Today’s the last day of March so I thought I’d do a round-up of all the books I read this month!
March was such a good reading month. For one, I was able to read more books than in February (nothing can beat January), and I honestly wasn’t disappointed in any of the books I read. I also accomplished my goal of reading more diversely in terms of geography, which turned out to be very eye-opening so I’ll definitely continue that practice in April.
Without further ado, here are my short reviews on each of the 8 books I read in March. I hope you’ll find some good books to add to your to-be-read pile. Or at the very least, give you some motivation to finally pick up that book you’ve been meaning to read!
POETRY
1. Tuwing Ikatlong Sabado, by Words Anonymous (PH)
Grabe, nabuhay ulit ang pagmamahal ko sa wikang Tagalog dahil sa librong ito. Ang Tuwing Ikatlong Sabado ay isang koleksyon ng mga tula na isinulat ng Words Anonymous, isang grupong nagtatanghal ng spoken word poetry sa Pilipinas. Ginagamit ko ang Tagalog sa pagsusuri ko dahil Tagalog din ang ginamit sa karamihan ng mga tula rito. Nakakahiya naman kung Ingles ang ginamit ko para suriin ang isang librong lubusang ipinagdiriwang ang wikang Tagalog.
Sa totoo lang, ito ang unang koleksyon ng mga tula na nabasa ko sa anumang lenggwahe, kaya kinabahan talaga ako. Pero kahit na may iilang tulang mahirap nga namang maunawaan, karamihan ng mga tula rito’y mabilis lang maintindihan.
Payo ko sa’yo na kung magbabasa ka ng mga tula, mas maganda kung bigkasin mo ang mga salita kaysa sa pangkaraniwang pagbabasa lamang gamit ang iyong mga mata. Mas mararamdaman mo ang emosyon at ritmo ng mga tula.
Ngunit hindi pa rin ito 5 sa 5 para sa akin kasi isang katutak ang hugot sa libro. Eh, sawang sawa pa naman na ako sa hugot (nagsulat ako ng isang sanaysay tungkol dito) kaya noong bandang gitna, naging paulit-ulit na para sa akin ang tema tungkol sa pagmamahal. Kahit na, may mga magagandang tula pa rin dito tungkol sa korupsyon, depresyon, LGBTQ+, at iba pa. Maganda talaga ang librong ito kung gusto mong humanga pa lalo sa wikang Tagalog.
English Translation:
Wow, this book revived my love for the Tagalog language! Every Third Saturday is a poetry collection written by Words Anonymous, a spoken word poetry group in the Philippines. I’m using Tagalog in this review because majority of the poems here are also in Tagalog. It’ll be embarrassing if I use English to review a book that so thoroughly celebrates the Tagalog language.
Honestly, this is the first poetry collection I ever read in any language, which is why I was so nervous to read it. But even though there are some poems that were difficult to understand, majority of the poems here still use accessible language.
I suggest that you read these poems out loud rather than just read them with your eyes. It’ll make for a better experience because you’ll be able to feel the emotions and rhythm of the poems more.
This is not a 5 out of 5 for me, however, because the collection’s full of poems regarding failed love or hugot, which I am personally already sick of (I wrote a whole essay about it). That’s why I got tired reading around halfway through, because that theme felt repetitive for me. Still, there are some excellent poems here about corruption, depression, the LGBTQ+ community, among others. This book is really good for an appreciation of the Tagalog language.
FICTION
2. The Stranger, by Albert Camus (FR)
This book left me with an immense existential crisis, which is why I just had to give it 5 stars! Originally in French, The Stranger is set in 1942 French Algeria and follows Meursault as his life goes on after his mother’s death.
This is often cited as Camus’ exploration of absurdism, a philosophy which argues that people persist to look for meaning to their existence, which is an impossible endeavor because the universe and therefore our existence are inherently meaningless. This sounds like such a big idea but trust me, the novel’s language is very accessible. So if absurdism intrigues you even a little bit, then you should definitely read the book.
Plus, The Stranger is unexpectedly very funny. Meursault’s one of the best characters I’ve ever read because this guy just can’t be bothered by anything or anyone. He doesn’t give a flying hoot about anything! There are so many points in the book where I thought Meursault was finally going to say the socially safe thing to save his ass, but he never does. He’s very entertaining.
