→ October 27, 2021
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Homegoing.

My daughter had to read Yaa Gyasi’s acclaimed debut novel Homegoing for her 9th grade English class, reporting that she thought it was extremely well-written, just sad. I tend to enjoy post-colonial literature, so I thought I’d give it a shot, further encouraged by the fact that the novel had won the PEN/Hemingway Award.

The novel is a sequence of fourteen connected short stories that follow the descendants of two Asante half-sisters, one of whom was sold into slavery, the other married to an English colonizer, down to the present day, by which point both lineages are in the United States. What happens from there isn’t as simple as you’d expect – this isn’t Sliding Doors, where everything is great in one set of stories and awful in the others – as Gyasi builds a new character in every chapter, developing them as independent people but also recognizing how history would define not just their circumstances but their personalities as well. The stories move through several centuries of history, from the way contact with Europeans tore apart the Gold Coast to how slavery and Jim Crow laws continue to limit Black Americans’ economic opportunities.

Even as the setting shifts from present-day Ghana to the U.S., the shadow of colonization obscures everything that happens in Homegoing. The course of history was changed when white people showed up in Africa and decided it was theirs – the land, the resources, and even the people – and the ramifications echo down through seven generations in this novel. Gyasi doesn’t deny her characters free will, but we are all shaped by our circumstances, and her characters’ circumstances build on themselves like a matryoshka, so that the characters in our present day, who would appear to have more freedom and more opportunity, are still weighed down by the centuries of oppression that preceded them.

I can also see why my daughter wouldn’t love the stories in this book, as most are grim, many are violent, and few offer much hope. There’s some graphic content in here, including rape and sexual assault, enough that I assume many schools wouldn’t assign it, but it’s almost certainly an accurate depiction of the way the English treated the Asante natives, and later enslaved, and of course the way American slaveowners treated their slaves.

Where Gyasi excels is in her ability to create one interesting character after another, despite only giving us a short time with each of them and also working with the constraints of the previous story in each chain (and, I presume, the subsequent stories as well). It’s an impressive feat of imagination within the confines of the novel’s structure, marking her as someone who is as deft with the short form as well as the longer.

It’s also why I’m not talking much about the individual characters and stories – they’re so short that I don’t want to spoil too much of them. Esi is the half-sister who is enslaved, then raped by a British officer; her daughter, born of that assault, grows up a slave in the American south, and manages to send her baby with an escaping slave to freedom in Baltimore, starting a chain of misery that moves back into the deep south and then to New York, with racism, further violence, forced labor, and more. Effia marries the Governor of the slave castle where, unbeknownst to her, her half-sister Esi is held in the dungeon below. Their child, Quey, is ill at ease in the white man’s world and returns to his Asante people, beginning a back-and-forth pattern between the Black and white cultures in east Africa until the final story sees their descendant in Alabama, where the two stories will eventually reconnect. It’s a masterwork of planning, with the parallel narratives coming together in a way that is driven by coincidence yet feels natural, almost inevitable, and that will never have you thinking how meticulous the novel’s structure is.

Next up: I’m reading some of the books on writing that you all recommended, having finished Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird and started Verlyn Klinkenborg’s Several Short Sentences about Writing.

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→ October 7, 2021
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Harlem Shuffle.

Colson Whitehead’s last two novels, The Underground Railroad and The Nickel Boys, both won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, making him the first Black author to win that prize twice. Both were serious novels, the first with fantastical elements to try to tell a familiar story in a new way, the latter more straightforward, but neither presaged what he’s done in his latest novel, Harlem Shuffle, which is funnier, more action-packed, and just generally more entertaining.

Harlem Shuffle is the story of two men in that part of Manhattan in the early 1960s. Raymond, the son of a crook who has become an entrepreneur, owns a furniture store in Harlem that caters to the customers the white-owned stores downtown won’t serve. Freddie, his ne’er-do-well cousin, has been getting Ray in trouble since they were kids, and this time, he lands Ray smack in the middle of a heist that has half of Harlem looking for them, and involves Ray with the kind of people he never wanted to be involved with – the people with whom his father did jobs, that is. When a mobster’s goons show up at the store, and a crooked cop does too, things go pear-shaped for the cousins, leaving Raymond to try to find a way to clean up the mess and protect his family. Meanwhile, Ray’s situation at home is always tenuous. He needs a bigger house for his growing family, while his in-laws continue to look down on him as the son of a crook, which makes him not good enough for their daughter. He’s already conflicted about taking any money from Freddie’s shenanigans, but now anything he gets from the big score would help him move to a better place … while also risking further scorn from his in-laws and even the trust of his wife.

