The Vegetarian has a striking cover. Shallow though it seems, that was the first thing I noticed and liked about this book. It would catch my eye every time I visited my favorite local bookstore, so I would pick it up and read the dust cover again and again. The premise was interesting, and I don’t have much experience reading the works of Korean authors, but I somehow always talked myself out of buying the book. Luckily, my boyfriend unwittingly got it for me as a birthday gift, most likely because I’m a vegetarian and he thought I could relate to whatever was inside. And I’m so happy he did, because I ended up loving this book – not because of my personal food preferences, but because it is so very, very good. There are many layers to The Vegetarian, and I imagine it could be interpreted any number of ways; I’m pretty positive I could write an entire critical essay on this book. It is incredibly nuanced, and I felt a range of emotions – some identifiable, some not – while reading. I was mystified. I was hopeful. I was sad. I was genuinely frightened by the time I reached page 15 (though as someone who can’t even watch the preview of a contemporary horror movie without having nightmares, you can take that with a grain of salt). In sum, I was so moved by this book that I was compelled to write a more serious review of it.

The Review:  

Han Kang’s The Vegetarian is a haunting, quiet, and strange piece of literature that both frightens and fascinates from the first page. The three-part story centers around a woman named Yeong-hye whose recurring, carnivorous dreams impel her to renounce meat and and adopt a vegan lifestyle. However, as Yeong-hye becomes more detached from her physical body and the world in general, we see her lifestyle choice slowly morph into something more sinister.

Each section of the book focuses on one person in Yeong-hye’s life as he or she attempts to make sense of her radical behavior. Yeong-hye’s husband, brother-in-law, and sister are the most deeply affected by her actions, and we witness their utter and complete helplessness drive them to make a number of rash decisions, with devastating consequences. Forced to look at the ugliest parts of themselves, those closest to Yeong-hye begin to slide into their own personal versions of madness and despair.

Over the course of the book, even the reader becomes estranged from Yeong-hye’s truest thoughts and motives. While she calmly slips further away from the corporeal world and deeper into the spiritual one, we learn more about the abuses Yeong-hye has faced, and how they have led to this moment in her life. The question is not whether she is losing her mind, but instead whether her method of finding and accepting her truest spiritual self is worth the cost to everyone involved.

Reading The Vegetarian is like stumbling through a dark forest teeming with unknown beasts; there is a monster lurking in the shadows, and only in the end do we truly begin to see its many rows of teeth. Kang has crafted a moving, unsettling, unpredictable story that begs to be read over and over again.

Recommended For:

Those who enjoy magical realism, haunting story lines, and books that can (and should) be read repeatedly.

 I’ve had Me Talk Pretty One Day on my bookshelf for a long time. Like, since a few years after it came out . . . so I’m talking over 10 years. And I haven’t gotten around to reading it until now. Whoops. I’ve skimmed over this book on my shelf so many times, thinking, “Eh, nah. Not in the mood.” I’ve also nearly donated it on several occasions, but always held onto it because of the sheer number of glowing reviews I’ve heard over the years. Honestly, I’ve also kept it partly because I felt bad for the poor book, just sitting there for so long with no love. Don’t ask me to explain the strange inner politics of the book lover, just suffice it to say that I couldn’t get rid of it.

Well, Me Talk Pretty wasn’t quite as revelatory as I expected it to be, but in all fairness, how could it be after 10 years of buildup? The book was, however, still a very good, short read. It is an established fact that David Sedaris is a hilarious man, a practiced self-deprecator, and a great writer – so, in other words, a good comedian. I found the essays in this book to be consistently funny and succinct. BUT, for some reason, more than once I found myself impatiently checking to see how many pages I had left to read. It may have been because I had unreasonably high expectations for just how funny the stories would be (I imagined I would be rolling around on the floor with laughter the whole time), or because I was a little anxious to start a different book. Either way, though the book was entertaining, I found myself totally engaged in some of the stories and speed-reading through others.

