an excellent addition to any poetry collection. 

TL;DR: 3/5 stars. A modern classic that celebrates the beauty and majesty of the black community. 

Book Review: Peter Darling

Book Review: Peter Darling by Austin Chant 

Goodreads Description: The Lost Boys say that Peter Pan went back to England because of Wendy Darling, but Wendy is just an old life he left behind. Neverland is his real home. So when Peter returns to it after ten years in the real world, he’s surprised to find a Neverland that no longer seems to need him.

The only person who truly missed Peter is Captain James Hook, who is delighted to have his old rival back. But when a new war ignites between the Lost Boys and Hook’s pirates, the ensuing bloodshed becomes all too real – and Peter’s rivalry with Hook starts to blur into something far more complicated, sensual, and deadly.

My Review: This review contains minor spoilers. 

Peter Darling is an interesting blend of contradictions. I first stumbled across the book while killing time on trans subreddits, where fans were raving about its trans and mlm representation. The book has apparently found its online niche-- its Goodreads page has over 8k ratings and 2k reviews, with over 70% of those ratings at either 4 or 5 stars, and fans are singing its praises across online networks. If this book had come to me about 15 years ago, I'd likely be another diehard fan hailing it as a triumph, because the book does have some solid emotionally-resonate moments of representation. Yet on the whole, it fails to achieve a cohesive narrative due to inconsistent character motivations, poor characterization, and enough head-hopping to make someone motion sick. 

Let's start with the positives. This book won the 2017 Rainbow Award for Best Cover, Best Debut Transgender Book, and Best Transgender Sci-fi/Fantasy, and was a runner up for Best Transgender Book, mainly for its female-to-male trans representation. I can see why this book was on the radar, as it does more than present a trans man's circumstances -- rather it pierces right into the heart of what it feels like to be a trans man. Capturing some of the emotionality of what it means to be trans is what gives this book its power. As well, Chant builds solid tension through the slow reveal of Peter's "secret" by blending it into Neverland lore - why did Peter disappear to for so long? Why did he come back? And who really is Peter 'Pan', anyway? This evolving tension connects well with the setting (Neverland as an escapist fantasy from a transphobic world), the themes of the text (forging identity through story), and Peter and James' struggles to assert themselves against the world. 

Most of the book is the 'trapped together' trope, which may not be to everyone's taste, but for those who do enjoy it, the story fully embraces the trope without edging too far into sappy territory. Chant's writing is also quite beautiful at times. There were many lines that I highlighted for their lyrical composition as well as their wisdom. As demonstrated in the prologue, Chant can set a decent atmosphere that draws in reader interest, but sadly underutilizes atmosphere and scene-setting throughout the rest of the book. 

The author is obviously familiar with JM Barrie's original Peter and Wendy novel, as many characters and references from Barrie's text pop up in Peter Darling. While these references were a great addition to fill out Chant's story, they also draw a direct connection to Barrie's work, which made the shortcomings of Peter Darling all the more obvious. Barrie's original text idealized childhood as a time of wonder and wildness, as different but on equal footing with adult experiences. Through Peter Pan, Barrie represents childhood as a Romantic would nature - beautiful, powerful, chaotic, illogical, yet also whole, idyllic, life-giving, unknowable, and awe-inspiring. Barrie represented children as holding a unique perspective and wisdom towards the world that is lost once we transition to adulthood. Chant's text doesn't engage with this conception of childhood and instead reduces Peter's violence and illogical reasoning to something 'childish' that is lesser than the 'adult' treaties and peace negotiations that have taken place across Neverland since his departure. Chant even differentiates adult and child war, implying that people die in adult wars and thus they are far more serious, something Barrie never did. It strikes me as strange for Chant to disregard childhood as somehow lesser when Barrie went out of his way to idealize childhood - warts and all - and put it on equal footing with adult experiences, which is what made the untamable image of Peter Pan so enticing. 