My experience with Whitehead is limited to the two novels that won him the Pulitzer, both of which were weighted down with heavy themes and only lightened by Whitehead’s remarkable prose and rich characterization. Here, Whitehead gets to have some fun, even though there are undercurrents of violence, internecine warfare in Harlem’s Black community, white cops assaulting Black citizens (including the real Harlem riots of 1964, which occur right around Ray’s store and shut down much of the commerce on which he depends), and more. There’s also a subtle theme of the growing divide within the Black community between the upwardly mobile and those still held down by the extensive obstacles of the time and the history of oppression that still limits Black Americans’ economic opportunities today.

I’ve seen media coverage of Harlem Shuffle that makes it sound like a heist novel – possibly pushed by the publisher – but it’s more heist-adjacent, since Ray doesn’t participate in the heist itself, just in the misadventures that follow when you steal something that a very powerful and violent person would not want to have stolen. Whitehead adapts one of the best aspects of the heist genre, or just the hard-boiled crime genre in general – the array of eccentric and often funny side characters that populate many of those novels. A thief named Pepper who worked with Ray’s dad turns out to be a pivotal character as the novel progresses. Miami Joe is one of the main antagonists in the first part of the novel. Chet the Vet is so-called because he went to vet school for all of a month before turning to crime. Between these fun, if only morally compromised, side characters and Whitehead’s ability to shift between the highbrow prose of his award-winning novels and the vernacular of his 1960s setting, Harlem Shuffle was a blast to read, perhaps an entrée into his work for folks who want to start with some lighter fare before reading his two more serious books.

Next up: David Ewalt’s Of Dice and Men, recommended to me by Foxing lead singer/songwriter (and longtime D&D player) Connor Murphy.

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→ September 21, 2021
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Seven Bridges.

Seven Bridges is a “stroll-and-write” game based on the famous mathematical problem, eventually proved unsolvable by Leonhard Euler: Can a pedestrian walk through the German city of Königsberg, crossing each of its seven bridges exactly once? Euler’s proof became a foundational one in the history of graph theory, but that’s beyond the scope of the game. (The game is currently unavailable, but I’ll update this post when Puzzling Pixel gets the next print run.)

In Seven Bridges, all players begin by marking in the same square on their pages, showing a grid map of the city with, indeed, seven bridges, along with thirteen ‘landmarks,’ some trees, lots of buildings, and numbers around the map’s edge. On each player’s turn, they roll the game’s six dice, which the players then draft, one at a time. The dice show seven different shapes of roads: a straight line, a cross, a T, an elbow, a half-street, a 2 with a straight line, or a 3 with a straight line. You must fill in roads on your map using the shape of the die you select, connecting one of the edges of the shape your existing network of roads. (In rare instances when you can’t legally do so, you may ‘downgrade’ to a less valuable shape.) The 2 | and the 3 | die faces mean you may draw a continuous line up to that many spaces long; you can go shorter than that, but you can’t break it apart or turn its direction. Each player gets to roll five times over the course of the game.

Passing landmarks, which are marked with single letters on the board, earns you the choice of eleven bonuses, seven immediate and four you can use later. The immediate bonuses match the shapes on the dice, so you can fill in one of those shapes on your board, following the usual rules. One of the extra bonuses allows you to fill in the handful of footpaths – bordered by dashed lines rather than solid ones – on the map. The other three are re-rolls, which either let you roll all remaining dice again, or stop the draft and distribute all remaining dice to players as you see fit.

You don’t have to cross all seven bridges to win this game, but you do get more points for crossing more bridges. You score for crossing bridges and passing by landmarks; the more of each, the more each subsequent one is worth. You score for the largest closed loop of roads/footpaths you completed by multiplying its number of bridges cross by the number of 90 degree turns in it; I think five is the maximum number of bridges you can possibly get, but you can absolutely get 8 or more right angles into a loop. You score a point for each building you pass, and for each tree you pass. You score for each road you take to the edge of the map, worth a number of points from 1 to 6 that is shown at that edge. And you score points for each bonus you received and used during the game, again from 1 to 6.