However, I did laugh out loud more than once about tiny, ridiculous little things in the book. I don’t often outwardly emote when reading, but some of this stuff struck me in just the right, silly way. A few shining examples are: David whispering “Go on, scoot! Shoo!” to a huge, unflushable turd someone else left in his friend’s toilet, fearing that he’ll be blamed for its existence. His life in a French village as “the guy who says ‘bottleneck’”/”the grown man who . . . frightens the horses with his screaming”. His dad obsessively squirreling away food, specifically a banana so old it looked like a  shriveled piece of cat crap. These types of things, which are obviously so much funnier in context, and in his offbeat voice, really got me just right.

All in all, despite a few moments of restlessness while reading, I’m glad I never gave Me Talk Pretty away. I’m glad I finally read it, and glad that I waited 10 years before cracking it open, if only for the outdated technological references.

I am also grateful that, thanks to the Sedaris family, I have a “Fuck-It Bucket” full of candy in my house. Read the book to find out what this magical bucket is – it’ll only take you a day, and you won’t regret it.

Recommended for those who want a short, comical, bizarre, silly, and oddly heartwarming read.

I went into this book expecting it to be similar to the novel Wonder, which I read in February of this year. (If you haven’t read that book, you should. It’s fantastic.) I wasn’t totally sure what to expect from True Diary, but it won the National Book Award, so I figured I couldn’t go wrong. And the theme seemed similar to Wonder, so I assumed I knew what I was in for. A boy who is very different than his peers goes to a new school, faces some major challenges, and ends up better for it. Great, I’m in.

And, of course, every time I assume something about a book, I’m dead wrong. The themes of the two books are similar in a general sense, but I should not have assumed that this book would be like Wonder. It was most definitely not. There isn’t really even a comparison between the two – they are completely different stories altogether.

True Diary revolves around Junior, a young teen dealing with a lot of deep but relatable issues such as poverty, hate, racism, othering, and even love. He is an American Indian living on a reservation, and the formative events in his young life almost all relate to the alcohol abuse of those surrounding him. He endures several tragedies, witnesses all kinds of violence, and lives in poverty, all mainly due to alcohol (it’s heartbreaking when we realize that his kind and loving but flawed father would rather spend his last bit of money on drinks and gambling than on basic necessities for Junior). Only when he changes schools does Junior truly realize that he can have a better life, but even this glimmer of hope is tempered by the realities of abuse and hatred he faces at the hands of his new peers and teachers. Despite all of the forces threatening to derail his life, though, Junior is still a relatively hopeful kid. He wants to break the cycle and do better for himself and for others, which is such a great message. My major takeaway from this book is that with perseverance, there is always hope for growth and the possibility of change, betterment, and forgiveness.

This book has a truly engaging style, with Junior’s scrap-paper drawings interspersed throughout the text. His sketches are mostly hilarious, sometimes childish, and always perfect. They reflect how he’s feeling as he grapples with the major events in his life. His voice is extraordinary and unique, yet somehow not unlike that of a typical young teenager. But Junior is an artist through and through, and I found his art to be one of my favorite parts of the book. Although sometimes the drawings are there simply as a supplement to the text, they also frequently come into play when he doesn’t have the words to fully express himself.

I like that Junior’s life is so real. He is clearly a whip-smart kid who is more intelligent, both traditionally and emotionally, than most of the adults around him. There is no sugarcoating the truth with him, and he is painted so strikingly that it’s easy to believe he’s a real kid dealing with all of life’s ups and downs the best way he knows how – through his art. Junior’s story is incredibly powerful, and gives a good insight into the type of strength and creativity that can never be stifled by harsh circumstances.

Recommended for those who want a fast, YA-literature type of read, but can handle some truly heavy subject matter.

I apologize in advance for my somewhat shoddy photography. I want to take my own pictures of the books I’m reading, and I’m not a photographer. I thought the black and white effect was appropriate for a mystery, because I’m a nerd. Moving on….