Still, The Stranger asks some pretty difficult questions that I still find myself thinking about. To what extent are our actions and even emotions influenced by societal norms? Is it ever appropriate to impose our own values and customs on other people? Meursault’s attitude towards life is considered unusual, so there’s really a lot of commentary here on abnormality and societal norms.
If you’re looking to start reading a classic, then I highly recommend this book! It’s simply written, short, and entertaining but brimming with ideas and questions.
3. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, by Ocean Vuong (VNM/USA)
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is a novel written in the form of a letter (i.e., an epistolary novel) from Little Dog, a Vietnamese-American son, to his single mother who can’t read. It flits between past and present as it uncovers the family’s traumatic experiences during the Vietnam War and being refugees in the United States.
Vuong is a trained poet, and it shows. His words feel so precisely placed and the sentences just pull you in. This novel is truly an appreciation of language as Little Dog puts words under the microscope and inspects them and twists their meanings around. The way the novel strings observations, thoughts, ideas, scenes, sensations, and reports together creates such a complex tapestry of Little Dog’s world.
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is honestly like a lullaby in book form. It’s a really quiet novel. Even when dramatic scenes are unfolding, the tone still manages to be calm. I don’t remember the tone ever being dramatic, angry, or even passionate. It remains soothing even when bad things happen.
I didn’t find myself devouring this book, however, because it’s a depressing novel. There’s an undercurrent of melancholic nostalgia that runs throughout. It tackles heavy themes too like masculinity, the opioid crisis, war, forced displacement, and memory. The most striking for me was the theme on intergenerational trauma. Little Dog’s mother is still traumatized by the war, and as a result passes on some self-destructive behaviors to Little Dog.
My only qualm is that there wasn’t enough substance/story behind the novel’s gorgeous style. I can see how this book is not for everyone too. Depending on your taste, this novel may come off as mere pretentious meandering. Still, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is totally worth reading for the love of language, but if you want more story about the Vietnam War, then I recommend Viet Thanh Nguyen’s The Sympathizer more.
4. The Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka (CZ)
Gregor Samsa’s life is thrown into chaos when he suddenly wakes up one day as a cockroach. I know I know, the concept sounds so weird and absurd and gross–but I love it! The Metamorphosis is Kafka’s most famous work, and there’s a reason for that.
It’s only under 100 pages long, so if I say any more I might give the book away, and it’s best to go in it blind. I’m planning to do an analysis of this book though because there’s a lot that I want to unpack from it, so stay tuned for that!
5. Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe (NG)
Things Fall Apart is an African literature classic, and it truly is essential reading. This novel depicts life in a pre-colonial village in Nigeria up until the early days of European colonization. Readers experience this tragic transition through the eyes of Okonkwo, a wealthy and fearless Igbo warrior.
I love this book because it gives me a lot to think about—it really depicts an experience so different from my own. Reading this book is an accessible way to educate people on how similar we really are with each other—no matter our race or beliefs or geography. On a more personal note, I love this book because I’m passionate about decolonization in my own studies, and this book contributes to that conversation in important ways.
Things Fall Apart challenges and deconstructs the dominant narrative about “savages” and how White Saviors needed to “civilize” them. Let’s not forget that prior to colonization, these people have already survived thousands of years on their own just fine. To emphasize this point, Achebe depicts the societal rules, judicial procedures, and communal tasks that Igbo society had to keep the peace and order.
But while Things Fall Apart definitely doesn’t side with the colonizers, it doesn’t side with the colonized either. It’s so interesting how the book doesn’t condemn nor praise the Igbo worldview and the Christian worldview; Achebe shows that both systems have worthwhile values but also deep flaws. That to me, is an excellent nuanced take. Plus, this book has one of the best final paragraphs I’ve ever read.
I can understand how this book is not for everyone though. In my opinion, you need to have some knowledge about colonization and the debates surrounding colonization in order to fully appreciate what this book is trying to communicate.
Because I love Things Fall Apart so much, I did a close reading analysis on it. If you’re interested, check it out here!
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NONFICTION
6. Through the Garden, by Lorna Crozier (CAN)
Through the Garden is a grief memoir written by one of Canada’s most renowned poets. Crozier’s husband is Patrick Lane, also one of Canada’s most renowned poets. This memoir flits between past and present, between poetry and prose, as Crozier deals with Lane’s serious illness and impending death.
