2018 recap

What happened in 2018? Despite not keeping up with this blog as often as I should, I still enjoy doing these year-end recap posts. It gives me a chance to revisit what happened in the previous year. 2017 was a year of changes for me, while 2018 was relatively stable. It was a year of trying to stay true to the good habits I developed in 2017, which focus on mindfulness, health, frugality, and, of course, expanding my mind through reading!

In 2018, I managed to barely exceed my goal of reading 30 books, which I’ve listed below:

  1. The House of the Spirits, Isabel Allende
  2. Rising Strong, Brene Brown
  3. Kindred, Octavia Butler
  4. Kim Ji Young Born 1982, Cho Nam Joo
  5. N or M?, Agatha Christie
  6. Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates
  7. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion
  8. Before We Visit the Goddess, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
  9. My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante
  10. The Story of the Lost Child, Elena Ferrante
  11. The Story of a New Name, Elena Ferrante
  12. Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay, Elena Ferrante
  13. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
  14. A Room with a View, E.M. Forster
  15. What the Dog Saw, Malcolm Gladwell
  16. Lord of the Flies, William Golding
  17. Exit West, Mohsin Hamid
  18. About a Boy, Nick Hornby
  19. The Lowland, Jhumpa Lahiri
  20. Sons and Lovers, D.H. Lawrence
  21. John Adams, David McCullough
  22. The Children Act, Ian McEwan
  23. The Sympathizer, Viet Tranh Nguyen
  24. We Begin Our Ascent, Joe Mungo Reed
  25. Option B, Sheryl Sandberg
  26. Swing Time, Zadie Smith
  27. Cannery Row, John Steinbeck
  28. Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe
  29. Anything Is Possible, Elizabeth Strout
  30. Dogs at the Perimeter, Madeleine Thien
  31. Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant, Anne Tyler

I read a lot of fantastic books in 2018, but by far the ones that left the biggest impact on me were the quartet that comprise Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, which were recommended to me by a dear friend. They completely sucked me into an intricate world I had previously had little knowledge of (post-war Naples). I often still think about the characters now, many months after I finished the series.

Other than the Neapolitan novels, the other standout book for me would be The Sympathizer. I heard about this book from YouTube, and decided to pick it up after reading about the premise and seeing that it won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2016. Although I did have some issues with the pacing of this book, I found it humorous, touching, and, at times, extremely painful to read.

Here are some quick stats on the books I read in 2018:

  • The 31 books I read were written by 28 different authors. I read only one book by each author, except for the four written by Elena Ferrante.
  • Out of the 28 authors whose books I read, 15 were women, and 13 were men.
  • 18 of the authors were new to me. 10 were those whose works I’d read previously.
  • 13 of the 31 books have a significant portion of their plot taking place in a country other than the United States or the United Kingdom. This was something I wanted to track, as I want to read more books that expose me to perspectives previously unfamiliar to me. However, I’m not sure I should include We Begin Our Ascent. The plot mainly takes place in France, but is focused on a British cyclist. Same with Lord of the Flies, which takes place on a deserted island, but has British protagonists.
  • 6/31 books I read were non-fiction.

For 2019, I am keeping my goal realistic by striving to read at least 30 books. This year, I’m also making a conscious effort to keep track of the recommendations I receive and actively acquiring those books to knock them off of my TBR list, as in 2018 I felt like I ended up reading too many books I can’t quite remember.

Book Review: The Story of the Lost Child

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In what disorder we lived, how many fragments of ourselves were scattered, as if to live were to explode into splinters.

The Story of the Lost Child, by Elena Ferrante

Last year, one of my closest friends moved across the country. Since then, we’ve established a routine of monthly video chats, where we catch up on each other’s lives and ostensibly keep each other accountable for the goals we’d both established at the beginning of the year. Both of us had included reading more books as a goal, and so far, I think it’s helped keep me on track to have someone to talk with about the books I’ve been reading, and to get recommendations from.