The game is kind of mathy under the hood, which strongly appeals to me; there’s a spatial relations aspect, and a clear push-your-luck aspect to the way you place your roads. You can go big, and end up without the shapes you need to complete a major route, or you can play it safe and hope no one else completes something larger. You can also head to certain areas of the map that are dense with trees but don’t promise you much in the way of other bonuses. There seem to be a lot of ways to win here, and just as many ways to screw it up.

I’ve only played this with two players, several times, however, and with a different opponent each time. Games took maybe 20-30 minutes, and if both players already know the rules, it could easily come in under 20. With two players, since you draft three dice on each roll, you only have ten total rolls over the course of the game. With the maximum of 6 players, you’d have 30 rolls, and that’s going to take some more time. Seven Bridges was first released at the very end of 2020, after my year-end list, so it qualifies for this year’s, and it has a very good chance to make my best of 2021 list. It’s quick to teach, offers very little downtime between turns, and does a fantastic job of bringing a mathematical puzzle into a board game format. It might be the best roll-and-write I’ve ever played.

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→ September 1, 2021
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Summer Camp.

Summer Camp has flown under the radar among new games this year because it’s a Target exclusive release (at least for now) and comes from a publisher not known for tabletop strategy titles, Buffalo Games, a publisher of jigsaw puzzles and party games. Yet Summer Camp is from Phil Walker-Harding, the mind behind Cacao, Gizmos, Imhotep, Imhotep: The Duel, and Silver & Gold, and it’s a straight-up deckbuilder, one that – dare I say it – is actually fun for the whole family. It’s so light and breezy for a deckbuilding title that you can play with anyone in the house who reads fluently. Right now, it’s $24.99 on Target.com, although I found it for 10% off in store a few weeks ago.

Summer Camp does have a modular board of 9 tiles that you arrange randomly in a 3×3 grid at the start of each game, forming three paths across the board, left to right, that your campers will try to traverse as you play. Each path is tied to a specific activity – Cooking, Water Sports, Outdoors, Friendship, Arts & Crafts – and has merit badges for campers who get all the way to the end of the path before the game ends, with more points for those who get there first. Along the paths, certain spaces give you a one-time bonus, allowing you to move any camper one more spot, to draw one more card into your hand, or to gain one snack bar (+1 energy for purchasing cards).

The heart of the game is your deck, which you’ll build as the game progresses, trying to get more powerful cards to drown out the relatively weak ten cards with which you start the game: seven Lights Out card, which have no value other than their purchasing power of 1 energy; and one card for each of the three paths that allows you to move your camper forward one space. Other than the Lights Out cards, all cards have an action on them – move 2+ spaces, move any camper one space, draw another card, discard & draw, gain 2-4 energy for purchases on this turn, and so on.

On each turn, you draw a fresh hand of five cards from your deck, and at the end of your turn, you discard all cards to your discard pile, shuffling the latter when your deck runs out. All cards have a value of 1 energy if you don’t use them, so you will never have a turn where you can’t do anything – even drawing five Lights Out card lets you buy one or more cards with a total cost of 5. There are also three stacks of generic cards, not tied to any of the separate path decks, that are always available to purchase – S’mores, cost 2, worth +2 energy for purchases; Scavenger Hunt, cost 3, which lets you discard 1-3 cards and draw that many again; and Free Time, cost 4, which lets you move one camper on any track one space forward. That’s a huge part of what makes this game more friendly to younger players and casual gamers – you will never have a wasted turn. You can always buy something, and the cheapest cards to buy are still useful.

There is some light strategy involved in how you move the campers, balancing the points value of getting the merit badges first – when you get all your campers to the first bridge, one-third of the way across the board, you get the top badge in that pile, and there’s another pile worth more points when you get all your campers to the second bridge – against the value of getting to the end of a path first. You also may move certain campers to trigger those space bonuses, especially the one where you get to draw another card, which can keep your chain of moves moving or just get you more buying power. If there’s a best way to build a deck here, I haven’t caught on to it yet; there is no card anywhere in the game that lets you trash any cards (like the Chapel card in Dominion), and the fact that only two cards are available from each path deck at any given time makes it very hard for one player to monopolize a good card or build a deck full of a specific type of card. That serves to balance things out, and may frustrate experienced players who like deckbuilders that give you more control, but for a game that is clearly aimed at family play – right down to the theme – it makes perfect sense. It’s great for ages 8+ and the box’s suggested play time of 30-45 minutes is about right once everyone gets the deck concept.

