The Queen of Hearts | breezy, predictable, forgettable

Review: 2 stars

In February, I attended a company training in Scottsdale, Arizona. After a heart-pounding, lactic-acid inducing sprint to my gate, I ended up missing the connection, leaving me stranded in O’Hare for six hours. I found Barbara’s Bookshop in my terminal, and after thumbing through several titles, settled for “The Queen of Hearts”.

At the outset, we are introduced to two equally impressive protagonists, Zadie and Emma, who trade leading the narrative throughout the novel. Both are beautiful, wealthy, successful physicians, who have found their soulmates in one another. With bonds forged through the all-consuming world of medical residency, the two are inseparable, until we learn of a “Dr. X”, who could lead to the unravelling of their sisterhood.

Martin crafts Zadie and Emma as foils of one another - Zadie is the relatable mother, bathed in warm sunshine and sensuality, whereas Emma is the meticulous, over-achieving ice queen. This set of contrasts heightens the mystery surrounding Dr. X, who we quickly learn is Zadie’s former lover and the object of Emma’s contempt.

Without giving away the details, I will say that the novel is entirely predictable, and it is clear why outlets such as Southern Living ad Elite Daily heralded this as one of 2018’s most anticipated reads. It is a perfect antidote for an eventless summer day - incredibly plot-driven with excessive use of foreshadowing. The novel reads like a soap opera with its unfinished conversations, multiple attempts at revelations, and convenient misunderstandings. “The Queen of Hearts” is an absorbing, casual read, but not one that is memorable or distinctive.

The Immortalists | fatalist, enchanting, tender

Review: 3 stars

My office recently relocated close by BMVQ - what an amazing coincidence! On one of my walks home, I took a roundabout way and just happened to find myself grabbing a flat white and croissant at Praise Patisserie, which is the coffee shop at the back of BMVQ. I also took a gander at the staff picks bookshelf, and lingered on “The Immortalists”, before ultimately buying it.

The novel is segmented into four parts, each starring one of the Gold siblings. Preceding this quartet of life is a prologue, which sets up the alluring premise of the novel. The Golds visit a mystical forecaster of death, who provides each child with their expiration date. The central question is posed: how would you live your life, if you knew the date of your death? We explore this through the trials and tribulations of Simon, Klara, Daniel and Varya, and how a date shapes their destinies and longevity.

I found the novel immensely readable, and at points I had to pace myself from reading too quickly as each character hurtles towards their inexorable end. I inwardly pled with Simon and Klara to embrace safety and convention as their compounding decisions pushed each of them closer to fates that seemed fully avoidable. By the other hand, I found myself criticizing Varya’s chosen path - one that was awash in sterility and single-minded in its intent to avoid errors. At the conclusion - the reader is easily faced with a multitude of questions: Does the scale tip in favour of free will or predetermined destiny? What makes a life worth living? How does immortality express itself - through longevity, memory, legend, art, story?

Benjamin’s writing is most poignant when she employs the metaphor of the monkey longevity experiment - which tests the hypothesis of whether severe diet restriction can lengthen life exponentially. The scene where Varya experiences an epiphany with Frida, a monkey for which she has deep affection for, is one of the most searing, extracting heightened angst and reflection from the reader.

The sibling narrative also rang very true for me. As the middle sister in a family of three, I understand how time and distance can separate, but also how the bonds of childhood endure. I cannot shape my siblings’ decisions anymore than they can shape mine, as we are now each adults with separate daily orbits of people, dilemmas and opportunities. However, our shared stories and memories are what tie us inextricably to one another, and what compels us to help one another reach what we each perceive to be “success”, however conventional or unconventional our definitions are.

Overall, I would recommend this as a thought-provoking and relatively easy read, with a captivating, well-paced plot.

Asymmetry | inventive, intelligent, metafiction

Review: 3 stars

I returned to work in November of last year, and while I’ve kept up with my reading, I haven’t with my blogging! Catching up now, I’ll start with Asymmetry, which had been on my radar for the past few months. I was very taken by the beautiful cover design, and it also helped that it was on the NYT 10 Best Books of 2018 list.