One of her recommendations was Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, of which The Story of the Lost Child is the last instalment. The Neapolitan novels consists of a quartet that chronicles the lives of Elena (Lenu) Greco and Raffaella (Lila) Cerullo, two intelligent women growing up in Naples. It took me about two and a half months to finish this series. I didn’t get around to writing a blogpost until now, so this post will contain my thoughts about the series as a whole, rather than just The Story of the Lost Child.

The Neapolitan novels instantly hooked me. I was gripped the entire time while reading them. It brought me into a world that I’d never been exposed to before: a poor neighborhood in post-war Naples, where violence is commonplace and most children don’t progress beyond elementary school, if that. While it was foreign to me, it also felt surprisingly familiar: not to my own experiences, but those I’d heard about from older relatives about life in Korea in the same time period.

For me, these books were a blend of the familiar and the unfamiliar. I could easily sympathize with some aspects of Lenu’s and Lila’s lives, especially as they grew older: their struggle to be respected as women in their respective careers, their hunger to prove themselves intellectually, and the friendship between them, which is the central focus of the book. I loved the complexity of their relationship, which is not one of those cliche friendships you might find in a Hollywood movie, where two women are unconditionally supportive and sweet to each other. Instead, their relationship waxes and wanes with different phases of their lives; they are at times competitive with each other, dishonest to each other, and yet still remain the most important person in each other’s lives. The amount of detail given to their relationship made it feel supremely real.

While I could sympathize with Lenu and Lila, I was constantly reminded that their lives are not entirely like my own. I was struck by when Lenu excels in elementary school and is encouraged by her teacher to pursue going to middle school – but she does not know about the concept of middle school or any higher education, due to the environment she grew up in. There is also a scene in which the characters are invited to dine out at a restaurant, and Lenu (who is a teenager at the time) says that it was her first time eating at a restaurant. There are also scenes of frightening violence, almost casually drawn, where parents beat children and throw them out windows, or Lenu’s male classmates beat each other in the street. While the story focuses on the two girls, it is also a representation of a whole community, and how that community changes (or doesn’t) throughout one person’s lifetime. The series boasts a wide cast of characters, all of whom are drawn as real people with flaws and motivations. It can get difficult to remember how everyone is related to each other, but there is a helpful catalog included at the front of each book.

This series literally had everything I look for: realistic and complex characters, historical background, and detailed, thoughtful prose. I’m curious what the reading experience would be like in the original Italian, especially with the importance given to certain characters speaking in dialect versus standard Italian. The series also has great moments of humor and surprising plot twists (surprising, yet still realistic) that made me audibly gasp.

YES OR NO?: A definite yes! I loved this series and would mark it as one of my all-time favorites. I do think I enjoyed the first two books more than the last, maybe because I couldn’t identify as much with the phase of life they were in. Still, I loved these books and can see myself revisiting them in the future.

Book Review: Kindred

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Strangely, they seemed to like him, hold him in contempt, and fear him all at the same time. This confused me because I felt just about the same mixture of emotions for him myself. I had thought my feelings were complicated because he and I had such a strange relationship. But then, slavery of any kind fostered strange relationships. Only the overseer drew simple, unconflicting emotions of hatred and fear when he appeared briefly. But then, it was part of the overseer’s job to be hated and feared while the master kept his hands clean.

Kindred, by Octavia Butler

I’ve once again neglected this blog, this time for a whopping five months, mostly due to my own laziness than anything else. Despite my lack of new blog posts, I have still been reading consistently, with the last book I’ve finished being Octavia Butler’s Kindred. I was introduced to Octavia Butler in a science fiction course I took in university, when I did a presentation on Dawn, the first of the Lilith’s Brood trilogy. I remember being intrigued and somewhat horrified by Dawn, which examines human sexuality and race relations using the backdrop of an Earth conquered by an alien race.