Overall, my main struggles with Peter Darling were the inconsistent characterizations and motivations that made it difficult to understand why anyone did anything. Peter begins the book with a vague, ill-defined memory loss that is never explained. He quickly regains his memories, but his morals and perspective are so unclear that his actions often come across as contradictory. It's clear that Peter is supposed to act more like Barrie's iteration in the beginning - irrational, violent, uncaring of people around him - slowly realize his 'childish' ways are selfish and hurting people, and ultimately grow up into a more compassionate individual. However, Peter's motivation before and after the change are not clearly communicated, so it's hard to understand why he makes those changes, or why he was attached to his original perspective in the first place. Even when these changes happen, they're half-assed in a way that makes it unclear if any change has actually occurred. Even after Peter sees the Lost Boys as more than just disposable soldiers, the narrative undermines this by revealing that everyone except himself and Hook are imaginary, and thus not worth caring about as 'real' people. This gives Peter permission to go back to being a compassionless jerk and ignore the found family he was trying to build relationships with so he can focus on his own selfish romantic pursuits. This inconsistent motivation translated to other characters - mostly Hook, as he's the only other 'real' character for much of the book. Hook's motivation for pirating and being Captain Hook are largely unexplored outside of his drive for treasure. We could assume he doesn't need motivation for being a pirate outside of treasure and joy for the lifestyle, yet when Peter returns and challenges him to war games (as they had done before his disappearance), Hook rejects him and then chides Peter for his childish desire for violence. Because of that, it's hard to understand how this Captain Hook is the same one from Barrie's story, who reveled in violence and piracy, yet we also get no explanation for why he's changed. Chant appears to want his cake and eat it too -- he flip flops between honouring Barrie's characters and criticizing them without any clear statement or conclusion, leading to a jumbled mess of characterization. 

It's a real shame, because there's a lot to like about this book. If you're looking for a simple mlm romance with great trans representation that builds off long-loved fanfiction tropes, then this is the book for you. However, the inconsistent motivations did disrupt my enjoyment on even that factor, so if you do choose to dive in, make sure to turn your brain all the way off for full enjoyment. 

TL;DR: 2/5 stars. A trans retelling of Peter Pan with great prose but aggravating characterization. 

Book Review: The Hidden Oracle

Book Review: The Hidden Oracle by Rick Riordan 

Goodreads Description: How do you punish an immortal?

By making him human.

After angering his father Zeus, the god Apollo is cast down from Olympus. Weak and disorientated, he lands in New York City as a regular teenage boy. Now, without his godly powers, the four-thousand-year-old deity must learn to survive in the modern world until he can somehow find a way to regain Zeus's favour.

But Apollo has many enemies—gods, monsters and mortals who would love to see the former Olympian permanently destroyed. Apollo needs help, and he can think of only one place to go... an enclave of modern demigods known as Camp Half-Blood.

My Review: Spoilers ahead for the book's main twist. Proceed with caution. 

Here we are again, back with another Riordan book. I was expecting the usual delightful romp through the Percy Jackson universe, but was surprised to find The Hidden Oracle has a completely different vibe than previous installments, both in good and bad ways. 

As punishment for indirectly aiding Gaea and the giants in their war against the Gods in the previous series, Apollo is cast down to Earth in mortal form and must reclaim the five Oracles that have gone mysteriously silent. Due to his circumstances, Apollo is not the jovial or wide-eyed protagonist that usually appears in the Riordanverse: he's irritable, arrogant, cowardly, and most importantly, an adult. While his memories are hazy enough that "Lester" is able to embody a somewhat juvenile perspective on the world, Apollo's characterization still feels like a bored adult being forced to endure this magical childlike adventure, and his cynicism at times brought me out of the fun of the story. It's hard to say if it's me, or Riordan, or his choice of protagonist (perhaps all of the above), but this book felt like it was bored of its own formula. It constantly tries to buck against its universe's well-cemented formula with differing levels of effectiveness, with Apollo's characterization being the most difficult change to climatize to. He does transform over the book, as well as the series, and his more grating traits are sanded down as he learns and grows. I have read the third book in this series (you can find my review for it here) and Apollo's arrogance, cowardice, and his negative attitude towards the quest are toned down to a much more tolerable degree by that point in the series. In this book, though, it can be a bit much. However, there's still a lot to like about this protagonist. Apollo, as a lover-not-a-fighter God, often tries to avoid solving conflicts with force, like previous demigod protagonists, and is often using music to overwhelm his enemies or advance his quest. As much as Apollo's attitude can be somewhat grating, it was refreshing to follow a pacifist character who will wander off in hilarious directions to avoid a fist fight, and whose creative approach to problem solving breathes new life into a series that has largely solved problems through finding different flavours of how to hit someone. 