Asymmetry is the debut novel by Lisa Halliday, and upon initial examination, appears to be two completely disparate stories bound together only by the printing process. The novel opens with “Folly”, a chapter that outlines the whimsical, entirely charming encounter between Alice, an impressionable young writer, and Ezra Blazer, an acclaimed author in his sunset years. Their romance unfurls with the lovely nostalgia of knowing that the golden years are here and soon to fade. Little traditions like baseball games and blackout cookies bring their relationship startlingly to life. However, as much as you want Ezra and Alice to succeed, there is something that nags at you and forces you to probe beneath their quirky affection for one another.

This is where asymmetry as a theme first emerges. Ezra’s “education” of Alice begins gradually, but soon overwhelms. His age, wealth, worldliness and renown make themselves conspicuous. He gives her money with specific spending guidelines, instructs her to buy clothing from S-E-A-R-L-E, annoyingly spells out words for her, dials her at will from a “CALLER ID BLOCKED” number, gives her a list of canonical literature to read, so on and so forth. Although Alice is our protagonist, we are always one step removed from her emotions. She effaces herself from the reader similar to how she dissolves herself into Ezra’s preferred, haute ways of living. An event as traumatic as an abortion earns little less than a passing mention, which is both how Alice and the reader experience the act. When Ezra asks “Do you ever think this isn’t good for you?”, Alice answers immediately that “it’s very good” for her. The richness of Alice’s youth, talent and character are exploited and under-appreciated, and we wonder whether she will ever emerge from Ezra’s shadow to explore her full potential.

This question seemingly goes unanswered through the next two segments of the novel. The first, titled “Madness”, is a story of identity and brotherhood narrated by Amar, an Iraqi-American. The latter is an interview conducted between a BBC host and Ezra, where he relays the soundtrack to his life. “Madness” is a sophisticated exploration of Amar’s connections to Iraq and the experiences of being a man of his heritage, amidst today’s backdrop of ethic suspicion. Halliday’s odd choice of narrator and country are what make this chapter the most astounding. The vividness of Amar’s memories, his culture and his loyalties are truly authentic. Even as I found myself disengaging from this chapter due to lack of common ground, I realized this was the savvy of Halliday’s writing. She had created a narrative so real, in a tone so utterly different from the preceding chapter, that I found the transition jarring and difficult to continue reading with the same mindset.

While the metafiction aspects of the novel and semi-autobiographical details are what have been hailed as a “literary phenomenon” by critics, the connection truly is easy to miss. I won’t reveal it here, but while I found the concept certainly clever, I was simultaneously unconvinced by the true merit of the novel’s structure. It does create a more cerebral read, but the thread between the various segments were so tenuous, that I could not appreciate it during the reading itself.

Little Fires Everywhere | relatable, tender, detailed

Review: 3 stars

I loved Celeste Ng’s ‘Everything I Never Told You’, so I eagerly grabbed her sophomore novel, ‘Little Fires Everywhere’ when it came out. I’m also trying to read more from Asian authors, so this was a great fit for my booklist.

Ng sets her story in Shaker Heights, a meticulously designed neighbourhood in Ohio, her native state. It follows the collision of two families - the Richardsons and the Warrens - and the consequences that arise as each member pursues their selfish interests. The conflicts begin small and crescendo quickly - a hidden teenage affair, a regretful abortion, an adoption controversy, a stolen surrogate baby. The drama ignites and grows into a blazing conflagration by the end, forcing Mia and Pearl Warren to flee town in haste, to the devastation of the four Richardson children.

I found Ng’s writing to be particularly powerful when delving into the pasts of Mia Warren and Elena Richardson, the two matriarchs in the story. She deftly captures the faded could-have-beens for each woman, rendering them as more than mothers. Elena’s epiphany as to why she holds her daughter, Izzy, at such arm’s length also rings with brilliant truth. Sometimes when we are threatened with the loss of something, we try not to love it too much for fear of pain. Ng also is a capable juggler - using Bebe Chow and Linda McCullough’s custody battle for a Chinese baby to further increase antagonistic tensions between the primary families.