Although Kindred, like Dawn, explores similar themes, it is not overtly a sci-fi novel. Dana, the protagonist, is a black woman living with her white husband, Kevin, in southern California in the 1970s. While moving into their new home, she suddenly finds herself propelled back to the past – specifically, Maryland in the 1810s. She rescues a young boy, Rufus Weylin, from drowning, before she returns to the 1970s, just as suddenly. Dana learns that Rufus is her ancestor, and that she is propelled to the past whenever he is in life-or-death danger. Similarly, Dana returns to the present when she feels herself to be in mortal danger – which, as a young black woman in Maryland in the 1810s, is fairly often. The book does not make an effort to explain or analyze the time travel mechanism further than this, which I personally did not have a problem with. There’s simply so much else to discuss here.

Despite being published in 1979, Kindred still feels wildly relevant today. Other than the absence of smartphones, Kevin and Dana’s present feels like our own, as they navigate the dynamics of their marriage, which is not wholly accepted by their families, even in the 1970s. Obviously interracial marriage has become more common and accepted by society at large, but I could easily believe Kevin and Dana as a present-day couple struggling with the same issues.

As I read Kindred, I was also reminded of other works that feature similar themes, namely To Kill a Mockingbird and Uncle Tom’s Cabin, which have been criticized for depicting the white savior archetype and for perpetuating condescending stereotypes of black characters, respectively. In Kindred, I felt neither of these issues. Although Kevin and Rufus at times help Dana, it is undeniable that she is the hero of the story, showing incredible agency and adaptiveness.

Kindred also features a large cast of black slave characters who felt true to life – distinct with their own motivations and interests. Some help Dana, while others actively deride her closeness to Rufus and the Weylin family. In other words, each slave is depicted as a real and complex person. I also liked that Butler depicts the Weylins as similarly complex. There is, of course, no excusing the acts of brutality that the Weylins commit against the slaves as “products of their time”, but each member of the Weylin family is drawn as a real person with both positive and negative traits. This allows a more nuanced discussion of the book, as slaveowners are not depicted simply as wholly evil beings with straightforward motives of torture and cruelty. Instead, Butler depicts the Weylins as flawed but realistic people who could easily exist today, which leads the reader to more introspective consideration of the institution of slavery.

YES OR NO?: YES. I was gripped by this book. Its plot, characterization, and themes remained on my mind for days after I was finished reading. For me, personally, the scenes that depict rape, torture, and other atrocities could be too distressing at times. Not that I think this should detract anyone from reading the book – I would just want to say that this is not an easy read.

Book Review: The House of the Spirits

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Barrabas came to us by sea, the child Clara wrote in her delicate calligraphy.

The House of the Spirits, by Isabel Allende

For 2018,  my official goal is to read 30 books, after failing to reach my goal in 2017 (to be fair, I moved (twice), started a new job, traveled, and dealt with the usual timesuckers associated with adulthood). Unofficially, I’m also striving to read books by new authors – new to me, even if they’ve been critically acclaimed for decades. There’s always been quite a few authors whose works I’ve been meaning to explore – Allende being one of them.

I knew little about The House of the Spirits going in, and it completely floored me. The novel tells the story of the Trueba family through four generations, focusing on patriarch Esteban Trueba, his wife Clara, his daughter Blanca, and his beloved granddaughter Alba. While the novel does focus on the Trueba women and their responses to the changing role of women in Chilean society throughout different periods, Esteban remains the constant in the story, providing a somewhat stereotypically male perspective. Clara, Blanca, and Alba are masterfully drawn characters, similar as family members should be, but each endowed with her own distinct traits. I also enjoyed that the Trueba women are all portrayed as being actively involved in their communities by educating and helping those of less fortunate circumstances. In addition to the Truebas, The House of the Spirits boasts a large cast of characters, all of whom are drawn realistically and mostly sympathetically. Even characters with the darkest of motives are given some sort of backstory and are not completely unsympathetic.