Apollo's characterization is far from the biggest formula shake-up. Historically, Riordanverse villains have been large, mythical beasts and creatures, and while The Trials of Apollo still features the existentialist monsters we know and love from Greek myth, the new series features a host of "god-emperors" to join the cast of baddies - real historical figures that have ascended to legend status due to their stories being told again and again. While previous Riordan books have featured humans or demigods working alongside the primordial baddies, the god-emperors from this series are "bosses" while previous humans and even demigods like Luke were treated and behaved more like disposable "peons" or "soldiers." These god-emperors are not only part of the problem, they are leading the problem, and this creates room to question the goodness of humans, the evil within monsters, and everything in between. 

The book raises questions about the capacity of good and evil not only in its villains, but also in its protagonists. Meg, daughter of Demeter, is presented like no other demigod up until this point. Her story doesn't follow the typical pipeline of discovering powers-traveling to Camp Half-Blood-being claimed-establish self at camp-define oneself through questing. When Apollo meets her early on in the book, she already knows how to fight of monsters, has some conception of her powers and origin, and is content to survive in the urban jungles on her own than journey to a camp to be trained like a traditional hero. Meg presents as neurodivergent throughout the novel, from her antisocial tendencies, her lack of concern for hygiene, poor social skills, and odd behaviour, including behaviours that could be considered "stimming." Because she isn't a high-functioning charismatic attractive teenager, Apollo clearly doesn't like her and is even grossed out by her, but as time passes he grows to see past her presentation and comes to care for her compassion, tenacity, and resilience. Because she presents so differently than most other characters, Meg gives readers who may be neurodivergent themselves, or who may feel like the 'weird outcast,' a character they can really connect to. Many of Riordan's character, like Percy himself, are larger than life - a little too charismatic, a little too friendly and patient, a little too eloquent, a little too perfect. While these characters can be excellent aspiration models, it can be intimidating to compare your messy human self to a character so perfect. Meg's imperfections felt like a release of tension in comparison. It also creates a bit of mystery, as Meg doesn't always communicate her thoughts with Apollo or the reader, opening space to question her motivations by the time she comes to betray Apollo to Nero, one of the god-emperors. It's revealed that Meg was actually working alongside Nero throughout the entire book and her betrayal leaves the ending uncertain, a sort of cliff hanger that allows readers to wonder in what capacity Meg will return -- as a villain, as someone who needs rescuing, or as someone who need redemption? Only time, and pages, will tell. 

All in all, I enjoyed The Hidden Oracle for what it was. I enjoyed the change-ups to the formula, and the honest attempt to scratch at good and evil while staying within the bounds of a middle grade formulaic novel, but these change ups both helped and hurt in many ways. Ultimately, it was Apollo's negativity and bitterness that dragged the vibe down and made it hard to enjoy the mythical romp. 

TL;DR: 3/5 stars. A solid Riordan romp that changes up the formula to open up conversations on villains and heroes, good and evil. 

Book Review: Book of Rhymes

Book Review: Book of Rhymes: The Poetics of Hip Hop by Adam Bradley 

Goodreads Description: If asked to list the greatest innovators of modern American poetry, few of us would think to include Jay-Z or Eminem in their number. And yet hip hop is the source of some of the most exciting developments in verse today. The media uproar in response to its controversial lyrical content has obscured hip hop's revolution of poetic craft and experience: Only in rap music can the beat of a song render poetic meter audible, allowing an MC's wordplay to move a club-full of eager listeners.

Examining rap history's most memorable lyricists and their inimitable techniques, literary scholar Adam Bradley argues that we must understand rap as poetry or miss the vanguard of poetry today. Book of Rhymes explores America's least understood poets, unpacking their surprisingly complex craft, and according rap poetry the respect it deserves. 

My Review: This book is Adam Bradley's love letter to rap, and what a letter it is. Despite being a nonfiction book set on teaching readers about the fundamentals of rap poetry, Bradley writes this book more like a memoir, centering his real-life experiences of studying and loving hip-hop. In this way, the book feels intimate and personal, while making solid arguments for the recognition of an art form that promotes community pride, encourages activism, and rebels against a system that has actively oppressed minorities since its inception. 