You can read Little Fires Everywhere and easily relate to something in it - either the Asian-American immigrant experience, teenage angst, or secrets in one’s past, Perhaps the most relatable element of all is Elena’s articulation of what so many of us feel and practice in daily life: “…passion, like fire, was a dangerous thing. It so easily went out of control…Sparks leapt like fleas and spread as rapidly…Better to control that spark and pass it carefully from one generation to the next…Carefully controlled. Domesticated. Happy in captivity.” As Elena nurses her single flame, her daughter Izzy defies all rules and sets the world ablaze. Perhaps the novel is an ode to how our lives of normalcy are just waiting to be set ablaze by something, or someone.

I enjoyed much of the novel, but felt that the adolescent storylines lapsed into well-tread territory, with little left to discover. I would’ve also liked Elena to have been a more redeeming character earlier on. Her foray into villainy flattens the great character development we have from learning about her past. Although the novel reads as a thriller at times, it lacked the surprise and originality of Ng’s debut novel, which I had so loved. In particular, Mia’s revelation, which the entire story builds up to, seemed to me a let-down once unveiled. I don’t doubt that this novel will have many admirers, but for me, it fell short of a spectacular read.

Bellevue Square | eery, otherworldly, unsettling

Review: 3 stars

My friend Patrick and I have a lovely Christmas tradition. We gift each other our most anticipated read, or our favourite read from the past year. Over the years, he’s sent me some great choices, and this year, he opted for ‘Bellevue Square’ by Michael Redhill.

Redhill has written a cerebral thriller in which the credibility of our narrator, Jean Mason, is questioned throughout the novel. Jean lives a fairly ordinary life in Toronto, until she discovers from chance acquaintances that she has a doppelgänger that frequents Bellevue Square, and that myth has it only one of the doppelgängers can exist in the physical world. This news ignites Jean’s all-consuming hunt for her look-a-like, Ingrid. Jean works with a band of haphazard characters that frequent the square to unravel this mystery. We soon learn that Jean suffers from mental illness, and that is when we begin to question the veracity of her commentary and whether we, the readers, are being duped ourselves. The novel pulses towards an inexorable face-off between the Jean and Ingrid, in which only one can survive.

The premise of the novel is original, but at times gimmicky, and Redhill takes many pains to elevate the suspense of the novel. He guides the reader unwittingly to invest deeply in Jean’s character, which I think is a wholly successful rendering. We empathize with her struggle to appear ‘normal’ to her sons and husband, and are impressed by the ease with which she slips into the patchwork fabric of Toronto’s underbelly. This outpour of support for Jean is what makes the twist in the end quite dramatic. The finale unravels our notion of who, or what, Jean really is and prompts us to shift our sympathies to Ingrid.

While the ending is intriguing and refreshing to me, I found that there were a few doldrums in the novel, when pace fell off and my interest waned. I would’ve appreciated more time allotted to the hasty ending to explore the questions of reality and existence that Redhill launches with pages left to go. Overall, this was a good read with a well-developed protagonist, but fell short for me on a few other dimensions.

The Sympathizer | satirical, open-ended, funny

Review: 5 stars

I follow Pulitzer Prize winners carefully, and picked up ‘The Sympathizer’ a year ago during a midnight Amazon binge. After a couple of false starts with the book, I finally got past the first chapter, and thank goodness, because it is now one of my favourite books.

‘The Sympathizer’ follows an anonymous narrator, ‘The Captain’, who is being held in North Vietnamese custody against his will. The narration of his confession sets in motion the novel, detailing his actions, thoughts and decisions before and during the war, through his evacuation from Saigon to America, and to his varied experiences abroad as a movie consultant and sleeper spy.

At face value, the Captain is a communist spy, working undercover in the confidences of the South Vietnamese and American police force. However, both his genetic identity and his experiences have lent him a deeply sympathetic nature. To those in Vietnam, he was seen as a half-breed outsider (his father was a French missionary), whereas to those in America, he is just another ‘yellow face’. Furthermore, his loyalties are hotly contested amidst the denouement of the Vietnam War. When Bon, his South Vietnamese friend, loses his wife and son during the evacuation of Saigon, the Captain’s whole body aches in sympathy. In direct contradiction, the Captain also comes off as a meek follower of Man, his co-communist conspirator. In one moment, the Captain effortlessly implicates and innocent as the true mole, whereas in another, he is haunted by the ghost of the innocent he helped kill. Born of divided affection, sympathy is the Captain’s Achilles heel - by feeling for all, he becomes traitor to all.

