The Regional Office exists to protect the world from nefarious attacks. It was created by the superhuman Oyemi and her partner, Mr. Niles. Together, they source oracles to predict future attacks and train teenage girls to become highly skilled assassins. But now the oracles have predicted that someone on the inside wants to bring down the Regional Office, and sure enough, it’s under attack.
It’s kind of a hard book to describe. Imagine elements from Minority Report, Kill Bill, Die Hard, plus a dash of Mean Girls, then sprinkle in some superpowers. On one side is Rose, a hot-headed teenager who is leading the attack. Half of the book is told from her perspective; when the attack happens, she’s in for a nasty surprise and must think on her feet. But she’s also lovestruck with the man who recruited her into becoming an assassin, and the chapters alternate between her troubled past and her present predicament.
The first time I bought tickets to see Sleater-Kinney, I was living in a basement apartment in Yonkers, New York. I was in grad school, completely broke, but I bought tickets for me and my roommate. I can chart a lot of my grad school life in New York according to The Woods; in fact, that album basically provided the soundtrack for most of my thesis-writing marathons (I literally thanked Sleater-Kinney for that in my acknowledgements). Shortly after I bought those tickets, the bomb dropped: Sleater-Kinney was going on indefinite hiatus. The New York show, the last they’d play there for almost a decade, immediately sold out. Suddenly, The Woods tour turned into a farewell tour of sorts; my first time seeing them would also probably be my last.
In the nine years that followed, the women of Sleater-Kinney went on to different projects. Corin Tucker and Janet Weiss went on to do other music projects, while Carrie Brownstein is probably most recognized now for her role in Portlandia. Sleater-Kinney reunited in secret a couple of years ago, released a new album in January, and have spent the better part of this year on tour (I got to see them twice…yay!). Carrie also just released a memoir, Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl (lyrics from a Sleater-Kinney song called “Modern Girl”). And while I’ll admit that my take on it is partially colored by the fact that I fangirl hard for Carrie, it really is a beautifully written book!
First off: I’m baaaack! I returned from my 5-week, 10-country European adventure late Tuesday night! (I’ll talk more about it tomorrow…drama, drama, drama!) Before I left, I read books from almost all the countries I visited. I posted a few reviews while I was over there, and then stopped. It ended up being a case of either having great WiFi connection but being too exhausted to write, or having lots of time and energy to write but having zero WiFi! Now that I’m back, I’ll be writing those reviews and spreading them out over the coming weeks.
Margherita Dolce Vita by Stefano Benni
Publisher/Year: Europa Editions, 2006
What it is: Margherita is a teenager living a peaceful and relatively happy life with her eccentric family in Italy. The family lives within their means in a modest suburban home and tries to recycle whatever they can. This all changes when a wealthy family moves in next door, building an eyesore of a modern home that Margherita’s family dubs “The Cube.” Life as Margherita knows it is suddenly over.
Why I read it: It looked like a happy, lighthearted book. The author is also popular in Italy.
What I thought: I knew this book was a satire, but I wasn’t expecting it to turn out even remotely the way it did. The first few chapters fell in line with my initial preconception of the book: lighthearted, funny, charming. Then the book started taking a very strange turn. By the end, I was just like, “what in the world am I reading?” Margherita’s neighbors can be taken as stand-ins for stereotypical Americans: abrasive, self-absorbed, obsessed with having the newest and best of everything without giving a damn about what anyone else needs or wants. It gets darker than that: Margherita’s neighbors end up revealing anti-immigrant, anti-poor people, pro-guns, pro-using tech to spy on people sentiments. And okay…if you’re trying to go over-the-top with dark satire and need to paint a negative America/American “type,” there’s definitely some basis for all those stereotypes. Fine. But the book went completely off the rails for me with its conspiracy theories and inexplicably bad plot twists. I kind of hated it (but I still love the cover).