Crozier’s memoir is less about grieving and death, and more of a humble celebration of life. She goes into length about her upbringing, her poetry, attending to animals, cultivating plants, taking care of the environment, and raising their cats. I felt so at peace after reading this memoir. I felt a sudden urge to just live in the middle of nowhere, take care of some animals, and tend to the environment. Phew, what a life.
Crozier tackles the codependency that inevitably develops from a life-long partnership. It made their relationship more rich, yes, but it also made Lane’s illness even harder for her to bear. It’s very touching whenever she tackles this theme in her memoir. She also vividly describes how a serious illness affects both the ill person and their loved ones. Crozier uses physical experiences as a means to articulate emotions, which I found very interesting. I reckon that’s how Crozier makes sense of things as a poet–the zooming-in on minute details to understand the big picture.
More on her writing, Crozier’s prose is amazing to read. She has a tight control over her words. She makes everything sound meditative and contemplative. Even the dramatic and dazzling parts are stripped of their drama and grandeur, and what readers are left with is a sense of quiet. Perhaps that’s just reality as well; things are mundane.
The only thing I didn’t really like about it, and I recognize this as a personal preference, is that there’s a lot of romanticization to the point that it got tiring for me to read the book at times. But that’s just me. I still recommend Crozier’s memoir!
7. In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote (USA)
In Cold Blood is a true crime novel that details the 1959 murders of the Clutter family in Holcomb, Kansas, a small farming community where nothing really happens. That’s why the town is shaken up after a father, a mother, a teenage daughter, and a teenage son were all brutally murdered at their home one night. Capote alternates between the town’s and the murderers’ points of view as he tells this story.
First of all, the context behind In Cold Blood is very interesting. Capote wanted to prove that journalism has literary and artistic merit, which is why he wrote this nonfiction book in a literary style. He was the first to do this, which is why In Cold Blood was Capote’s biggest professional achievement.
Personally, however, In Cold Blood ruined him. Writing this book sent him into an alcohol and drug addiction, which is ultimately what killed him in the end. Over the six years of interviewing he’d done, Capote also became very friendly with the murderers, and even identified very closely with one of them. Because of the outcome for the murderers, Capote reportedly felt very guilty for telling their story in his book while not doing enough to secure better conditions for them.
The context surrounding this book was what drew me to it in the first place, and I wasn’t disappointed. While the book can get too caught up with details and suffers from a slow pace sometimes, it’s overall beautifully written. We already know what happened in the very beginning of the book, but so much tension and suspense are held in the how’s and why’s of the murders. If you like true crime, you’ll really like this book.
Eerily, I also came to understand how Capote was able to sympathize with the murderers. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate those murderers with all my guts but I do feel sympathy for them too. They deserved to be held responsible for their actions, but I’m not sure if their punishment is something I agree with. Anyway, this clash of hate and sympathy was very confusing for me to feel, which makes the book all the more impactful.
8. White Tears/Brown Scars, by Ruby Hamad (AUS)
White Tears/Brown Scars is one of the books that challenged my thinking the most. In this book on feminism and racism, Hamad argues how white women strategically lean into their white privilege to silence women of color. They strategically oscillate between their gender and their race, between being the oppressed and the oppressor, depending on the power dynamics of a situation. “There is no sisterhood,” Hamad declares, as mainstream feminism continues to empower white women at the expense of women of color for the benefit of white society.
Hamad details how when challenged by a woman of color, white women often accuse the other woman of bullying her–of creating a threatening and hostile workplace–even, of racism (reverse racism, by the way, is not a thing). And her accusations are effective because of white women’s historical status as damsels in distress.
And that’s the thing I love the most about White Tears/Brown Scars. It goes very in-depth into the history and legacy of colonialism to illustrate how these shape the contemporary reality. This is something that’s not being talked about enough in public discourse even though colonialism’s reach is everywhere. I can’t overemphasize how important it is to know your history, and Hamad knows this. As a result, her strong arguments are nuanced and contextualized; they’re backed by analysis, case studies, and evidence.
I identify as a feminist and I do believe in the power of the feminist movement to enable more freedom for us all. White Tears/Brown Scars is not against feminism as an idea, but against how the movement fails to include everyone.
I read this book because I wanted to improve my feminism and to have a clearer idea of what exactly it is I’m fighting for. I’m very grateful because the book gave me both.
That’s all for now. Happy reading!
