The Stepmother and other stories

Education for women, their freedom to choose, like any other freedom, came after a long and hard struggle. And still, it remains elusive to many.

The eight stories in Laxmibai Abhayankar's The Stepmother and other stories, first published during 1900-14 in popular Marathi magazines, offer a vivid portrait of life in this period in the Bombay presidency and Deccan states and of social reforms that worked as an antidote to rigid orthodox practices that enslaved women. 

This was a time when child marriages were rife, when a girl aged 14 was expected to mother at least two kids, and if still unmarried, deemed fit to be a second wife/stepmother, when widows lived through hell on Earth to ensure their dead husband's easy passage to heaven. By delving into marriages, relationship of a woman with her husband, parents and parents-in-law, the author shows a society in throes of change, torn between vices and virtues, torn between vehemently sticking to traditions and slowly embracing literacy & logic.  

Demure daughters-in-law slogging away at home from dawn to dusk, cunning mothers-in-law lashing their whip like tongues, sons in rich households squandering away wealth, poor & educated young men upholding morals, educated women doing the tightrope walk between tradition & modernity, following and flouting conventions populate these stories. But before you hastily conclude that the collection is a ubiquitous Grand Indian Family Drama, the author's sincerity, in showing how changes though infinitesimally small have compounded over time to make the world we know today, wins our hearts. She points out that though people from upper echelons had the privilege to effect a change in the society, they had too many obstacles to overcome in their own households while aspiring for political freedom with social equality.

In a translation that offers a delectable reading experience and retains local flavor with a sprinkle of Marathi terms, this collection is a slice of our history, one we would have missed out on if not for the publisher's endeavors. The author, a prolific writer and staunch Nav-matvadi (new thinker), born in 1884 in Sangli was nominated the first woman member of Sangli municipality. She was the first woman official visitor to Sangli central jail and Sangli state's sole representative to 1927 All India women's conference at Pune. Born into a family of social reformers, the granddaughter of Lokhitvadi Gopal Hari Deshmukh, married to a lawyer who pioneered Sansthani Praja Parsihad movement, she fought fiercely for the rights of women, their education and emancipation. Reading stories penned by her, in translation rendered by her granddaughter, feels really special. 

The Joy Luck Club

Amy Tan's debut novel, first published in 1989, The Joy Luck Club, a widely read and appreciated classic, needs no introduction. Still for the sake of completion, here is a line on what the book is about - four Chinese women (Ms.Woo, Ms.Hsu, Ms. Jong and Ms. St.Clair) who immigrate to the USA post WWII in search of hope, a better tomorrow leaving behind tragedies that scarred their lives in their homeland, China. It's about their daughters, born in the USA, who turn out to be more American than Chinese. 

Extensively on mother-daughter relationships fraught with tension and misunderstanding even when built on love and trust, on how one's past is inextricably linked to the present and future too, on the conundrum associated with hyphenated cultures, The Joy Luck Club can boast of -

1) clear structure 2) lucid writing 3) memorable characters (some, if not all).

Four sections, each with four chapters, the book's structure is inspired from the game mahjong played by the four mothers who form The Joy Luck Club in San Francisco. Two sections (the first and last one), from the POV of the mothers (except Suyuan Woo who is dead right at the start of the book and we know her from the POV of her daughter and other characters) focus on their lives - their past in China, life in America unto present day. The other two sections are from the POV of the daughters - their growing up years in America and life crises in their 30s. Every section begins with a parable that beautifully represents the essence of its contents. Though the book feels like a collection of disjoint 16 life vignettes/stories, how some stories here interlock is pretty interesting. As a novel comprising of loosely connected stories, I felt this book allows the reader the liberty to slowly soak it up even when hard pressed for contiguous reading time that a novel usually demands.  

The writing is simple, evocative and straightforward. For instance, the author describes Kweilin in China with the line below - "The peaks looked like giant fried fish heads trying to jump out of a vat of oil." and this description perfectly matches with the Google images of Kweilin. 

There are lines, paragraphs that I loved and jotted down in my diary but the below are really special - 

(POV of Waverly Jong, Lindo Jong's daughter)

"The three of us, leaving our differences behind, stepping on the plane together, sitting side by side, lifting off, moving West to reach the East.

Tin Jong, in America, asking Lindo if she will marry him in broken English - "Lindo, can you spouse me?" 

In providing a rich insight into Chinese culture - their festivals, beliefs, superstitions and traditions, this book scores extremely well. There is a little history in the background with details of the Japanese invasion of China during WWII. 

Of the four mother-daughter pairs, Suyuan Woo, her daughter Jing Mei Woo, Lindo Jong and her daughter Waverly Jong are my favourites. 

