ralentina rated Are You My Mother?: 5 stars
Are You My Mother? by Alison Bechdel
From the best-selling author of Fun Home, Time magazine’s No. 1 Book of the Year, a brilliantly told graphic memoir …
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From the best-selling author of Fun Home, Time magazine’s No. 1 Book of the Year, a brilliantly told graphic memoir …
Fifty Sounds is a personal dictionary of the Japanese language, recounting her life as an outsider in Japan. Irreverent, humane, …
Ricordo di aver letto questo libro nel mio primo anno di un'universitá. Ció nonostante, ogni pagina é stata una completa sorpresa: non mi ricordavo assolutamente della trama soap-operescha e dei personaggi le cui storie si intrecciano attorno a palazzo Yacoubian, un (vero) edificio nel centro del Cairo, un tempo centro dell'aristocrazia e alta borghesia coloniali, ora un posto dove i nuovi e vecchi ricchi si mescolano con gli straccioni e i giovani frustrati dall'ingiustizia e dalla corruzione. Mi é piaciuto moltissimo, al punto che gli perdono persino la vena omofobica (i gay sono fatti cosí, tendono ad avere questa espressione triste e spiacevole, etc).
This was actually a pretty good book, albeit very straight and male. It essentially a pop-history book, but made arguably more elegant by having an overarching if somewhat simplistic argument throughout: that Amsterdam is the birth place of liberalism, both meant as a set of ideas concerning freedom, tolerance and human rights, and also as an ideology promoting individualism and self-enrichment. Indeed, those are two side of the same coin. The argument kind of works, connecting disparate topics that seem important to Amsterdam's history: land reclamation (which requires collaboration but was carried out so that individuals retained control over land), trade, bourgeois portrait art, the resistance to and complicity with the Nazi, coffee shop and counter culture, social housing. In the chapters about the more recent history, however, I struggled to overlook the book's smug celebration of Dutch (and US) society, its quick glossing over the horrors of colonialism, the …
This was actually a pretty good book, albeit very straight and male. It essentially a pop-history book, but made arguably more elegant by having an overarching if somewhat simplistic argument throughout: that Amsterdam is the birth place of liberalism, both meant as a set of ideas concerning freedom, tolerance and human rights, and also as an ideology promoting individualism and self-enrichment. Indeed, those are two side of the same coin. The argument kind of works, connecting disparate topics that seem important to Amsterdam's history: land reclamation (which requires collaboration but was carried out so that individuals retained control over land), trade, bourgeois portrait art, the resistance to and complicity with the Nazi, coffee shop and counter culture, social housing. In the chapters about the more recent history, however, I struggled to overlook the book's smug celebration of Dutch (and US) society, its quick glossing over the horrors of colonialism, the unthinking treatment of anti-squatting laws as common sense.
I think of this book as the companion to Fifty Sounds, in that they are both memoirs and reflection on language. If Fifty Sounds is about learning a new one and feeling alien in a far-away place that doesn't ever quite become familiar, A/A is about the feeling of nostalgia, the ways one remains attached to their mother tongue and childhood home, and reworks them in new ways that fit new places, new languages, new skills. De Meijer manages to talk about being multilingual without coming across as pretentious or self-congratulatory, or plain boring. Perhaps by virtue of being of Afghan-Punjabi-Kenyan descent she also manages to describe her love for the Netherlands in a way that doesn't feel claustrophobic or reactionary.
The Color Purple is a 1982 epistolary novel by American author Alice Walker which won the 1983 Pulitzer Prize for …
Gist (no major spoilers): in many situations, from the personal scale of relationship to geopolitics, people tend to react to perceived abuses through group shunning. We experience discomfort, pain or fear, identify a culprit, and direct punishment at them, which often involves a refusal to talk. This dynamic is often fueled by traumatic experiences or a sense of Supremacy: the two are remarkably similar, and often coexist in the same person. Our reaction is enabled by people who belong to the same group as us, being a family, a social group or a nation, who ‘take our side’ and help to implement punishment. But what if many of these situations where not instances of abuse, but simply conflict, which can only be resolved through open confrontation? This would require us to engage in many uncomfortable conversations, being honest and ‘rigorous’ with our friends and family members even at the risk …
Gist (no major spoilers): in many situations, from the personal scale of relationship to geopolitics, people tend to react to perceived abuses through group shunning. We experience discomfort, pain or fear, identify a culprit, and direct punishment at them, which often involves a refusal to talk. This dynamic is often fueled by traumatic experiences or a sense of Supremacy: the two are remarkably similar, and often coexist in the same person. Our reaction is enabled by people who belong to the same group as us, being a family, a social group or a nation, who ‘take our side’ and help to implement punishment. But what if many of these situations where not instances of abuse, but simply conflict, which can only be resolved through open confrontation? This would require us to engage in many uncomfortable conversations, being honest and ‘rigorous’ with our friends and family members even at the risk of upsetting or even losing them (being a bystander is one of the worst things one can do), and confront our own feeling of righteousness and superiority. It probably wouldn’t ‘feel good’, but it’s the way to get better.