The protagonist is architected in such a way to reflect the moral debate around the Vietnam War, and to complicate the oversimplification of the conflict from the American perspective. By never aligning fully with one side, the protagonist leaves the reader in no-man’s land, with the impetus to learn more before forming judgement. There are stinging rebukes of America’s one-dimensional treatment of the Vietnam War, most clearly depicted in the Captain’s experience as a Vietnamese ambassador for the film, ‘The Hamlet’, an intentionally ill-disguised reference to ‘Apocalypse Now’. Also peppered throughout are the Captain’s truly laugh-out-loud observations of Vietnamese assimilation into America, human nature, and his own shortcomings. These not only serve up bite-sized witty realities, but lighten the mood of a largely sombre novel.

Nguyen, the author, has said in many interviews that he intended to write this novel mainly for a Vietnamese audience. He does not euphemise anything, and instead manipulates the Captain’s story to cast shadows and reflections on common beliefs about the Vietnam War. The novel’s conclusion is similarly open-ended, which was quite perplexing to me. In an allusion to Ho Chi Minh’s quote “Nothing is more important than Independence and Freedom”, the Captain finally has his epiphany that the answer to “What is more important than Independence and Freedom?” is in fact, “Nothing”. There many ways to read into this, but Nguyen deliberately leaves this thread untied for the reader to knot.

I highly recommend this novel - it is intelligent, thrilling and at many times, fun to read. For me, ‘The Sympathizer’ was reminiscent of ‘Catch-22’, another one of my favourite books. Nguyen has crafted a very successful novel, and I look forward to more from this original voice.

A Nurse's Story | eye-opening, empathetic, entertaining

Review: 4 stars

My lovely nanny is an avid reader, and she passed ‘A Nurse’s Story’ to me one day after seeing my stacks of books lying around the condo. Her rain-battered and tear-stained copy bore the scars of obsessive reading, so I was excited to dive into it.

‘A Nurse’s Story’ is Tilda Shalof’s partly-biographical retelling of her most salient encounters working as an ICU nurse in the Toronto hospital system. Throughout highly-entertaining, sometimes disgusting, and often touching patient narratives, she interweaves several key theses: (1) the role of a nurse is intricate and indispensable, and is being undermined by government budget cuts, (2) nurses need to first take care of themselves, before they can take care of others, and (3) the unecessary prolonging of “life” can be cruel and selfish.

My husband is a physician, so I’ve often heard him sing the praises of nurses, and at times, vent in frustration at oversights that a nurse made. But he has been unwavering in how important nurses are to his ability to perform his job efficiently and effectively. When I think back to major medical milestones of my life - giving birth, staying by my father-in-law’s side in the ICU, or receiving long-distance updates as my mother underwent heart surgery - I realize how much power nurses hold in their hands. Nurses administer the doses of medication that sustain patient comfort and survival; they make adjustments on the fly and decide when to escalate for help; they control the emotional well-bring of a patient and his/her family, acting as a twitter-feed for progress updates…and so much more. They have to be error-free, because of the mortal repercussions of their actions.

This book tremendously increased my awareness for what nurses are responsible for, and what they endure. I loved that Shalof reiterates through various anecdotes how the ICU’s emotional trauma osmoses to the mental health of nurses themselves. When I hear nurses laughing together now, catharsis instead of insensitivity comes to mind. There was also a quote (spoken by a doctor) that really crystallized for me what a nurse’s mission is: “We never withdraw care. In certain circumstances, we may withdraw treatment, but never care".

Finally. Shalof relates a number of incidents where patient families insisted on life support for their relatives, even when the body was necrotizing, or organs primed for transplant were wasted on a brain-dead patient. In these scenarios, Shalof and her fellow nurses on ‘Laura’s Line’ advocate for death with dignity, to release the body from painful interventions. I had always held the perspective that '“everything should be done” for my family members, and even for myself, but Shalof has encouraged me to rethink this blanket belief. It is often the desire to relieve personal guilt that drives families to prolong life past the last shred of realistic hope for recovery.