Despite the above positives, The Joy Luck Club fell flat in sections from the POV of the daughters as failed marriages and divorce was a recurrent subject here. Also, while the ordeals of the mother, what shaped their attitude, hopes and aspirations was pretty clear, the portraiture of the daughters remained fuzzy. Few situations felt logically improbable too. 

"American circumstances and Chinese character, how could I know these two things do not mix?"-  even as the first gen immigrants want more opportunities, freedom, everything they lacked for their children, their insecurity as they drift away from their culture is an oft-discussed subject in fiction that it has begun to feel as insipid as is real. Jhumpa Lahiri, Kimi Cunningham Grant and Julie Otsuka (to name a few) are authors who have reflected a lot on this subject. 

But even as I write this, I wish there is an Indian equivalent of The Joy Luck Club featuring four 

Indian women catching up on a game of Ludo, laughing and chatting over food and drink, their stories and that of their American-born daughters.

The Joy Luck Club wasn't a 5* read for me, but I enjoyed it despite its shortcomings; quite like how the mothers and daughters in this book accept each other, fully aware of their weaknesses.

Will I read more by Amy Tan? Yes, I will, for she writes in the preface to this book - "storytelling was my mother's purgative for her misery". I am sure she has several stories passed down to her by her mother to share with us readers. 

The Dalit Brahmin and other stories

 

The Dalit Brahmin and other stories (a collection of 28 stories) by Sharankumar Limbale, translated from Marathi by Priya Adarkar, grabbed my attention due to the introduction penned by Anand Teltumbde (no disrespect meant for the author & translator). This introduction is an extremely vital part of the book, a primer on the birth and evolution of Dalit writings, the author and his works and a guide on how to go about the stories (grouped into 6 categories). Also, every story is keenly analysed/reviewed here before ending in questions that provoke thought. 

Dwelling on Dalit experience in post independent India, Limbale's stories open up a brutal world that's driven and conditioned by caste system. One story after the other, in vitriolic writing, the author lays bare how exploitation, humiliation, oppression, pain and shame are deeply embedded in a Dalit's daily life. From feudal villages to cities, slum dwellers to middle class Dalits, servility to violent revolt as response the stories cover a broad spectrum, easily unattainable in a similar sized novel.

Even as one suspects 28 stories on one subject might allow repetition, fiery lines and little twists at the end make each story different & impressive 

Another reason that made me want to read this is the oxymoron term in the title - The Dalit Brahmin, used for the urban educated Dalit middle class who look down upon their own folk and cosy up to Brahmins and want to emulate their lives. Plagued by an inferiority complex, they want to distance themselves from everything that once pulled them down. That a few stories here focus on this mentality makes it different from most works that largely focus on the hegemony by Brahmins and zamindars. 

How the author portrays women didn't sit well with me - if they are upper caste, they are selfish, insensitive harbingers of doom for a Dalit man, his family, his whole village; if lower caste, they are mere objects of sex. 

Translation can never fully shoulder the cultural baggage but in Priya Adarkar's words, the power with which the author smacks us with truth stays unadulterated. 

A brilliant and powerful collection of stories! 

Taatung Tatung

 

Taatung Tatung and Other Amazing Stories of India's Diverse Languages by Vaishali Shroff works like a porthole offering a view of the vast sea of languages from across the length and breadth of India. A slim work of nonfiction, it's rendered as a set of stories; stories of how languages and scripts were born, how they grew/changed/evolved over time, how some managed to thrive while others disappeared. Here, we have stories of languages that stay undeciphered, and even hidden from us till day. The linguistic journey is made wholesome and wonderful by treating languages like living entities.

From the time of Indus valley civilization, pre Neolithic era, Bhimbetka cave shelters to contemporary language movements that strove to get a certain language its due recognition, these stories are well organized, easy to read and assimilate and immensely insightful.

The book is not only an ode to languages but also to language activists and conservationists, reformers and epigraphists - James Prinsep, Potti Sriramulu, Meher Marfatia, Sooni Taraporewala, Elder Boa Sr, Mohammad Abul Kashem, Anvita Abbi, Palash Kumar Nath, Ganesh Devy, Shubhranshu Choudhary, Anand Singh Thapa …the list goes on. Their painstaking efforts that ensured languages thrived, that saved many endangered languages from perishing silently are elaborated in a lucid fashion. Since language is an integral element of a community's identity, history and politics are also interwoven into the account.

Though the book is meant for young readers (probably 13-14 yrs+ can read and absorb on their own), it astounds us grown ups with a wealth of information.  Reading this book along with your child would be an ideal way to relish it, one that allows lot of discussion and some Google search. 