Bradley breaks down rap into six major elements and spends a chunk of the book looking into each element: rhythm, rhyme, wordplay, style, signifying, and storytelling. Bradley begins the book by digging into rap's influence on the world, its historical roots, role in black communities, and what separates it from other forms of poetry or music. He directly tackles difficult questions that have plagued rap for years and seeks to "explain without apologizing" when it comes to the genre's homophobic, misogynistic, or violent lyrics that appears antithesis to political activism. He does this by framing hip-hop within the socio-economic environment from which it grows, its lyrics therefore a reflection of the intergenerational trauma of black communities and their desire to be heard, to have a voice. As any troubled kid looking for attention will tell you, sometimes being unapologetically offensive is the best way to make society pay attention to what you have to say. Rap's authenticity resonates because it doesn't censor its expression; it just spits feeling onto the page and lets the dominos fall where they may. Unfortunately, that leads to some problematic lyrics now and again. 

Bradley splices in bits of history, interviews, and quotes from famous rappers, industry professionals, poets, English scholars, as well as plenty of rap lyrics, to illustrate hip-hop's place in the wider linguistic, poetic, and musical world. Bradley's writing is easy to read and engaging, and by centering his own passion for the subject in first person reflections, readers are able to easily connect to the subject matter through Bradley's enthusiasm. At times, his wordplay rivals the lyricists he is praising, ultimately leading to a delightful read obviously imbued with substantial passion for the art form. 

TL;DR: 3/5 stars. A well-written and passionate analysis of rap poetics. 

Book Review: Far From You

Book Review: Far From You by Tess Sharpe 

Goodreads Description: Sophie Winters nearly died. Twice. The first time, she's fourteen, and escapes a near-fatal car accident with scars, a bum leg, and an addiction to Oxy that'll take years to kick. 

The second time, she's seventeen, and it's no accident. Sophie and her best friend, Mina, are confronted by a masked man in the woods. Sophie survives, but Mina is not so lucky. When the cops deem Mina's murder a drug deal gone wrong, casting partial blame on Sophie, no one will believe the truth: Sophie has been clean for months, and it was Mina who led her into the woods that night. 

After a forced stint in rehab, Sophie returns home to find a chilly new reality. Mina's brother won't speak to her, her parents fear she'll relapse, old friends have become enemies, and Sophie has to learn how to live without her other half. To make matters worse, no one is looking in the right places, so Sophie must search for Mina's murderer on her own. But with every step, Sophie comes closer to revealing all: about herself, about Mina, and about the secret they shared. 

My Review: Sharpe's Far From You exists in a nebulous space for me. Even after several months, I still can't decide how I feel about it. It's a mixed bag; while the positives are on point, the negatives make me so frustrated that I wanted to throw the whole book out, good parts be damned. For one, it's an excellent read, full of twists, turns, red herrings and scattered clues that make it a satisfying mystery to unravel. It also has a deep emotional core that sits atop a romance that meshes together so many confusing adolescent feelings and experiences: love, jealousy, anxiety, social stigma, interpersonal drama, grief, and loss. The romance captures a realistic look at teenage social dynamics that spiked a wave of nostalgia for my own adolescence, where the interpersonal drama and intense emotional reactions were all claustrophobically bottled up within our tight-knit teenage cliques. Yet despite the realism, the book falls into the YA publishing trap when it comes to depicting teenage drug use: wanting to borrow the drama of addiction while failing to actually represent people with addiction. YA publishing errs on the side of caution when tackling these stories, preferring to depict addicts as victims rather than as having an active hand in their own addiction. While this is the safer approach when appealing to parent pocketbooks, it purposefully skews the perception of addiction and differentiates between "deserving" and "undeserving" addicts. When the point of writing a story like this is to encourage empathy towards people living in different circumstances, creating this distinction in fiction that isn't reflective of reality is more problematic than not publishing fiction on addiction in the first place. 