I highly recommend this book to those who want a very readable, thought-provoking look into patient care, narrated by a passionate insider. Shalof’s writing is convincing, well-balanced and unequivocal, and her stories are incredible.

Bringing Up Bebe | practical, charming, humble

Review: 4 stars

I will be the first to admit that parenting is damn hard. It takes abnormal doses of energy, patience and hand/arm/back/neck strength to successfully raise an infant. My child, Aiden, is an adorable, strong-willed, fun-loving little man. Half of the days I feel like I’m firing on all cylinders with him and the other half I’m just barely keeping it together.

Hence the vast market for parenting books. ‘Bringing Up Bebe’ was recommended to me by one of my colleagues in my office’s mom group. It is advertised as one American’s behind-the-scenes investigation into how the French make motherhood look so easy.

Druckerman takes a journalistic angle to answering her burning questions, polling French friends, citing child psychology findings, and speaking to childcare experts. She also takes a step back and examines the culture and system within which the French style of parenting succeeds - of which maternity benefits, childcare subsidies and a strong public school system form the key pillars. Her writing is humorous and self-deprecating - she admits her own faults and blunders with ease. For new mothers like me, her voice is that of a supportive friend, reassuringly saying ‘You’re doing great! But here are some tips to make your life easier if you’d like’.

What I found most refreshing and practical were the French attitudes on setting a ‘cadre’ - a non-negotiable set of boundaries - within which children should pursue utmost liberty. Gentle, but firm reprimands are a form of ‘education’, steps in the continuous development of a child’s personality and moral compass. It appears to me that the ‘French way’ celebrates independence and assumes ability much more than other cultures. Babies are regarded as highly intelligent beings who can be spoken to rationally, and who learn most successfully when given ample time and space to respond to stimuli. Druckerman’s findings also give parents much more leeway to focus on themselves (e.g., evenings are for adults) and to nurture their romance instead of acquiescing to the whims of children.

There are a few shortcomings. One criticism is that Druckerman is making broad generalizations of a heterogenous society of parents - my husband suggested a real possibility that differences in parenting within a nation may be more disparate than those between nations. Some observations would’ve also been more convincing if backed up with studies or a greater number of ethnographies. But as I’ve come to learn, sensitivities are higher when the topic is how to parent successfully, and raising a child is not a science, but an art. With these caveats in mind, I was not overly distracted by the aforementioned criticisms, especially since Druckerman acknowledges these limitations time to time herself.

I really enjoyed the book, but more importantly found it to be a good conversation starter with my husband on how we might recalibrate how we raise Aiden, or our next child. There are a number of countering perspectives to what Druckerman puts forward as a better way of child-rearing (for example, advocates of no-cry and feed-on-demand parenting). However, I found this book to be a useful, reasonable addition to the ongoing parenting discourse, with practical tips that I hope to apply soon (once I pluck up my courage).

Exit West | imaginative, surreal, intimate

Review: 4 stars

‘Exit West’ was listed as a Top 10 book of 2017 by the New York Times, and so I ordered a copy off Amazon earlier this year. It piqued my interest because the novel seemed to be a contradiction - at once eerily realistic in its description of the refugee experience, all the while ignoring the laws of physics.

‘Exit West’ follows a pair of new, young lovers - Saeed and Nadia, who are" “subversives” in an anonymous Muslim country, teetering on the brink of civil war. The heady concoction of marijuana-tinged forbidden romance draws the two together, as curfews, bank runs and downed phone lines wreak havoc across their city. They catch wind of magical doors that are opening at random, bending distance to teleport willing travellers to unknown destinations. Thus begins Saeed and Nadia’s journey through this secretive network of doors, with each destination warping their relationship slightly more than the last.

Hamid has written a very clever story - one that adeptly blends ambiguity with the detailed emotional tapestry of the migrant experience. Saeed and Nadia could be fleeing Yemen, Syria or Somalia - their origin is of no import. By stripping this away and urging the reader to accept teleportation as reality, Hamid generalizes the refugee crisis so that it is the responsibility of the world. How would we act if a door were to spontaneously open in our bedrooms, shadowy, beleaguered figures emerging at all intervals throughout the day? What would we protect, what would we give? This surreal, yet genius interpretation of global diaspora insists upon activating the reader’s empathy.