I cannot sideline an error I noticed on page 65 (in the chapter titled A French Riviera In India) which states Malayalam as official language in Yanam and Telugu as official language in Mahe, it should have been vice-versa. 

Conclusion:

'Languages make us human', and it is also true how symbiotically languages have always required sustained effort and patronage from us humans (of kings or official bodies/ governments) to survive and flourish. As we read, a clear understanding emerges on how language is a potent force in binding people, how it has stirred many peaceful protests and bloody rebellions, and how linguistic apartheid is 'real' !

The bibliography offers scope for lateral reading. The choice of the title and even color of the cover reveal immense care taken by the author in crafting this work. 

'Every language has a story, and every story has a language' - dip into this book that has languages as its chief characters, you will walk out with a little more love for your mother tongue and more pride for the country's linguistic diversity, it's lovely!

An Order from the Sky and other stories

Vasantha Surya, the translator of the book in her introduction quotes a journalist - 'Write what you see, not what you want to see' and Imayam, the author, does the same in this collection of 11 stories.  

A man cajoles, coaxes and even threatens his family deity into giving him an auspicious, go-ahead signal before embarking on an important assignment. You need to read the titular story (also the first one) to know what this important assignment is. 

The translator's prowess comes out clean in 'Bus to Aaladi' that depicts ruckus in a mofussil bus - reeking of sweat, booze and tobacco smell, women quarreling over seat, men casually rubbing their bodies against women feigning innocence and blaming the rush and a conductor chanting 'Ticket, ticket', ignorant of the hell that the packed bus is. 

Imayam writes with a stunning sensitivity on women's issues in stories Payback Time, Sharada, Yearning, Bus to Aaladi. That there is no place for the aged in the society, that irrational faith in God is of no use, that growth and development is squashing up the backbone of the nation - agriculture are other subjects dealt with in these stories. 

That two stories here revolve around politics isn't surprising as Imayam says, 'If you reject politics, you distance yourself from society'. He is a registered member of the DMK party but doesn't hold any party position. Cash for votes, money over merit to get a ticket to contest in elections, the vital role caste plays in politics are examined deftly in 'One of Ours' and 'A Man of the Party'. 

Grounded in reality, mostly set in and around Vriddhachalam, Tamil Nadu, Imayam's stories are neither polemic nor preachy in tone. A minor quibble is that the short story could have remained 'short', repetition as a tool to emphasize one's observations makes some of these stories overly dramatic and lengthy.

I remember reading the line 'to put yourself in someone else's shoes, you need to remove yours first' at a metro station here, and Imayam's stories in this collection ensure we do the first step, observe without judging, be kind, sincere and empathetic. 

A true to life collection !!

Password and Other Stories

Password and other stories is a collection of 19 stories by Appadurai Muttulingam, translated from Tamil by S.Thillainayagam. The collection begins with 'The Black Squirrel', the story of an illegal Sri Lankan immigrant in Canada who works for a company that offers cleaning services. He who ensures that dust doesn't exist is almost non-existent for his white employer.

A man who talks to the walls to save his language from dying, a young, Tamil Eelam woman fighter who loves photography and birds, a man who works his way up from a scooter company's low-level employee to a star in national politics appear in stories here that portray human emotions & predicament with sensitivity. Humor and minor twists makes these stories less dramatic & more nimble. 

The author, from Sri Lanka, a citizen of Canada, has worked in many countries for the World Bank and the UN. His wide world view reflects as he flits from Canada to Kenya to Sri Lanka and discusses The Holocaust & Rwandan Genocide with an equal aplomb in his stories. 

How immigrants scrape through a myriad problems to eke out a living in foreign lands is an important subject. While he shows how different we are on the basis of race, religion, traditions etc, in fleeing violence and persecution, he highlights the common thread that many of us share. 

His love for Tamil & his homeland stands out as the Sri Lankan civil war is a neatly embedded motif in his stories. The mention of Mankulam in 'Friday Nights' reminded me of Mani Ratnam's movie Kannathil Muthamittal (movies like this are not made any more).

The titular story is a beautiful and warm depiction of the bond between a grandchild-grandparent. Another favorite is 'Fermented Dosai' that details the life story a Holocaust survivor, an old woman in her 80s who cooks with passion, with a vengeance to offset all that she has lost in her youth. 

Password and other stories may be slow or even uneven in its attempt to impress us readers but it has clear moments where it dazzles. I enjoyed reading this collection!

Who's Afraid of a Giant Wheel?