On Such a Full Sea by Chang-rae Lee
Publisher/Year: Riverhead Books, 2014
What it is: In Chang-rae Lee’s dystopian America, the world has split into a bunch of colonies where only the wealthiest have it easy in areas known as charters. Outside the walls of the urban work colonies is a violent, ungoverned no-man’s land where people travel and live at their own risk. Fan is a Chinese fish-tank diver working in B-Mor, what was once Baltimore. When her lover mysteriously disappears, she leaves B-Mor and heads into the treacherous Open Counties to look for him.
Why I read it: It was one of the most talked about and highly anticipated releases this year.
What I thought: So here’s the thing: this was my first Chang-rae Lee book (nope, still haven’t read Native Speaker). I can see why the book got lots of great buzz and why people love Lee’s work. His writing is undeniably beautiful and haunting. There were parts of this book that I completely lost myself in, but there were also lots of times where I thought the book dragged on. It’s an atmospheric book; there are surreal, quietly unnerving plot twists told through the eyes of the narrators (a faceless, nameless group from B-Mor reimagining Fan’s story). Sometimes it worked for me, sometimes it didn’t.
Sun-scorched. Desolate. Solitary. These are just a few of the words I’d use to describe Claire Vaye Watkins’s quietly haunting debut short story collection. Unlike most story collections out there, there’s no story called “Battleborn” in this book. Instead, the book’s title captures the essence of this collection. Not yet 30 (a fact that completely blows my mind), Watkins reimagines about histories and mythologies of the American West — including her own family’s unique place in it — with the steady assuredness an old soul.
Nothing illustrates this more perfectly than the book’s opener, “Ghosts, Cowboys.” It begins with a series of false starts, opening with tidbits from different points in history until finally finding an entrance point with the story of a group of ten people led by a guy named “Charlie” Manson. Manson’s right hand man was Watkins’s father, and though he never killed anyone, his job was to lure girls for Manson to have sex with. Imagine that being part of your family’s lore! “Ghosts, Cowboys” is a reimagining of events, and Watkins inserts herself into the story.
The other stories, many tinged with a sense of loss, are no less captivating. I had several favorites. “The Past Perfect, The Past Continuous, The Simple Past” is about a European tourist stuck in Nevada. His friend is lost in the desert, and he must wait here while the search for him continues. He finds himself at a brothel in the desert and keeps returning to one of the women who works there. In “Man-O-War,” a loner comes across a teen girl passed out in the desert. He takes her home and looks after her until she wakes up, and when she does, she doesn’t want to leave; it isn’t until the story’s climax that he learns what she’s run away from. And finally, my favorite story in the collection was the longest one, “The Diggings,” in which two brothers leave Ohio for the Gold Rush.
Set in Belle Époque Paris, The Painted Girls was inspired by the lives of the Van Goethem sisters. Antoinette, Marie, and Charlotte already lived in poverty before their father’s sudden death, but now they can’t rely on their alcoholic mother to make ends meet, and the girls must find a way to earn some wages. Hotheaded Antoinette has been kicked out of her position in the Paris Opera ballet, but Marie and Charlotte are able to audition and enter the Paris Opera as petit rats, the lowest level for ballet dancers. Meanwhile, Antoinette finds temporary work as an extra in Emile Zola’s L’Assommoir.
The girls struggle to live off the few francs they earn each week, but it’s never enough; they’re always hungry and underclothed. When Marie gets a chance to make some extra money as Edgar Degas’s model, she hesitantly agrees. Though she shows great promise as a dancer, she’s at a disadvantage compared to her peers. She’s undernourished and must get up early everyday to work her side job at the bakery, then head to ballet practice. Nor is she pretty; she’s a gangly girl with bad teeth, and she doesn’t have the money to buy pretty ribbons or flashy dancewear. Her only hope is to find a wealthy patron who will take an interest in her and provide the funds to support her dancing career. Might Degas be that person?
Meanwhile, the once-close relationship she’s always had with Antoinette is wearing thin. Antoinette has fallen in head over heels in love with Emile Abadie. Emile sets off all kinds of alarms in Marie, who feels that he’s nothing but trouble, but Antoinette will hear nothing of it. Using alternating narrators (Marie and Antoinette), Buchanan allows readers to see the story from two different sides.