I was not at all familiar with Chilean history while reading the novel, which depicts political and social upheaval in post-colonial Chile. The novel does not refer to its setting as Chile, instead opting for the generic “the country”. Similarly, political figures are referred to generically as “the president”, “the poet”, and so on. I did take the effort to find the real life names of these political figures; however, I think the anonymity the novel presents is also of value. Readers who have experienced similar political turbulence could easily substitute the novel’s political figures for those of their own country as applicable. Growing up, I’ve heard countless stories of dictatorship and similar social upheaval from my parents’ childhood in Korea. While I never experienced this turbulence myself, I could understand the social problems faced by the characters in the novel by relating it my parents’ stories, especially as the characters’ political and social views begin to impact their day-to-day lives. While The House of the Spirits allows readers to learn more about Chile, it is also vastly relatable in the realness of its characters, as well as its representation of the conflict between the right and left.

YES OR NO?: Definitely YES. The House of the Spirits tells a richly layered, multi-faceted tale of family, romance, history, and politics. Although it incorporates elements of magical realism, I found things never get too quirky or bizarre for the average reader.

Book Review: Option B

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Life is never perfect. We all live some form of Option B.

Option B, by Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant

About a year ago, I read Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In, which piqued my interest as a young woman beginning my career in tech. However, I was sorely disappointed by Lean In – the main problem, for me, was that it was written from a place of great privilege and never seemed to acknowledge it. The advice shared in Lean In seemed oblivious to the existence of single women (especially those who want to remain single), of women of color, and of women who don’t identify as heterosexual. I expected great things of Lean In, and I came away disappointed.

Lately my reading habits have tended toward memoirs about death: first Paul Kalanithi’s When Breath Becomes Airnext Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, and now Sandberg’s second book, Option B. I had read about the sudden death of Sandberg’s husband, Dave Goldberg, CEO of SurveyMonkey, and I was curious to see her perspective on overcoming this tragedy.

That being said, Option B is not strictly a memoir. It is, in my opinion, sort of a messy book. It includes Sandberg’s personal notes on rebuilding her life after her husband’s death as well as research on others overcoming various obstacles, whether it’s illness, family troubles, and so on. Although I found useful tips here and there about building resilience, I felt the book would have been more meaningful to me as a straightforward memoir. I felt genuinely moved by the more personal moments that Sandberg chose to share, and wished there were more of them.

Option B is an improvement from Lean In in the sense that Sandberg makes an effort to acknowledge minority groups. However, the advice she is able to give them is limited, because of her own position of privilege. For example, Sandberg acknowledges that she was incredibly lucky to be able to still afford her home and lifestyle after Goldberg’s death, noting that many widows depended on their husband as the primary breadwinner and are forced to find employment or considerably change their lifestyles after their husbands’ death. She is not able to offer useful advice for those who are less fortunate. She also describes frequently and openly crying at work, which was a needed release for her…but which is obviously not a practical course of action for most of us who are not high-level executives. Time and time again in this book, Sandberg describes her own situation, acknowledges it was lucky compared to others less fortunate, then offers no further advice, except perhaps a passing sentence on how the United States needs better laws regarding bereavement leave. There is even a section where she notes that after Goldberg’s death, she took effort to improve Facebook’s bereavement policy – which is great for Facebook, but once again, most of us are not in the position to change our workplaces’ bereavement policies.

Although I was less disappointed by this book than Sandberg’s previous effort, I still found it lacking. I really wished that the book focused mostly on Sandberg’s personal journey after Goldberg’s death, and the lessons she learned, rather than incorporating sometimes seemingly random case studies and stories from acquaintances. I recently finished Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, which is also a memoir about her husband’s death, written from a place of considerable privilege. But for some reason, I wasn’t as irked by Didion’s memoir – most likely because it felt sadder, more raw, more personal – more an effort to express her own emotions (or sometimes lack thereof) than a way to offer the reader ideas for coping mechanisms.

YES OR NO?: YES, I believe, with some caveats. There’s nothing extraordinary or groundbreaking about this book, but it is a quick read and can offer insight into grieving and dealing with adversity, if that’s what you are looking for.

Book Review: Waiting

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You strive to have a good heart. But what is a heart? Just a chunk of flesh that a dog can eat.

