Two Books (and Bookwyrm)

A bookshelf.

February 3, 2025

The semester continues, the news rages on, and the world gets worse. The latter two items aren’t related to the first, except that they all are reasons I won’t have a fully featured link roundup this week. I’ve just been swamped with teaching, feelings, and also with continuing to work on a research project that’s been on my mind… forever. More on that if I ever get to a full manuscript.

So, what I’ll offer instead is a few book reviews. I’ve decided to finally leave Goodreads, and will now be posting my short reviews on the decentralized alternative Bookwyrm. Follow me!

Percival Everett, James

This novel, focused on the practice and clearly the legacy of slavery in the United States, is both amazing and harrowing. The only book that comes to mind to associate the feeling of reading James is Toni Morrison’s Beloved, which shook me in a similar fashion despite having a completely different approach to the topic.

In James, Everett reclaims the character Jim from Huckleberry Finn, re-telling the story from his perspective. I hadn’t read Huckleberry Finn since I was a kid, and truthfully I appreciated not having re-read it before jumping into Everett’s reclamation. There is just so much to think about in James as a standalone novel, from the commentary on marginalized language practices, to the abominable history of slavery, to the subtle indication that the character James wrote the the actual book held by the reader. I strongly recommend this one.

Rita Bullwinkel, Headshot

This book was really engaging in terms form, but it didn’t captivate me much in terms of content. I think the project of a cross-temporal novel told totally through interiority is interesting, but as strange as it sounds I came away feeling like I still didn’t really know the characters. I wondered at times if it was simply my not having the experience of girlhood (which is the organizing theme of the book), and I do think that’s likely the main issue. So whatever qualms I have about the book (and, again, I think it’s extraordinarily unique and fascinating) have more to do with me than anything else.

Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

I’m about to say something bordering on sacrilege for a book-person sitting in Indiana: I did not like this at all. The last 20-30 pages were an incredible (short) book and admittedly brought the slog through the preceding 270 into focus. And I’m open to Vonnegut’s project of “total life through art” and his critique of narrative reality.

But, man, this book was tedious. And while it’s clear that Vonnegut was depicting racism, sexism, and homophobia in order to condemn them, he just wasn’t landing the tricks.