APR - Children of Blood and Bone

April review for Book Riot's Read Harder 2018: Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi, 2018. [first book in a new-to-you YA series category]

Children of Blood and Bone is a goddamn revelation. Oh. My. God. Tomi Adeyemi has created a whole new, beautiful world that is actually not that new--it just goes somewhere very little fantasy has gone before. CB&B has been described to me as "Black Panther meets The Last Airbender" (the book jacket actually says "But everything changed when the Fire Nation I MEAN once magic disappeared," so you catch my drift).  Other reviewers can and have done it better, so I will keep my discussion of the throughline of the plot quick, because I have other things I want to focus on in my review.

The land is called Orïsha, clearly and beautifully influenced by African mythology and culture. Orïsha is ruled by a despotic tyrant king who has outlawed magic and made it punishable by death, ensuring compliance through genocide of any active maji and the essential enslavement of their progeny, those who have the capacity for magic but it has not been awakened, the Divîners. These Divîners are visually Othered by their white hair (that doesn't take dye, so there's no passing), and they are routinely treated like third-class citizens. This clear allegory for racism reverberates throughout the book, and it is raw and frank in its dealing with the frustration and violence that engenders. As this NPR review notes, most fantasy is about rebellion, overthrowing an oppressive system that often singles people out based on differences. Caitlyn Paxson notes, "The narrative empowers without preaching, weaving its message deftly into a rip-roaring tale."

In her Author's note at the end of the book, Adeyemi touches on her inspiration for this story, pleading with the reader: "...if this story affected you in any way, all I ask is that you don't let it stop within the pages of this text." She goes on to describe the tragic situational parallels of lives lost and grief in this book with real police brutality against Black folx in our society today. She has crafted a beautiful allegory without being heavy-handed, a call to action couched in a high fantasy, and it is one that we desperately need.

I could talk forever about the imagery and the beautiful writing in this book; the fact that Adeyemi doesn't include a glossary so you have to really read closely and create one for yourself as the story goes on; the inherent matriarchy of the religious structure with the Sky Mother at its peak; the incredible phrase "children of blood and bone" itself. So maybe I'll write another post, after my bestie has read it and we have talked.

One of the most striking things about this book is something that it doesn't come right out and say: virtually every character you are introduced to is Black. Not a half-baked Black stereotype that was clearly only put in to check the "diversity" box for a story. But authentic, three-dimensional characters that are fallible and human and downright compelling. This is truly what representation means. I love this review by Kyndal Wilson from Black Girl Nerds, in which she talks about this more eloquently. She connects to this book in a way that I obviously cannot, as I am a white reader, but I can absolutely appreciate the beauty of this thing Adeyemi has given breath to, and I will do my damnedest to help make sure this book succeeds in making waves. Starting with making every person I know read it. Get in line, folx.

APR - Monstress Vol. 1: Awakening

April review for Book Riot's Read Harder 2018: Monstress Vol. 1: Awakening by Marjorie M. Liu, 2016. [comic written or illustrated by a person of color category]

Monstress Vol 1: Awakening is so incredibly visual. Every panel was so intricate that I spent extra time just looking at the pages after I'd finished reading them. Monstress is set in an alternate matriarchal 1900s Asia, a world that seems as dark and twisty and intricate as the illustrations that bring it to life. 

I'm into rebellion stories lately, it seems. From the first, our main character is fighting. She is haughty when she has no reason to be, she bristles at her situation though she seems almost detached from it. She enters the story naked, on display and up for auction, but her narration is the first thing to read. Even then, things seem to be on her terms. We don't even get her name right away. That was one thing I really liked about Monstress Vol I was the fact that it didn't lay out everything at the start. In medias res, for serious... We are dropped in along Maika's quest, and little bits are only revealed through flashbacks or conversation, or the occasional "lecture" between parts by animal professors. It kept me reading, to try to put all the pieces together.

MAR - The Power

March review for Book Riot's Read Harder 2018: The Power by Naomi Alderman, 2017. [sci-fi novel with female protagonist by female author category]

The Power is suuuuuch an incredible story. Just. Wow. It was first brought to my attention by Buffering the Vampire Slayer, whose patrons started a book club to read and discuss this book about (not just) one girl in all the world. The basis of the story is that suddenly, girls all over are changed, have the power to channel electricity through their palms. What will happen? Will women take power and create a utopia? Or will there be a hellish role reversal and women will abuse their power in equally grotesque and inexcusable ways?

The story is told by focusing on a number of different women--and one dude. There is tough, street-savvy Roxy; politician Margot and her distant teenage daughter Jocelyn; orphaned and abused Allie; and smartphone-camera-toting Tunde, who is the external observer and only man who gets a perspective chapter. All these different types of women throughout the story have their own role to play in the coming revolution, which is what this text documents. Speaking of which! The book opens on a letter to a woman named Naomi, from a man who is ostensibly the "author" of this book about the rise of the matriarchy. This positions it in sort of a frame story, which lends itself to an entirely different kind of book. The sections are marked in a countdown, with titles like "Ten years to go" and "Can't be more than seven months left," offering a sense of foreboding with every passing section. The early chapters were positive, hopeful that the tide was turning, hopeful that the changes were for the better.