Waiting, by Ha Jin

Since I was a child, I have loved historical fiction. I remember especially poring over those young adult novels that describe the life of a young royal woman, whether Elizabeth I or Marie Antoinette. I felt a kinship with the fact that despite our obviously different lives, that they seemed to have the same problems that I (and most young women, I’d imagine) experience. I still find that the most comforting about historical fiction – that no matter the era or location, the human condition remains the same.

I picked up Ha Jin’s Waiting on a whim, and I’m glad I did. The novel takes place over several decades and tells the story of Lin Kong, an army doctor at a city hospital who has spent almost 20 years separated from his wife, Shuyu, who is raising their daughter alone in the countryside. Lin’s girlfriend, Manna, is a nurse at the same hospital, and urges him to divorce Shuyu year after year, but he is unable to for 17 years due to a law that requires both spouses to agree to a divorce.

What I enjoyed about the novel is that despite its setting and somewhat absurd premise, Waiting is very relatable. I was raised in a somewhat conservative, traditional Asian household whose values often contrasted with the North American ideals I faced every day at school. From a young age, I was trained to be quiet, to obey, and to make do with what I was given, while my peers were often more exuberant, more outspoken, more willing to demand what they thought they deserved. I’ve seen many reviews of this novel that complain about Lin’s passivity and his lack of drive. While Lin is certainly a passive person in terms of personality, it is clear that his culture and environment (China in the 1960s) contribute to his passivity. After all, it’s his culture that creates his problem (bound by familial duty to marry Shuyu, an unattractive older woman) and his environment that prolongs his situation (the law that both spouses must agree to a divorce until the 18th year of separation).

More than Lin, though, I was interested in the character of Manna. Manna is a surprisingly modern and relatable character despite the times that she lives in. She is an unmarried (for the majority of the novel), professional, intelligent woman. I love that the novel does not paint Manna into the cliche of the icy professional woman, which we see too often in fiction nowadays. Instead, Manna is both professional and career-focused but also emotional and uncertain about what she wants out of life. As an unmarried woman, she often experiences and is irrevocably hurt by sexual harassment from her male colleagues. These parts were, to me, difficult to read, but also realistic and relevant to today.

YES OR NO?: YESWaiting is an enjoyable, short novel that paints an (as far as I know) an accurate portrayal of life in communist China. It does what my favorite historical fiction pieces do: provide insight into a different time and place, while exploring the lives of characters that are relatable to a reader today.

 

Book Review: When Breath Becomes Air

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“Will having a newborn distract from the time we have together?” she asked. “Don’t you think saying goodbye to your child will make your death more painful?”

“Wouldn’t it be great if it did?” I said.

When Breath Becomes Air, by Paul Kalanithi

These days, I have been catching up on Black Mirror, whose fourth and latest season was released about a month ago on Netflix. Usually it takes me much less than a month to catch up on a season of a show I enjoy, but with Black Mirror, I prefer to take it slow. The episodes are often long, heavy, and difficult to digest.

The latest episode I watched, “Hang the DJ”, is centered around a more dystopian take on online dating. The premise is that “the system” matches participants with different partners, with a defined expiry date for each relationship. Participants undergo a number of relationships, during which the system collects more information about their personalities and expectations in a life partner. Eventually, the participants will be paired with a life partner found by the system, which guarantees a 99.8% success rate.

This episode made me quite thoughtful. I am a planner and always have been. I religiously track my appointments, my habits, my goals in my journal. The rare days I leave home without my journal cause me not an insignificant amount of anxiety – I like certainty and precision. But of course, like everyone else, I’ve had to let some amount of uncertainty in my life – mostly in my human relationships. I’ve been lucky, mostly, in my relationships, but I’ve also experienced heartbreak, loneliness, and insecurity. Would I prefer the world of “Hang the DJ”, where I know the deadline of each relationship and can gauge my level of commitment, where ultimately I would feel safe in the certainty that I’ll be matched with my soulmate?