Before I elaborate on its problematic elements-- we'll start with the basics. The book features a first person POV with a writing style focused primarily on action, with little introspection or lyricism to its style. This helps to keep the pacing swift as the mystery builds upon itself layer by layer. The text also features heavy flashbacks that jump all over the timeline, and this scattered sense of events shows the reader how Sophie's trauma and addiction have rattled her memory and ultimately the story of her life. The book is gritty, managing a noir detective-like tone, but not as much as one would expect -- Sophie largely hangs out with non-drug users, which significantly reduces opportunities for sketchier scenes. The book's focus on the romance subplot also detracts from its 'edginess.' The depictions of drug use are minimal and purposefully vague, which ultimately prevents glamorization and copycat behaviours. There are just enough signal words, like 'snorted,' to give hints to the methods, but no overt descriptions of her use.  

As far as queer representation goes, this book is wonderful. It features a relationship between a bisexual woman and a lesbian, and explores the nuances of how labels affect them - Sophie's ability to love men as well as women allows her to blend in with heteronormative society, while Mina doesn't have that option. The book also beautifully conflates the stigmas of addiction with WLW attraction - showcasing how both addicts and LGBTQ2S+ people live dual or shadowed lives that prevent them from self-actualization. The text also digs into how homophobia manifests differently for bisexual vs lesbian women, which is just... *chef's kiss* Books that dig into the nuances of identity and interpersonal relationships really get my motor running, because expanding empathetic understanding for those different from you is what writing is all about. 

Which is why the depiction of drug addiction left me seriously disappointed. Firstly, I want to be clear: Far From You is not completely unrealistic. There are a lot of very real elements to Sophie's addiction that do speak truth to the experience, but the narrative still falls into the same victimization pits that claim many other YA books dealing with the topic. The origin of Sophie's addiction is revealed within the first few pages: a car accident left her with chronic pain and a near--unlimited access to prescription painkillers. The addiction that develops almost feels inevitable. The 'car accident' narrative is extremely popular in YA when tackling drug addiction, because it removes a character's personal responsibility for their addiction. This unfortunately creates a distinction between "deserving" and "undeserving" addicts --  those who are victims of treatment mismanagement are therefore worthy of our attention, support, and treatment, while characters who instigate their own addiction through the use of street drugs are ultimately "monsters" who deserve to be vilified and forgotten. Unfortunately, Far From You highlights who is "deserving" and "undeserving" very clearly when Sophie encounters a teenage meth addict later in the book who is trying to get clean -- she is incredibly rude to him, condescending, and treats him as the liar 'addict' stereotype - a stereotype she vehemently fought against when parents and adults pinned it on her. This lack of empathy for someone going through nearly the exact same situation as her feels strange - I could write it off as a character flaw, if the narrative itself didn't treat Sophie and Matt so differently. Matt is in recovery, yet spoken about like garbage, the worst is assumed about him, he goes to NA meetings, and he is heavily watched by his entire family. He's treated as dangerous, as a bomb that's about to blow, while Sophie, on the other hand, gets incredible freedom, and people act like they're just disappointed in her -- when Sophie is the one who has supposedly gotten someone murdered. 

This unbalanced treatment left a bad taste in my mouth, especially because in my experience working in a youth detox/rehab facility, teenagers don't follow Sophie's trajectory of car accident, pain killers, addiction. They usually look more like Matt, and have chosen to use substances to cope with trauma, or because their parents did it, or because of abusive peer pressure, and now find themselves powerless against their addiction. The Matts of the world are just as deserving as the Sophies, and I'm tired of fiction that draws a line between types of addicts, because this distinction influences our politics, our laws, and how we treat the most vulnerable in our society. Frankly, I think understanding what makes someone reach for a pipe is far more fascinating than borrowing the drama of drug addiction through a victimization narrative that allows characters to "play bad" without being "one of them." 

TL;DR: All in all, 4/5 stars. A story about love and loss that enmeshes the stigmas of homophobia and drug addiction, while ultimately failing the addicts it hopes to represent. 

Book Review: The Last Unicorn

Book Review: The Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle 

Goodreads Description: The unicorn discovers that she is the last unicorn in the world, and sets off to find the others. She meets Schmendrick the Magician—whose magic seldom works, and never as he intended—when he rescues her from Mommy Fortuna's Midnight Carnival, where only some of the mythical beasts displayed are illusions. They are joined by Molly Grue, who believes in legends despite her experiences with a Robin Hood wannabe and his unmerry men. Ahead wait King Haggard and his Red Bull, who banished unicorns from the land.

