Aimee Wall’s debut We, Jane has a strong sense of place, but the story it tells is becoming more and more universal.
It wasn’t funny when The Simpsons did it either.
Never Saw Me Coming is a book that does what it says on the tin. Well, maybe. Despite the title, it seems I mostly saw this book coming miles and miles away.
It seemed like an appropriate time to read Margarita Gokun Silver’s I Named My Dog Pushkin, a collection of essays exploring her experience coming to the US from the Soviet Union with her family, fleeing the country’s imminent collapse and the negative effects Gorbachev’s perestroika and glasnost policies had on her Soviet Jewish family.
I’ve never lived in LA (and I’ve only visited once), but somehow the city still looms large in my consciousness.
There has to be some scientific explanation for why people go gaga for serial killers, and especially female serial killers.
As a white woman in the Global North, I still have a significantly larger carbon footprint than much of the world.
Mike Rothschild is fully aware of the irony of him, of all people, being a reporter working on investigating QAnon.
An important nuance that is often left out of discussions about police brutality and bias is how those within the force can be affected as well.
The “three rooms” of the title don’t seem to develop her in any way, just provide a space for the bog standard nation-as-metaphor text dominating fiction at the moment.