 

Noorie, the protagonist of Who's Afraid of a Giant Wheel by Zainab Sulaiman, replies 'I want to have a happy family when I grow up' when her classmate Seema questions her what she wants to become when she grows up. Seema, who's clear she wants to become a doctor, is puzzled at Noorie's answer but Noorie really doesn't have an alternate/better one.

Noorie bosses around in school, has happiest times with her best friend Amy, is unsure if Seema is a good friend even though she is really helpful. At home, Noorie is her maternal grandmother's pet and gets easily annoyed by her younger sister Nida (though she adores her too). She is a meek, 'forever at your service' playmate to her neighbor Tina.

In about 120 pages, the how and why behind Noorie's thoughts and actions unfolds slowly, gathering momentum and coming together well in the last four chapters.

From my experiences (own,observed  & borrowed), I feel a child's ability to make friends, at least in the early/school years, depends largely on the child's relationship with his/her parents and the equation parents share between themselves. Like all first lessons, that trust and mutual respect are essential in any relationship is also learnt at home.

When Noorie goes on a giant wheel for the first time, she feels nervous. Her stomach rushes up to her throat every time she goes down; a sudden gush of air hits her with a beautiful sight of the world below as she goes up. Noorie slowly gets used to the ride and feels only excitement. Zainab Sulaiman picks up the experience of this ubiquitous amusement park ride and depicts beautifully what 'life' is for all of us - one where change is inevitable, letting go is essential and sad/ bad days are interspersed with hopeful and happy days.

On the surface and for young readers, Who's Afraid of a Giant Wheel would work like a slice-of-life story of a young class 4 girl. But for grown-ups, the underlying messages are many and important. Enjoyed reading it!!

Dakshin - South Indian Myths and Fables Retold

 

Aren't folktales like rivers, crossing the barriers of borders and languages, flowing for years down generations? As a spring in the mountains, gushing down gorges, cascading down cliffs, flowing steadily and nurturing life, eventually draining into the wide sea; at times swelling in a blinding rage, and at others meekly vanishing into a thin stream, a river assumes many forms, quite like a folktale that comes in different versions. For instance, 'The Tale of the Singing Drum' from the Pattole Palame compilation (Kodava folklore) in this book loosely reminded me of the tale of Tejimola (from Assam).

The similarity between rivers & folktales struck me as I read the last story 'The Sage and the River'. It's not just a tale of Sage Agastya and the River Kaveri but a testimony to the valour of Kodava women (Kodava is the language spoken in Coorg & name of community too), also one that explains why Kodava women drape their saree in a unique way.

Why do Kodava men carry Piche Kaththi (an ornate sheathed knife with a crescent moon mark) during traditional ceremonies? 

What does their war cry 'Iggi Bokki' mean? 

Why is the Varaha (wild boar incarnation of Vishnu) revered in many places in Western ghats? Other than simple life lessons that folktales offer, it's interesting how they tell us the how, why and what kindling our imagination, in a way so unlike chunky encyclopedias.

Dakshin, a collection of 15 folktales, feels wholesome for the regions and languages it represents. Tales translated from Badaga (language & community in Nilgiris), Tamil (set in Kongunadu), Malayalam and one from Telugu (Tale of Bala Nagamma & Evil Sorcerer that has inspired movies) apart from many tales set in Karnataka feature here. Though the author clearly focuses on folklore from Coorg (from where he hails), he stretches the book's coverage by including a tale from Odisha (from Munda community). 

In storytelling that is lucid and engaging, Dakshin - South Indian Myths and Fables Retold is every bit enjoyable. One aspect that clearly stood out for me in the book is how the author has included a story (consisting of three stories - The Tale of the Jungle River) narrated by his primary school teacher. My love for reading and stories is largely due to me middle school English teacher, I cannot thank her enough. The stories are adequately supported by Pari Satarkar's lovely illustrations. The beautiful cover design is by Isha Nagar. 

For children and for 'hungry-for-stories child' alive in us grown ups, Dakshin by MP Nitin Kushalappa is a very beautiful treat.

Marquez, EMS, Gulam and others

 

This splendid collection of 15 stories let me travel to Doha, Jerusalem, Baghdad, Dublin, Djibouti, Ethiopia, America, Nainital, Solapur and of course, to a few towns in Kerala.

In the author’s note, Benyamin writes ‘stories cannot be pulled out of thin air like magicians and sanyasis pull out vibhuti. They are deeply rooted in life’. He explains how stories here are inspired by his experiences. Rather than report them in a matter of fact style, he wraps them intelligently with his opinions, beliefs, fears without pontificating even once. In every story, he highlights how we human beings view each other with spite and skepticism, through a myriad of filters - race, colour, religion, caste, class, nationality missing out the most rudimentary link - of humanity. The poor and marginalized, denotified nomadic tribes, immigrants from third world nations eking out a living in rich, developed countries find a place in these stories.