I recently finished reading The Silkworm, the second novel in the Cormoran Strike mystery series by Robert Galbraith, and as corny as it sounds, when I closed the book I kept thinking, “Ah Galbraith, you’ve done it again.” I finished the first book in the series, The Cuckoo’s Calling, about a month before I finished this one, and I couldn’t wait to jump back into Cormoran Strike’s world. I was not disappointed. (Side note: I do know that Robert Galbraith is J.K. Rowling’s pen name, but I like to refer to the author as listed on the book cover. Rowling even treats Galbraith as a separate person – at least on Twitter – so it only seems right.)

The book’s plot isn’t particularly dense, although I did forget the importance of certain characters as I read. Many of the characters are given alternate names in the weird as hell novel-within-the-novel, Bombyx Mori, and I had to refer back to the beginning more than once to remember which character was which. Regardless, everything made sense by the end. The manner of death described in the book is bizarre and disgusting but appropriate, and the conclusion is satisfying. It left me ready for the next installment, which I’ll hopefully get my hands on soon.

I don’t read many mysteries, so when I pick one up, I’m typically in it for the challenge. I want to see if I can solve the case on my own, with generally mixed results. However, with this series, I’m finding that I couldn’t care less about solving the mystery myself; I’d rather just hang on for the ride. It’s not only that I have difficulty sorting my way through the red herrings, which I do, but that it’s just fascinating to watch Strike’s brain work it all out.

Galbraith’s ability to perfectly capture the visuals and feelings in Strike’s world is mind-blowing to me. When the stump of his amputated leg is aching from walking too much, snow is piling up on the streets, it’s freezing outside, and all he wants to do is sit in a cozy pub, I feel Strike’s longing for warmth, rest, and a pint (or two, or three). When he’s lying on his bed, simultaneously trying to watch football and finish the grotesque Bombyx Mori, I also get frustrated that he’s missed the whole second half of the game because the damn novel distracted him. Although he’s living hand-to-mouth, Strike’s existence has a shabby glamour to it. There’s never any question that he’ll solve the case – it’s more about how he goes about it. At first, I attempted to read critically and analyze what in particular was so captivating to me about Strike’s world, but then I ended up getting sucked into the story and forgetting about form and style. Even after I finished the book and tried to go back and pinpoint what exactly drew me in, I was at a loss. I don’t know how Galbraith does it, exactly, but the portrait of Strike’s life is so vivid and enticing, I can’t help but trust him and greedily watch how things unfold.

What I find I have enjoyed most about the series so far, though, is the character development, particularly regarding Robin and Strike. I definitely identify most with Robin, and felt almost proud watching her stretch and become more involved in the investigative side of the job. She tries so hard to keep the peace with her fiance Matthew (who, in my opinion, is a douche), but she can’t hide her enthusiasm about working with Strike and her love for investigating. The communication between Robin and Strike is spotty, and it’s often hilarious to see the truth of their miscommunications from Robin’s point of view. Mostly, though, it’s refreshing to see Robin stand up for herself and fight for what she wants in her home life and at work. I always trust Strike to solve the case, with Robin playing an integral part. I also find myself consistently rooting for Robin as she faces the challenges involved in trying to reconcile her work life with her personal life, something Strike doesn’t necessarily have to do as much.

As far as Strike is concerned, it’s interesting to watch him make his way in the world as a now semi-famous man in his own right. It’s also amusing to see him behave like a more “traditional” private detective. We tag along as he sneaks around seedy parts of town, circumnavigates repeated attacks by a shadowy figure, lies to the police when he has to, and (arguably) unintentionally uses women to get the information he needs. He can’t be as free with this investigation due to police hindrance, and is therefore forced to be more creative when gathering information. He is incredibly resourceful, and it’s just entertaining to see what he will do and who he will piss off next.

Ultimately, this book was smart, entertaining, and well-written. This installment makes it even clearer that Strike is brilliant, and because we know him better and are delving deeper into his mind this time around, watching the cogs turn is even more fun than it was in the first novel. Highly recommended for those who enjoy a nice, gruesome mystery but like a good story even more.