My Review: When it comes to classics, The Last Unicorn is the quintessential fairy tale. Beagle is thrown up there with other classic heavyweights like Tolkien, Lewis Carrol, or EB White, and it's clear why. Beagle crafted a world rich with wisdom, where fact and fiction twist until they call into question the objectivity of perception. 

The Last Unicorn features a typical fantasy setting modelled after medieval Europe - full of kings and knights, peasant villages, and royal courts. Yet the familiar mythical beasts of classic fantasy are oddly lacking - the colour feels zapped out of the world, much like the unicorn's coat fading from sea-green to a snow white. Magic has been drawn to the edges of the map, leaving some to question its existence at all, yet the unicorn, the harpy of the Midnight Carnival, even Schmendrick's magic, as underwhelming as it may be at times, points to the existence of something greater. The text makes a convincing argument for the existence of magic in our own world, as some characters, even when faced with magic and myth, are unable to see it. Sometimes this is due to magical interference, but usually it's the characters' closed-mindedness that prevents them from seeing outside of their own perception, leading them to see only what they expect to. The entire book plays with themes of reality and illusions, myth and fact, all funneled through an individual's ultimately malleable perception. Since this book was published in 1968, it's highly likely that Beagle shaped modern fantasy with this concept of magic existing just outside our periphery, and it's exciting to see this concept executed so well and thoughtfully. The Last Unicorn doesn't just throw in some cheap "veil" explanation, but dives deep into concepts of seeing and recognition that will make you re-evaluate what might be lurking in the corner of your own vision.

The book is written as a fable, like the ones Molly Grue is so enamored with, and while this approach allows for an easy dispense of wisdom, it keeps the reader at a distance and doesn't allow for easy self-insertion. Many times while reading, I wondered what was really going on with Schmendrick and if his intentions were actually what they seemed. Beagle achieves this through an omniscient narrator that gives us glimpses into each character's head before pulling back out again. The audience therefore never fully knows each character, making it difficult for readers to identify with them. This likely led to my lower rating, as I love identifying with characters while reading as a form of escapism, though I acknowledge this would have dealt a blow to the fable atmosphere and prevented the characters from reaching a more 'legend-esque' status. 

The writing throughout the book is breathtaking and creates many quotable lines heavy with meaning. While Beagle's world stands on its own, there are many allusions to real life plays, poetry, books, and more that connects The Last Unicorn to a sense of 'real' life and history. This connection to our world, combined with the way the text harmonizes various ideas of what a 'traditional fantasy fable' constitutes, creates a seamless mythical story that feels far older than it is, since it resonates with so many intangible cultural conceptions of medieval fantasy. It's filled with whimsy that feels directionless at first, but hums with thematic meaning. The lyrical language alone carries readers into a world of wonder and draws together the fable-like aspects, soft magic system, and distant characters to create a fairy tale truly deserving of the name. 

You can't go wrong with this classic. It feels like the wellspring from which much of modern fantasy has erupted from. 

TL;DR: 3/5 stars. A classic modern fairy tale employing all the wit and whimsy language has to offer. 

Book Review: Binti

Book Review: Binti: The Complete Trilogy by Nnedi Okorafor 

Goodreads Description: In her Hugo- and Nebula-winning novella, Nnedi Okorafor introduced us to Binti, a young Himba girl with the chance of a lifetime: to attend the prestigious Oomza University. Despite her family's concerns, Binti's talent for mathematics and her aptitude with astrolabes make her a prime candidate to undertake this interstellar journey.

But everything changes when the jellyfish-like Medusae attack Binti's spaceship, leaving her the only survivor. Now, Binti must fend for herself, alone on a ship full of the beings who murdered her crew, with five days until she reaches her destination.

There is more to the history of the Medusae--and their war with the Khoush--than first meets the eye. If Binti is to survive this voyage and save the inhabitants of the unsuspecting planet that houses Oomza Uni, it will take all of her knowledge and talents to broker the peace.

My Review: Okay, I'll be the one to say it. You know what's wrong with sci-fi? Not enough magic in it. 