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→ August 20, 2021
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Abandon All Artichokes.

Abandon All Artichokes is a game as silly as its title, taking one tiny sliver of strategy from deckbuilders and making an entire game out of it: Get rid of your artichoke cards so that you become the first player to draw a fresh hand of five cards without any artichokes in it. It’s quick, and fun, and easy to learn for any player old enough to read the text on the other vegetable cards.

Each player in Abandon All Artichokes starts with ten cards, all of which are artichokes, and which are the only artichoke cards that you’ll use in the game. The main deck in the game comprises cards of other vegetables, each of which has an action associated with it. There’s a garden row of five cards that you refill after each player’s turn. On your turn, you must take one card from the garden row into your hand. You may then play as many cards from your hand as you’d like, using the actions printed on them, and then end your turn by discarding everything that’s left, artichokes and other. Then you draw a fresh hand of five cards, shuffling your discard pile into your deck if necessary, and play continues.

The main power to get rid of artichokes is composting. Four vegetables let you directly compost an artichoke card:

  • A carrot lets you compost two artichokes in your hand, but you can’t take another action that turn, and you compost the carrot too.
  • A broccoli lets you compost one artichoke if you have at least three in your hand.
  • An onion lets you compost one artichoke, but you then give the onion to an opponent by putting it on their discard pile.
  • An eggplant lets you compost one artichoke, and then players exchange two cards from their hands (of their choice).

There’s also the potato, which lets you draw the top card from your deck and compost it if it’s an artichoke; and the beet, for which you and an opponent each reveal a random card from your hands, and compost them if they’re both artichokes, exchanging them if they’re not.

The other vegetables don’t involve composting at all. Corn must be played with one artichoke, and it lets you take any card from the garden row and put it on top of your deck (so it will be in your hand on your next turn). A leek lets you reveal the top card of an opponent’s deck, after which you can take it or put it on their discard pile. A pepper lets you take a card from your discard pile and put it on top of your deck, which is nice for getting a strong card right back into your hand.

The key to success in Abandon All Artichokes is speed – these games go quickly, often faster than the 20 minute time shown on the box. You don’t have to get rid of all of your artichokes to win, although that doesn’t hurt; you just have to draw a hand of five cards without any artichokes in it. That could also involve composting a bunch of artichokes and also adding as many cards as you can do your deck so your odds of drawing five straight cards without an artichoke go up, but I haven’t seen anyone win that way, playing live or online. I think the slim deck strategy is the better one, not too far off from the Chapel strategy in the original Dominion, but it’s possible that with more players or the right vegetables you could pull off a “fat” deck strategy and win.

The box says it’s for ages 10+, but I would say that if your kid can read at a third-grade level they can probably play this game. There isn’t a lot of deep strategy here that would be beyond an 8-year-old’s reach, and the 20-minute playing time (if that) is great for all ages. It’s only about $13 everywhere I can find it, including at amazon, and even better comes in a small artichoke-shaped box. The ceiling on a game like this isn’t super high, but I love it as a family filler game.

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→ June 17, 2021
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Spicy.

Spicy is a bluffing party game that came out in 2020, the first English-language release from Hungarian designer Gy?ri Zoltán Gábor, released last July by HeidelBÄR and probably something I would have seen at Gen Con had the normal convention season taken place.

Spicy plays 2 to 6 players, although I think it needs at least 3 to work well. The deck has 100 cards in it, ninety of which have a number from 1 to 10 and a color/spice – red (chili), green (wasabi), or blue (pepper). There are five wild cards that can be any number from 1 to 10 but have no color, and five color wilds that have no number. Each player begins the game with six cards from the shuffled deck.

The start player must begin a new pile in the center of the table by playing any card with value 1 to 3, stating the card’s value and color when they place it face-down on the table. Play goes around the table, and each player must then play a higher-valued card in the same color, until someone plays a 10 card in that color, after which the next player must play a 1, 2, or 3 card to keep the pile going. A player can pass and draw a card rather than playing.