I also thoroughly appreciated the deterioration of Saeed and Nadia’s romance, proving that circumstance and proximity are not enough to sustain love. Saeed is drawn more and more to the trappings of his home country, and shrouds himself in devout prayer. In contrast, Nadia finally feels as though she can shed her skin, and camouflage herself to be whoever she desires now. Their growing chasm is so honestly captured, and feels like a story repeated in every city in the world. Hamid writes this to illustrate their tenuous bond:

“Saeed wanted to feel for Nadia what he had always felt for Nadia, and the potential loss of this feeling left hm unmoored…Saeed made a point to smile with Nadia, at least sometimes, and he hoped she would feel something warm and caring when he smiled, but what she felt was sorrow and the sense that they were better than this, and that together they had to find a way out.”

This story feels old and clairvoyant at the same time. Refugees escaping certain persecution with uncertain promises awaiting at their destination. Upcroppings of peripheral migrant neighbourhoods, like outstretched tentacles from the world’s urban apexes. The right to electricity and connectivity wielded as new-age weapons by iinvaded authorities, against the invaders. New generations of ‘natives’, lighter in colour than those who previously donned the name.

This timeless novel successfully melds reality with fantasy, while providing a gentle, patient periscope into an unravelling relationship. I found it to be a thought-provoking read, and highly recommend it for those who would enjoy an inventive lens on today’s refugee crisis.

Home Fire | incendiary, daring, unexpected

Review: 4 stars

I walked into BMVQ over the summer, and was immediately taken by the stunning cover of ‘Home Fire’. I’m a fairly risk averse reader - I try not to judge a book by its cover, and I rely heavily on awards, reviews and ‘best of’ lists before affirming my choices. Luckily, Home Fire was a Top 100 pick of 2017 by the New York Times, so I happily bought it.

‘Home Fire’ is the story of three siblings - Isma, Aneeka and Parvaiz, who are ostracized from their Pakistani community in Britain because of their father’s legacy as a jihadi fighter. The novel is told in four voices - one for each sibling, with the final reserved for Karamat Lone - the father of Aneeka’s love interest, Eamonn, and Britain’s Home Secretary.

Isma fatefully meets Eamonn while studying abroad in America, igniting a collision course that leads to fatal consequences. Three parallel plot lines weave in and out, steadily ratcheting up the novel’s tension. The first - Isma’s blossoming friendship and affection for Eamonn, which is countered by Aneeka and Eamonn’s passionate love affair. The second - Aneeka and her family’s burning disdain for Karamat, born from his rejection of his Muslim community and refusal to help resolve their father’s death. The third - Parvaiz’s seduction by ISIS and his subsequent journey to Syria to honour his father.

Shamsie’s writing is poetic and heartbreaking. The novel reads as a thriller at times - so compelling are the plot and the protagonists’ struggles. She employs mixed media to evoke the realism of how public opinion is presented (tweets, hashtags, news headlines), how youth communicate across oceans (texts, skype messages), and also how ISIS guides their pilgrims to the frontline (poems, Quran verses).

The ending is one of the most moving and shocking conclusions to a novel that I’ve come across. It requires re-reading to fully absorb the enormity of each person’s actions, and to fully bear witness to all-consuming love. Shamsie wields the perspective of a removed onlooker in the final scene to create an immutable newsreel of horror and beauty, and to allow the reader to pass judgement and propose motives.

I recommend this book to those looking for a moving, ambitious exploration of the intersection of political and private agendas, and the wide spectrum of Muslim expression.

Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy | fantastical, fun, flashy

Review: 3 stars

Similar to the rest of the Asian-North American community, I was caught up in the Crazy Rich Asians storm. I had read the first book in the trilogy years ago, and purchased the sequels after watching the movie. Luckily, since I knew the books were not 'deep' in any sense, I was able to revel in the film's humour instead of expecting any lofty statements about Asian representation.

Kevin Kwan has written an easy-to-read, glittering trilogy that pulls back the veil on the stratospheric wealth of Asia’s top 0.01%. The most original element of his voice is the incredible depth to which he flaunts this wealth - from the most exclusive haute couture experiences, to specific watch, liquor and caviar brands that we’ve never heard of. The result is a light, captivating read. The novel is propelled forward by the romances of the protagonists - Nick, Rachel and Astrid - and by the catfight worthy familial politics and grandstanding that underpin it all.