Some thoughts: Schulman opens the book by asking readers to approach the book like a theatre piece: something to engage with rather than agree or disagree with. This is very helpful advice, and perhaps something to apply to many more books. I thought of it often while reading, trying to delay judgement and instead focusing on understanding what she wanted to say. I did not think I would like the chapters about personal relationships, I suppose because I feel almost scared to entertain the thought that perceived abusers deserve being heard. But when you spell it out like that, doesn’t it sound very reasonable? And isn’t it true that most people are at some points both victims and perpetrators, at various scales, and that by isolating them unconditionally we don’t give them a chance to heal? From there, Schulman makes an argument about avoiding to involve the state unless someone is in danger, linking this to a critique of the heteronormative family. Again, this seem eminently reasonable, although I think I have a slightly less negative view of family, as long as we don’t see genetics as a condition for family ties. In later chapters, Schulman expands her argument to racial politics and Israel/Palestine. She sets it up by sharing her admiration for (Jewish) psychoanalysts who left Germany as refugees, and then devoted their career to understanding Nazi behaviours, and dreamt of treating their oppressors. Put it like that, it's a crazy thought, and, indeed an extreme case of refusing shunning in favour of understanding. At the same time, I always find it difficult to apply psychology to structural groups – let’s say, White people, or Israelis. Not because I don’t think it plays a role, but because it seems to me that most people have a genuine desire to abide by some moral standard, and be ‘decent’, however their define that. But to what extent can one expect this kind of concerns to guide group behaviour?
Content warning Spoilers ahead!
A messy story of an almost-love almost-triangle. Amy and Reeze used to be in a trans lesbian relationship, until a messy dramatic breakup that contributed to Amy's conflicted choice to detransition and become Ames. Fastforward a few years, Ames starts dating his boss, Katrina, and, operating under the assumption he is sterile, gets her pregnant. The book explores Ames, Katrina and Reeze's (failed) attempt to build a queer family and be all parents to the soon-to-be born child. It's absorbing, informative, thought-provoking, and occasionally mildly annoying in its pedagogical ambitions.
Minor Detail begins during the summer of 1949, one year after the war that the Palestinians mourn as the Nakba—the …
Ravi en de laatste magie is het Kinderboekenweekgeschenk van 2023! In de flat waar Ravi (11) sinds kort woont met …
«Acabar», in spagnolo, significa finire. E in sardo «accabadora» è colei che finisce. Agli occhi della comunità il suo non …
Ties heeft een probleem. Tenminste… dat vinden de meeste mensen. Ties vindt dat niet: hij heeft een vriend. Gozert. De …
Ties heeft een probleem. Tenminste… dat vinden de meeste mensen. Ties vindt dat niet: hij heeft een vriend. Gozert. De …
Content warning Major spoiler
To begin with, this book reminded me of Annie Proulx - perhaps because of the beautiful description of the Northern regions of Canada, perhaps because of the very precise choice of words, maybe also the plot with the city person moving to an almost-wilderness that is mundane for locals. Except then it takes a completely surprising, even shocking direction, and becomes the story of a woman that finds self-fulfillment in a summer fling. [SPOILER!!!] With a bear. He turns out to be better than basically any men she has been with. There is always the chance that he may attack her, but at least this time it won't come as a surprise.
I don’t know to which extent the bear is a metaphor for wilderness - I think the graphic sex scenes make it more literal than that. I skimmed a few reviews on goodreads, and people (Americans) are shocked. Which was perhaps a bit the purpose, but the care with which the book is written goes beyond that.