Now, this may seem unrelated to When Breath Becomes Air, but my takeaway from “Hang the DJ” is also the biggest lesson I took away from the late Paul Kalanithi’s memoir. When Breath Becomes Air chronicles neurosurgeon Paul Kalanithi’s interest in the meaning of life as he studies literature, then medicine, eventually becoming a neurosurgeon before being diagnosed with and eventually succumbing to lung cancer at the age of thirty-seven. The book is written in an honest, easy-to-read (although not always easy to digest) prose.

There are a few key aspects of the book I most enjoyed, but I was most affected by when Paul and his wife, Lucy, discuss whether it would be too painful have a child after his diagnosis. They conclude that life is not about avoiding suffering, but about creating meaning. And there is meaning in creating life, in nurturing and loving a child, even if it is only for a few years. I was, obviously, touched by the Kalanithis’ bravery, but also identified with their decision. An optimal, efficient, pain-free life is not the most meaningful.

When Breath Becomes Air is mostly composed of Paul Kalanithi’s writings, and includes an epilogue by Lucy, his wife. There are some portions of Paul’s writings that to me appeared raw, unfinished – which adds to their emotional impact. Lucy’s epilogue, which I felt was perfect in its depiction of a devastating loss, was incredibly moving. I feel I have been quite lucky in my life thus far, and I’m always amazed by the capacity of others to handle grief and hardship – and this book is no exception.

In addition to this, I also was engrossed by the descriptions of Paul’s life as a neurosurgeon. I generally spend most of my workday typing away in front of a computer screen, and have thankfully spent limited time in hospitals. The honest, sometimes brutal descriptions of the surgeries, patients, and ethical dilemmas encountered by Paul in his duties as a neurosurgeon were difficult to read – difficult, but mesmerizing. There are so many facets of life that we’re not familiar with, when stuck in our own bubble. I read to teach myself about the experiences of others, and this book certainly did that.

YES OR NO?: YES. There is a lot to love about and learn from this book. I usually tend to avoid reading non-fiction, but this was a lovely read that is ultimately life-affirming.

2017 recap

Like everyone else, I consider this time of year a time of reflection and nostalgia, scrolling through photos from the past year in an attempt to find some broad theme to encapsulate the year. For me, 2017 ended up being a year of improvements and growth (but hopefully that’s every year): I started a new job, started living on my own (sans roommates) for the first time, took some programming courses, traveled, and most importantly, made some significant lifestyle changes.

By that, I mean, I lost weight and began caring more about my health and fitness. I’m still by no means a health nut (my favorite thing is to indulge in a greasy cheeseburger and wash it down with a sugary iced coffee), but in 2017, I adapted a mindfulness toward my eating I’d never had before. I don’t remember a time in my life where I wasn’t self-conscious about my appearance, especially my weight, and this is the year I finally decided to do something about it. Through the simple (sometimes not-so simple) steps of watching what I eat (still eating what I like, but eating less of it, usually) and exercising more often, I now am at a place where I feel content with my body. I’ve also learned not to freak out if the scale shows me to be a little heavier than my previous weight – the body is a fluctuating thing.

This year, I also began bullet journaling, which for me ushered in a new wave of productivity. I’ve always been a fan of record-keeping and list-making, and my bullet journal helped me tackle my projects more concretely this year.

However…all of these changes meant that unfortunately I didn’t read as much as I have in previous years. I personally hate when people use “not having time” as an excuse for not doing something, so I’ll simply say that I was lazy. I prioritized mindlessly browsing Reddit and Instagram over delving into a new book. At the beginning of 2017, I challenged myself to read 36 books (one more than 2016), more than half by authors whose work I hadn’t read before. Well, I came in quite short at 24, which are listed below:

  1. Alias Grace, Margaret Atwood
  2. The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood
  3. Smart Women, Judy Blume
  4. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz
  5. The Man in the High Castle, Philip K. Dick
  6. The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky
  7. White Oleander, Janet Fitch
  8. Moonwalking with Einstein, Joshua Foer
  9. David and Goliath, Malcolm Gladwell
  10. The Crucible, Gong Jiyoung
  11. Waiting, Ha Jin
  12. When Breath Becomes Air, Paul Kalanithi
  13. The Vegetarian, Han Kang
  14. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
  15. The Sacrifice, Joyce Carol Oates
  16. The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper, Phaedra Patrick
  17. Nemesis, Philip Roth
  18. Empire Falls, Richard Russo
  19. Franny and Zooey, J.D. Salinger
  20. Lean In, Sheryl Sandberg
  21. Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Lisa See
  22. Good Indian Girls, Ranbir Singh Sidhu
  23. Nocturnal Animals, Austin Wright
  24. The Lake, Banana Yoshimoto

Out of the 24, I read 17 by new authors, so at least I accomplished that goal. I also read two novels by Korean authors, which I’m personally proud of – one in the original Korean, and one in the English translation. In 2018, I want to read at least one work from a Korean author, in the original Korean, while also being open to reading English translations or works by Korean-American authors.

I would have to say that while I wasn’t completely blown away by any of the books I read this year, White Oleander was my overall favorite. Although I read it earlier in the year, I still recall the impression the book’s style and characterization made on me when I first finished it.  I also enjoyed the Atwood novels I finished this year, which I was inspired to read after watching Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale.

To be frank, I’m disappointed to not have even come close to my goal of reading 36 books this year, but hoping to rectify my laziness in 2018. I’m setting my 2018 goal to reading 30 books – more than this year, but still hopefully achievable. Hopefully I can stick to it in 2018!

A week in Oahu

Last month, I traveled to Oahu for the first time, and I was blown away. Like Disneyland, Hawaii is one of those destinations you rarely hear a ill word spoken of (other than its popularity and its rather high price point, which can’t be helped). My first time in Oahu was magical and a perfect way to refresh myself after a period of November blues.

To eat:

One of my primary motivations to travel is for good food, and Oahu has good food in plenty: poke, suckling pig, acai bowls, Spam musubi, and local fruit. It can get pricey (especially if your travel expenses, like mine, depend on the rather pitiful Canadian dollar), but my policy is to eat and spend whatever, whenever, while on vacation (while tightening the pursestrings the rest of the year).

Honolulu is a haven for Japanese food. We enjoyed eggs benny (on taro English muffins, with a side of kale and sweet potatoes) at Goofy Cafe and lined up for cheap, filling, comforting udon at Marukame Udon, which was a universal recommendation from all our friends who’d been to Honolulu. Warm udon is the perfect thing if you, like me, tend to get sunsick after a day at the beach. I consumed too much Spam musubi to count, from convenience stores as well as at Musubi Cafe Iyasume. Funnily enough, our favorite meal ended up being at Tonkatsu Ginza Bairin, a restaurant that wasn’t on the long, long list of recommendations we’d collected before our trip. It’s a tad pricey for katsu, but the pork is high-quality, you can get unlimited refills for the sides, and the service is impeccable. We went twice and were completely satisfied both visits.

On our last morning, we dropped by the KCC Farmer’s Market (located at the foot of Diamond Head) and pigged out on a variety of foods – acai bowls, local artisan popsicles, and fresh fruit. There was also the smaller Hyatt Farmer’s Market, where I picked up some food but also small hand-made souvenirs. We also got sweet, piping-hot malasadas from Leonard’s Bakery, which are by all accounts a must-have while in Honolulu.

To hike:

I’ve gone on a fair number of hikes in 2017, but I found hiking in Hawaii a fairly different experience than the hikes we have around Vancouver. We both ended up catching cold fairly early in our trip (I also hurt my foot trying to get a better look at a sea turtle), so we ended up not doing some of the more grueling hikes. However, the great thing about Oahu is that nearly everywhere you go, there’s a spectacular view, even if it’s a short trek up man-made stairs.