One criticism that I have of the book is that character development was lacking for a story that spanned three full-length books. Nick is introduced as an aloof, charming, honourable gentleman with a rebellious streak, and ends this way as well. Throughout, Rachel remains a reasonable, down-to-earth woman, unswayed by the trappings of wealth. Astrid, the one character who does eventually shed her skin, still feels flat - the ethereal, ever-stylish beauty who can do no wrong. I hoped for more moments of tension, of disintegration and self-realization than I received.

I also felt that the cast of secondary characters - particularly Kitty Pong in China Rich Girlfriend and Carlton Bao in Rich People Problems - were somewhat superfluous. For all the things that exceeded my imagination (e.g., an IMAX theatre on a jet plane or a $10B offer for a mansion), what I was most skeptical about were two events in China Rich Girlfriend. The first was the ease with which Rachel diffused Carlton’s car racing frenzy, and the second was the logic behind Rachel’s poisoning, The denouement just seemed overly convenient and mess-free, leaving all our main characters untransformed.

I enjoyed the trilogy as a breezy summer read, and would recommend it as an effective antidote to stress. Kwan’s writing flows well, and every chapter oozes lavish and luxury. You leave feeling intoxicated by riches, in want of materialistic remedy, and optimistic about your chances of winning the lottery someday.

Killers of the Flower Moon | thrilling, provocative, sickening

Review: 4 stars

'Killers of the Flower Moon' was the February pick for the 'Now Read This' book club that I've been following. After a long binge on fiction, I felt I was due for some nonfiction reading. Luckily, I walked into the BMVQ bookstore, and saw the hardcover edition of this novel for over 50% off - I seriously love that bookstore. 

This book got me fired up. I was surprised by how outraged and indignant I felt as I read about the chilling conspiracy that led to a near-decimation of the Osage Indians during the 1920s in Oklahoma. The novel follows Tom White, a detective assigned by J. Edgar Hoover to solve the onslaught of mysterious Osage Indian deaths. What makes the murders all the more curious, is the fact that the Osage Indians were the wealthiest people per capita in the world at the time, given the proceeds from their headrights.

This book is meticulously researched, and enriched by the interviews, photographs, press clippings, and recorded conversations that Grann stitches together to evoke the Wild West atmosphere of the times. Justice was often taken into one's own hands (particularly rich, white hands), and meted out carelessly, with the exception of White's hunt for the Osage murder masterminds. Grann paces the plot masterfully, raising pulses when key witnesses and enforcement officers are conveniently dispatched just as they uncover vital clues. The cast of characters - the Osage, their white spouses and guardians, cowboy vigilantes, doctors, and nascent law enforcement - are dynamic, and Grann keeps you guessing until the end as to who the villains truly are. 

One fact that infuriated me was how many of the Osage Indians, despite their supposed riches from oil, were in fact quite destitute. This is because many Osage were assigned white guardians to manage their money and to dole out their meagre allowances, if they were deemed incompetent (which many were, just by way of their ethnicity). This transgressive appropriation of wealth was not secreted away - rather, it was a oft-stated goal amongst notable white society men to amass as many guardianships as possible, as a means to substantially increase their personal wealth. Marriage was another means to wealth. Ernest, the husband of Mollie, one of the main Osage characters, says in a statement: 'I don't work. I married an Osage'. It is hard to believe that this massacre - dozens of Osage - was swept under the rug of American history and unearthed only now for mainstream consumption. 

This book prompted me to consider the state of Aboriginals in Canada, and in what ways their stories are still untold to this day. We read headlines about how a teenage couple, the first in their families to graduate high school, were murdered by a jealous cousin, or how First Nations populations are more than three times likely to die prematurely due to drug or alcohol-related causes than non-Aboriginals. So much tragedy is already in the public sphere, but how many countless injustices have been conveniently forgotten, with no historian to archive or give weight to them? 

I highly recommend this book to anyone looking for a sobering, real-life thriller. Grann has done a mighty service by sharing this convincing, riveting story with us.