Because all of the cards are played face-down, however, you can bluff, lying about number or color or both. If nobody challenges the play, it stands. Any other player can challenge it, though, placing a hand on the pile and saying whether they’re challenging the declared number or color. If the challenge succeeds, the challenger takes the pile and the challenge loser draws two cards and must start a new pile. If the challenge fails, the challenger draws the two cards while the player who placed the card wins the pile. Wild cards win any challenge for their shown variable and lose any challenge for the one they don’t show.

There are also three 10-point trophy cards you can win during the game. If you play the last card in your hand and it’s not challenged, or if it’s challenged and you win the challenge, you take a trophy card. If any player gets two trophy cards, they win the game immediately. Otherwise, the game continues until either all three trophies have been claimed, or until someone draws the World’s End card that’s placed about ¾ of the way down the deck when the game begins. Players then get one point for each card they’ve gained in piles from challenges won, and add 10 points for each trophy card. Whoever has the most points wins.

This is a bluffing game, and as such, it’s only fun when players lie – a lot, preferably. If everyone just tells the truth, and then draws cards when they don’t have a legal (true) play, the game is going to be boring. You have to go for it, and have a good poker face, and recognize that people probably aren’t going to challenge every single time – and the bigger the pile, the less someone will want to challenge and potentially hand an opponent a large stack of points.

There’s an advanced mode, where you randomly add one of the “Spice It Up!” cards that add or change something in the rules, such as letting you change the color of the stack to red if you play a 1, 2, or 3; or where playing a 5 lets you add two cards to the pile and draw two new cards to your hand. I don’t think these add a whole lot to the game, but your mileage may vary. This game is a ton of fun if you get into the spirit of it, so if you get the right group – and, although I haven’t tried this yet, I imagine if you get the right drinks on the table – it’s absolutely worth getting, especially at $15. I don’t think it works with 2 people, and if your group doesn’t bluff well or like games of deceit, you might not like it as I did.

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→ June 10, 2021
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How Lucky.

As a general rule, I don’t review books by people I know. For one thing, I know a lot of people who write books. I’m a writer, and I wrote some books, and either of those things would probably put me in contact with lots of people who also write books. And life beyond that has also put me in contacts with people who write books. Sometimes people I didn’t know were writing books write books. There are a lot of books in my world. It’s a good thing I like to read.

Anyway, I’m going to break my own rule for a moment – not the first time, I think, but it’s rare – to talk about Will Leitch’s novel How Lucky. Will’s a longtime friend, and someone whose work I enjoy. He’s also one of the most prolific writers around, and when I see his newsletter come in on Saturday, I just can’t get over how many words he writes each week. I would never tell you that writing is hard for me, but I feel like an absolute sluggard compared to Will.

How Lucky is fabulous. It’s not what it seems to be, at first, and I wonder how well the book world will appreciate it for what it truly is – a character study of the highest order, full of empathy, insight, and humor. There’s a Rear Window-ish mystery here, and Will does a fine job executing that plot without resorting to too many clichés, and when the main character is in danger (as he must be, at some point, because the conventions of the genre say so), it doesn’t last too long. There are also some fun side characters who add a lot of humor in addition to giving the protagonist some sort of foils against whom he can work. But this is about Daniel, the narrator, the star, and eventually, the hero.

Daniel works from home, handling some social media work for a fictional, regional airline in the southeast, which means he’s extra busy on college football game days. He also has spinal muscular atrophy, a genetic, progressive disease that has him using a wheelchair and unable to speak without the aid of a speech-generating device. He lives in Athens, Georgia, and gets help a few times a day from a home health worker named Marjani, as well as frequent visits from Travis, Daniel’s best friend since childhood, a sort of lovable stoner right out of Inherent Vice.

Daniel’s days have a predictable routine, and over the few weeks right before the novel starts, he sees a University of Georgia student, whom we later learn is a recent arrival from China named Ai Chin, several mornings at the same time as she’s walking and he’s on his front porch. One morning, however, she gets into a tan Camaro Daniel hasn’t seen before, and within a day, there are reports that she’s gone missing, and Daniel suspects that he saw her abductor. The story becomes a little less straightforward than that as it moves along, but that is all secondary to what we get from Daniel. The mystery exists in service to the main character, to give Leitch more room to expand on Daniel’s personality and thoughts on his life in a body that is betraying him a hell of a lot faster than the rest of our bodies are betraying us.

