Caste, by Isabel Wilkerson: Incredible work of research, extremely significant, and additionally a tremendous read. It’s obviously not a “delight” to read, but even given the depressing facts of its subject, it does somehow feel like a “quick” read, one that you can’t stop moving through. Part of it is the structure – while each component of Wilkerson’s overall thesis is treated with depth and nuance, the work is broken up into sections and subsections that provide a strong framework for relating all of the interconnected pieces to one another. While I was reading Caste I was also in the middle of rereading A Fine Balance, set in 1970s India, and reading When the Emperor was Divine, which takes place during the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II; though it would undermine Wilkerson’s book to suggest that only some other books (or stories, or lives) relate to the idea of caste – since her claim is that it’s inescapable as a framework and threat – those two books are related to caste in specific and particular ways. I would love to read more of Wilkerson’s thoughts on the origins of caste – what causes a stricter caste framework to arise in certain times and places (the three she focuses on are the USA, India, and Nazi Germany, though she mentions South Africa as well) and not others? Or are there caste structures always at play in every society but to different degrees?
When the Emperor was Divine, by Julie Otsuka: I love a novella, and it seems like publishers are often reluctant to publish them (I’m defining a novella as between 100 and 200 pages, somewhat arbitrarily and of my own accord). The narrative is broken into sections with alternating narrators: the woman, the girl, the boy, the children, and finally the man. Unfortunately…the man’s section misses the mark pretty hard. Compared to the rest of the novella it feels trite, possibly in part because the man has been absent (physically) from the rest of the book, but mostly because it doesn’t really make sense.
Run Me to Earth, by Paul Yoon: This is, I believe, only the second novel I’ve ever read that’s set primarily in Laos (the first was Tom Robbins’s Villa Incognito). It’s set in The Plain of Jars near Phonsavan, which is a place I wanted to visit but which was on the other side of Laos from where I ended up traveling. The ending is more of a fade-away than a conclusion, but one that feels natural, like a day coming to an end.
The Death of Vivek Oji, by Akwaeke Emezi: A mystery composed of fragments that never feel disjoint. As with Emezi’s novel Freshwater, I read this nearly in one go.
Deacon King Kong, by James McBride: My aunt recommended this to me with the note “It’s hilarious” and by page six it was obvious that she was right. I was reading it in bed and commenced the kind of laughter in which your attempts to contain it make you vibrate and are probably more dangerous than just letting it out in the first place. The images, even in chapter one when there hasn’t even been time to fall in love with the characters yet, are so singular and delightful. Upon finishing: Yes, this is a jewel. Utmost recommendation. I immediately checked to see if it had been optioned for film and it looks like there’s potential for a TV series. One of the characters reminded me of no one so much as Wile E. Coyote ineptly attempting to sneak up on a target. Options are fast and making TV is slow but I hope I get to see this; I hold my breath for the casting.