Okorafor took on the challenge to blend the two genres in her space opera novellas about a human woman accepted into an intergalactic university - the first of her tribe to leave her humble Himba home and sharpen her skills alongside multiple races in an intergalactic university. For Binti, her math skills aren't just about numbers, they're a type of magic that allows her to understand other life forms and influence the universe. The novellas employ a soft magic system that's purposefully vague on its limitations, but appears to mainly facilitate communication between Binti and the wider universe. Math, as they say, is the universal language. 

In the west, science fiction and fantasy genres seem to inhabit opposite ends of the spectrum - mimicking the divide between religion and science outside of fiction. Religion and science are seen as dissonant forces, like oil and water, fascists and freedom, or the gays and a monochrome color scheme. Okorafor, however, takes a very different approach. The Binti novellas showcase a more African perspective by representing science and magic as two heads of the same coin. These novellas don't seek to separate and categorize, but to harmonize the various pieces of our world into one complete image. Math is a language. Science is only a technical definition of magic. The currents that run through machines also run through humans. We are made of stardust. This fusion of ideas unleashes a torrent of new opportunities for a genre that, like science itself, isolates pieces from the whole -- making itself smaller in an attempt to isolate truth. The Binti novellas are antithesis to that, and therefore a breath of fresh air for the genre. These novellas tackle the whole of human experience, yet lean on soft magic and vague technological explanations to enhance the mysticism of life -- that not everything can be known or seen, even when taking in the whole picture. 

Okorafor has stated that the Binti novellas are not young adult, but the novellas very much read like YA works -- coming of age narratives, leaving home/parents to exert independence, a school setting, the focus on action over introspection, the flavour of 'chosen one' that follows Binti throughout her adventures, etc. There's an innocence to these books that is incredibly heart-warming and makes these works accessible to both the young and young at heart. The way conflict is resolved over the works also adds to a more innocent/YA style, as each problem is resolved with relatively few complications. This is likely due to the novella format, as if these stories were combined into a single novel, it would prompt more escalation before resolution. This trend breaks by the end, as the conflict from Home and The Night Masquerade bleed into one another to make for a more triumphant climax. 

These stories tackle a variety of very human topics while taking us beyond the stars - racism, xenophobia, diaspora, transhumanism, trauma, etc. Binti spends most of the text reeling from the traumatic massacre that takes place in the first novella, which forces her to dig deep into her identity to create an internal stability and find resiliency. Several characters remark on Binti's unstoppable tenacity, yet Binti's healing remains at the forefront of the story, creating a balance between strength and pain that felt true to the human experience. The interactions between human and alien cultures also felt true to human psychology, as opposed to sci-fi's tendency to view culture clashing only through a militaristic lens. The first novella leans in that direction, as the Meduse at first appear quite militaristic in their willingness to complete a suicide mission for honor, their formidable war history, hive-mind structure, etc., yet the Meduse culture is rounded out as the novellas progress, creating a more nuanced picture of their reactions to other cultures. The university offers the perfect setting to explore xenophobia, as characters from very different races and backgrounds have to co-operate with each other, creating a setting that closely mirrors our own western society. Instead of the savage environment that sci-fi loves, where racism and xenophobia are expressed in kill-or-be-killed scenarios, a setting where different creatures have to co-operate and learn from one another or risk expulsion or jail, opens opportunities to show the nuances of our own experience reflected back under a fantastical metaphor. It's easy to see why these stories collected their share of Hugo and Nebulas. 

The only reason why I couldn't give the book full stars was I found a weird number of plot holes or confusing choices throughout, but particularly in the first novella. Some things are lightly contradicted later, and some moments felt weak without a proper explanation. Binti is used as a translator for the Meduse, yet when they arrive at the University, it's discovered Meduse is commonly-spoken. She knows what forests smell like, despite only reading about them. Okwu begins the story happy to die for a mission it knows it cannot win, yet in subsequent novellas, says it wouldn't fight a war it couldn't win. Little inconsistencies like this that may be due to the novellas being written at different times and them compiled into this book at a later date. 

All in all, what an amazing story. The only other complaint I have is there isn't more, and I hope Okorafor will write more novellas in Binti's world, should the ideas be there. I highly suggest picking up a copy, especially if you're a fan of science fiction, young adult, or just a damn good story. 

TL;DR: 4/5 stars. A beautifully human space opera that carries readers to the stars and then back home again.