The conceit that Daniel, despite being what most people would probably consider unlucky to an extreme degree, doesn’t see himself that way is central to the book. Will mentions in the acknowledgements (where, full disclosure, I am also mentioned) that he and his family are close with a family in Athens whose son was born with SMA as well, which introduced him to the community of families dealing with this disease. SMA is progressive, and degenerative, so while the life expectancy of children born with it has increased substantially over the last few decades, notably since the approval of a drug called Spinraza in December of 2016, it is ultimately terminal, and people with SMA see a faster decline in their quality of life as the motor neurons in the spinal cord shrink and lose function. I can’t speak for anyone with SMA, or even as a family member of someone with it or a similar disease (like ALS), but I didn’t find Will’s portrayal of Daniel here to be facile, or overly optimistic. Daniel strikes me as a realist, just a life-positive one. He’s not denying what’s happening, or what’s in front of him. He’s just determined to make the best of it, and appreciative of what the world – especially his mom, Travis, and Marjani – has given him. He combines that with some dry wit that, because I know the author and have listened to lots of his podcasts as well as read quite a lot of his work, is very much Will’s, and I heard much of Daniel’s inner monologue in Will’s voice.

I tore through How Lucky in just three days, even though I was pretty sure how the plot itself was going to conclude – not down to the details, of course, but in general, there are a limited number of ways Leitch could end this book, and one in particular that made the most sense given the rest of the novel. I just couldn’t get enough of Daniel’s character. Will has created a memorable, likeable protagonist whose voice is unique and who stands out especially today in the era of the antihero. I’ve seen comparisons of Daniel to all sorts of main characters from literary history, but he reminded me quite a bit of one of my own favorites, Miles Vorkosigan, the hero of Lois McMaster Bujold’s series of sci-fi adventure novels, himself born with a genetic disease that limited his growth and left him with brittle bones. Miles’ novels all work pretty much the same way: He throws himself into ridiculous situations, often with insufficient regard for his own well-being, and uses his brains to work his way out of trouble. It’s formulaic, but a formula I can’t help enjoying. Daniel is more well-rounded, and as the narrator, he gives us far more insight into his personality than Bujold gives us into Miles over multiple novels, but they share the same general outlook on life, and while Miles never says it explicitly, I think he’d echo Daniel’s view. We are all just lucky to be alive, and to experience the world with each other is one of life’s greatest gifts.

Next up: I’ve just finished Nella Larsen’s Passing, a film adaptation of which will appear on Netflix later this year.

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→ June 4, 2021
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The Vanishing Half.

Brit Bennett has popped up as a favorite to win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, to be announced next Friday, June 11th, for her second novel, The Vanishing Half, which HBO is already planning to adapt into a limited series. It is a fascinating work about “passing,” where lighter-skinned Black people pass as white (itself the subject of a novel, Nella Larsen’s Passing, that will appear on the big screen later this year), but with multiple dimensions of intersectionality as well, exploring what happens when two twins take divergent paths because one passes and the other does not.

Desiree and Stella Vignes are identical twins who live in a peculiar town outside of New Orleans called Mallard, a Black enclave where all the residents have relatively light skin – to the point that Mallard looks down on Black people with darker skin tones in many of the ways that you might associate with subtle white racism, even though Mallard residents themselves face racism subtle and unsubtle from white people from surrounding towns. That touches the girls’ lives when they’re seven years old and white men lynch their father as they watch, hiding with their mother, the devastation of which leads indirectly to their decision to run away from home as teenagers. They move to New Orleans, barely able to take care of themselves at first, but eventually settle into menial jobs, one of which comes to Stella because she can pass as a white woman, and the hiring person doesn’t even consider that she might be Black. Stella becomes the vanishing twin of the book’s title, leaving New Orleans without giving her sister any warning, leaving no trace of herself and cutting off any contact with her remaining family. The novel traces their two paths, and how each has one child, a daughter, the two of whom will eventually come into coincidental contact in California, forcing both Vignes sisters to confront their pasts, both shared and separate.