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We tackled the Makapu’u Lighthouse trail and Lanikai Pillbox trails in one day. These are fairly non-strenuous, but I’m glad I was vigilant about wearing sunscreen and bringing water and a hat. I’m used to hikes where most of the trail is covered by forest (and therefore shaded). With these hikes you can enjoy the view for the entirety of the hike, but that also means being exposed to the sun for long periods of time as well.

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We also went to Manoa Falls, which is a short and sweet hike to a 100-foot waterfall. We visited on a rainy day and the trail was fairly slippery, but manageable. On one of our last days, we also did the quintessential Diamond Head hike, which was crowded with tourists, stiflingly hot, but, of course, incredibly scenic.

To relax:

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We don’t get a ton of beach-worthy weather in Vancouver, so I was beyond excited to go to the beach as much as possible while in Hawaii. I brought along The Brothers Karamazov on my Kindle, which is not exactly vacation reading, but it was relaxing nevertheless. I’m not so strong a swimmer, and the man-made Magic Island Lagoon was perfect for a peaceful wade. I also went parasailing for the first time, which is a low-effort but fantastic experience if you’re not afraid of heights.

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For me, the highlight of the trip was snorkeling at Hanauma Bay. It was my first time snorkeling, and once I got the hang of it, it was easy as pie, although I was mindful not to go too far. You can still see plenty of fish close to shore, so I was fine to stay within my comfort zone. The water is so salty that floating is no effort, even if you’re as water-phobic as I am. We also visited Lanikai Beach after hiking the pillbox trail, which was much less crowded than the beaches at Waikiki.

November seems far away, and I’m already itching to return to Hawaii…and of course eat more Spam musubi.

Book Review: Empire Falls

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My God, he couldn’t help thinking, how terrible it is to be that age, to have emotions so near the surface that the slightest turbulence causes them to boil over. That, very simply, was what adulthood must be all about — acquiring the skill to bury things more deeply. Out of sight and, whenever possible, out of mind.

Empire Falls, by Richard Russo

There’s a certain subset of books that I’m fond of: those set in small communities in the United States, in a time before the ubiquity of technology today, in places where people know not only one another’s names but also their entire personal histories, and their parents’, and their grandparents’. I suppose you could say I’m nostalgic for something I’ve never experienced, and also fascinated by how small, close-knit communities functioned before the advent of such quick communication methods as we have today.

Empire Falls is an intricate study of this type of community in the fictional, titular, blue-collar town of Empire Falls, Maine. The story mainly revolves around Miles Roby, manager of the beaten-down Empire Grill, who could have carved out a life for himself elsewhere — but ends up living out his days in Empire Falls. Miles is the usual everyman character that the average reader can identify and sympathize with: decent, honorable, and clever, although a bit frustrating in his steadfastness.

For me, Empire Falls‘s biggest strength is its cast of characters. The inhabitants of Empire Falls encompass every stage of life, social status, and personality – each character is real but flawed. Many are unlikeable, but somehow relatably so. Janine, Miles’s ex-wife, is selfish and immature, but it’s not difficult to see how marriage to somewhat dull, slow-to-change Miles has made her so.

My favorite characters were Tick, Miles and Janine’s teenaged daughter, and Mrs. Whiting, the owner of the Empire Grill and many of Empire Falls’s other properties. Tick’s teenaged awkwardness, often at odds with her childish desire to do the right thing, makes her relatable, likeable, and real. I enjoyed Mrs. Whiting’s condescension, biting tongue, and sharp mind – although I enjoyed it in the way that I would never want to encounter someone like that in my own life. However, I felt that there could have been more of Mrs. Whiting in the novel. Although influential in the story due to her ownership of the Empire Grill and simply her power over the other characters and the town itself, Mrs. Whiting does not figure too prominently as a character. I would have loved to see more of her, and the contrast she provides to the character of Miles.

YES OR NO?: YES. I don’t have much to say about Empire Falls other than I would recommend it as an accurate, engaging study of small town America. Books that I find few faults with are the most difficult to write reviews for, to be honest. I’ll be sure to check out more of Russo’s works in the future.