For a novel that isn’t very long – 343 pages, and a brief read for that length – The Vanishing Half has a lot to unpack, starting, of course, with its core examination of race and identity. Race is a social construct, and Bennett uses that as a launching point for the very unparallel lives first of the Vignes sisters, who find themselves in very different circumstances as they move into adulthood, and then their daughters, two cousins who come back together as if driven there by fate. (How Desiree’s daughter, Jude, first encounters and recognizes the aunt she’d never met requires some suspension of disbelief.) The interplay between race, identity – can you be who you are if you shed the race society first thrust upon you? – and later social status is the clear strength of the book, but it becomes muddled in places as Bennett’s approach becomes more intersectional, bringing in additional characters who are well-developed for secondary players but who aren’t additive to the main story. The narrative is more potent when she’s using the two sisters’ stories to explore different aspects of race and racism in the United States in the 1970s and 1980s, which seems like the most likely argument for this book to win the Pulitzer.

Of the two main characters, Desiree seems the more developed, although there might be some primacy bias at work there – we get a few chapters of her story before we meet Stella at all. It’s also likely that Bennett left Stella more inscrutable by design, the “star” who is always just far enough away to remain somewhat impossible to truly know. Desiree’s daughter, Jude, shares a name with the Biblical figure who wrote about how God would punish false prophets, those who preached in his name without his truth, imploring the faithful to stand up for their beliefs – which she does, pursuing Stella and Stella’s daughter Kennedy with the tenacity of a true believer. As the twins fade into the background, it’s Jude who emerges as the novel’s most complete and compelling character, dealing with the consequences of both sisters’ choices in life, and a society that imposes such a cost on Blackness that her aunt chose passing – and giving up her sister, her mother, and her own identity – rather than continue to pay.

Next up: My friend Will Leitch’s first novel, How Lucky.

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→ June 1, 2021
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The Ardent Swarm.

Tunisian author Yamen Manai’s slim fable The Ardent Swarm first appeared in the U.S. this February to wide acclaim, as the longtime novelist’s work hadn’t appeared in English before. Set in an unnamed country that bears a strong resemblance to Tunisia in the wake of the overthrow of the dictator Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali, the story follows the humble beekeeper Sidi, who sees one of his colonies of bees (whom he calls his “girls”) ravaged by what we all now know as murder hornets – Vespa mandarinia, the Asian giant hornet, which preys on honeybees. When he discovers the cause of the collapse of his colonies, two of his friends offer to fly to Japan to gather queen bees of the Apis cerana japonica subspecies, the only honeybee with a known defense mechanism against the murder hornets: the “ardent swarm,” where the honeybee workers surround the invader, exhale more carbon dioxide, and beat their wings furiously to raise the temperature up near 50 Celsius, cooking the hornet to death.

In Manai’s novel, the dictator, just referred to as Handsome One, has been deposed just as Ben-Ali was.  In the wake of his overthrow, various factions are competing for power, including the military and a radical Islamist group called The Party of God that tries to buy votes by distributing free food to rural villagers – a more extreme depiction of the Islamist party Ennahda, which won the most seats in the first parliamentary elections after Ben-Ali’s ouster, although secularist parties took power in subsequent elections. Sidi resists the The Party of God’s inducements, only to discover that they bear responsibility for the deaths of his “girls,” forcing him to make a choice that stands as a metaphor for the choice that faced Tunisia – and that other countries faced in the aftermath of the Arab Spring, often choosing less wisely than the Tunisians did.

The Ardent Swarm is an obvious parable, with obvious parallels to the Arab Spring while also serving as a lament and a warning over our cavalier relationship to our environment, and how fragile the ecosystem on which our species depends can be. We depend on these pollinators, including domesticated honeybees and wild bumblebees, to maintain our food supply, but a combination of stressors from parasites (notably the Verroa mite), habitat loss, and pesticides appears to be contributing to the decline of domestic stocks in North America and Europe. Minai ties the corruption of the Party of God to a breakdown in this historical relationship between humans and the land, short-circuiting it in a way that will leave people dependent on their government for basic needs – and thus more compliant to its demands – if they can’t, or forget how to, take care of themselves. Sidi stands nearly alone in his resistance to this pressure, and faces extremely difficult odds when trying to resurrect his colonies, an effort obstructed by further corruption by Islamist authorities in the government and in the university where one of his allies works.

A cynical take on The Ardent Swarm might compare it to the over-the-top fables of Paolo Coelho, which are well-written but simplistic. I saw this more as a modern and less oblique twist on the short novels of Italo Calvino, one of the greatest fabulists in literary history, an author very concerned with the relation between person and place. There’s wit here that reminded me more of Calvino, or even a little of Murakami, but with the seriousness of the French satirists of the mid-20th century. The Ardent Swarm is a plea, for democracy, for our environment, and for a different future than the one towards which we’re heading. It deserves a wider audience.

Next up: Brit Bennett’s The Vanishing Half, one of the favorites to win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction when that award is announced next Friday.

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→ May 7, 2021
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Minari.

Minari was the last film we caught before the Oscars, completing our run through the eight Best Picture nominees (and all of the Director and Acting nominees, except for Hillbilly Elegy). Nominated for six films, with Youn Yuh-jung winning Best Supporting Actress, it is a lovely, funny slice of nostalgia base don writer-director Lee Isaac Chung’s childhood, and gives a different take on the immigrant experience in America.

Steven Yeun stars as Jacob Yi, who moves with his wife Monica (Han Ye-Ri, formerly of Hello My Twenties!), daughter Anne, and son David (Alan Kim), the last of whom is Chung’s stand-in in the film. Jacob has brought his family to rural Arkansas, where he intends to build a farm and grow traditional Korean produce he can sell to restaurants and the growing immigrant communities of the American South. He and Monica will work as chicken sexers to earn enough money to get the farm started, but Monica isn’t on board with the whole farming plan, and the whole family has trouble assimilating until Monica’s mother Soon-ja (Youn) arrives to help Monica take care of the kids and provide substantial comic relief.

What happens from there is almost beside the point, although there is certainly drama to come, and the family will be forced to confront the cracks threatening to tear them apart, to choose how they’ll respond when everything is on the verge of falling apart. This is far more a study of its characters, of Jacob and David specifically, and of its time and place – Arkansas in the 1980s, in an overwhelmingly white community that by and large welcomes the Yi family, even if sometimes they don’t exactly go about things in the best ways. Chung’s script is full of heart, and empathy for its characters – there really are no antagonists here other than the vagaries of nature and fate.

Chung tells the story mostly through David’s eyes, although there are a few scenes with his parents by themselves, and the growth of the relationship between David and the grandmother he doesn’t know becomes one of the emotional touchstones in Minari. The movie takes its name from a resilient, edible dropwort, also known as Korean watercress or Chinese celery, that David’s grandmother plants on the banks of a stream near the family’s farm; in addition to the metaphor of the vegetable itself, water, or the lack thereof, is one of the recurring symbols of Minari, showing up right at the start when Jacob encounters a charlatan with a divining rod but refuses to pay him for his “service.” Soon-ja is unflappable, even as David rejects her at first, and her often coarse humor is one of the film’s best facets, and a surprising contrast to her dour, reticent daughter’s exterior affect.

Minari‘s magic is in how Chung manages to take something so small and make it feel so broad and universal; nearly everything in this movie is about the Yi family and what happens within their household, right up until the one big dramatic twist at the end – and even that event functions as another way to explore and demonstrate the way the family holds together. The story is sweet, sometimes bittersweet, but not saccharine, and full of heart. It’s frequently funny, between Soon-ja’s witticisms and the extremely eccentric farmhand Paul (Will Patton), and its tragedies feel real, not forced.

Youn’s win for Best Supporting Actress was well-deserved, and there seemed to be no real pushback before or after her victory. The film was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Original Screenplay, Best Actor (for Yeun, who deserved the same honor for Burning but was snubbed), and Best Original Score. I loved Minari, but wouldn’t have voted for it in any of the other categories, just because it was up against two movies – Nomadland and The Father – I liked a bit more. It did, however, make my top 5 among 2020-eligible movies; I’ve seen everything from that cycle I intended to see except for First Cow and a couple of international films. So here’s my almost-final rankings for 2020:

1. Nomadland

2. The Father

3. A Sun

4. Minari

5. Promising Young Woman

6. Wolfwalkers

7. Never Rarely Sometimes Always

8. Judas and the Black Messiah

9. A Personal History of David Copperfield

10. Borat Subsequent Moviefilm

11. Collective

12. The Nest

13. Boys State

14. Palm Springs

15. One Night in Miami

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