What happens when a young journalist in Kerala, Gregory George Mathews, wakes up one morning and believes he has transformed into the great writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez? The similarities between Mathews and Marquez that convince him the transformation is real, how Mathews’ wife ends his madness by deploying ‘a thorn to remove a thorn’ strategy tickle a funny bone. Missing animals from a zoo in Doha and princes fleeing Saudi, the Hmongs in America and EMS Namboodiripad are puzzle pieces the author connects with brilliant storytelling in ‘Gulam Hussain’ and ‘EMS and the Girl’. The shortest story ‘The Enemy’ packs a punch showing how for one standing in the path of extreme hatred & violence, the choice is to either be a victim or a perpetrator, never a mute spectator. While there is a man who cannot begin thieving, his scruples wouldn’t let him, there’s another who cannot quit thieving for his caste wouldn’t allow him.

Sharing a few favorite lines from the stories here - 

No matter which story I say is true, you will still believe only the version that you choose to. It applies not just to stories - life too, has this limitation. (from the story - Alice in Wonderland) 

Life has a way of settling into a routine, which, in no time, effortlessly sweeps away friends, edging you  into a personal pit, making you abandon everyone who anchored you and gave you a sense of rootedness until then. (from the story - Javed the Mujahideen) 

From sailing on ancient trade routes from Alexandria eastwards to Muziris to learning about ethnic clashes between Hadiyas, Amhara & Oromo in Ethiopia, there’s never a dull moment in this collection that dazzles with nested stories and stories with luscious open endings. The Harper Perennial editions are known for elaborate end-notes that mostly include an author's interview, notes from the author and translator. However, this book has only an introduction by the author, and the stories more than make up for the lack of insights section at the end. Though I enjoyed every story, those that left a deep imprint are - The Stones of Gazan, Addis Ababa, EMS and the Girl, Alice in Wonderland, Solapur, A Chapter from my Red Sea Book. 

Translated well by BR Swarup, Marquez, EMS, Gulam and others - selected short stories by Benyamin is a fulfilling smorgasbord!

The Buddha in the Attic

 

"One by one all the old words we had taught them began to disappear from their heads. They forgot the names of the flowers in Japanese. They forgot the name of the water goddess, Mizu Gami, who protected our rivers and streams and insisted that we keep our wells clean. But whenever we heard them talking out loud in their sleep the words that came out of their mouths came out—we were sure of it—in Japanese." 

"Our daughters took big long steps, in the American manner, and moved with undignified haste.Our sons grew enormous. They insisted on eating bacon and eggs every morning for breakfast instead of bean-paste soup.They refused to use chopsticks. They drank gallons of milk. They spoke perfect English just like on the radio and whenever they caught us bowing before the kitchen god in the kitchen and clapping our hands they rolled their eyes and said, “Mama, please.” "

-- above is an excerpt from the book The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka, a work of historical fiction on 'Picture Brides' who sailed from Japan (in early 20th century) to join their husbands in San Francisco, men they had seen only in photos until then, in hope of a better future or out of obligation to their parents. They were told their husbands are bankers but they were peasants. These women were crushed down to their bones doing odd jobs alongside their husbands all day long. They gave birth under horrific conditions, some of their children died and some survived. 

They told their children - "Study hard. Be patient. Whatever you do, don’t end up like me." And still, when their children  turned different, they felt they had become 'indifferent' too.

The chaos that's bundled with 'hyphenated heritage', the emotional experience of being 'an outsider' makes The Buddha in the Attic a layered read. This extra dimension reminded me of Asako Serizawa's depiction of life of a Japanese woman in America until the miscegenation law was repealed in 1948 in her book Inheritors and Cynthia Kadohata's portrayal of a modest Japanese family in 1950s America in her book Kira Kira. It is this dimension that makes me want to pick Kimi Cunningham Grant's book Silver Like Dust. 

There is no doubt that The Buddha in the Attic sheds light on a relatively lesser known dark chapter of history and it does so remarkably well, in a clearly structured fashion with thematic chapters. The book begins a chapter dedicated to the journey of these picture brides by boat. Chapters that detail their first impression as they land in America, the truths that unravel when they meet their husbands, consummation of their marriages, the menial jobs they do all day long while silently bearing the brunt of racism, ordeals related to child birth and health care, the culture shock that tears them apart as their children grow up etc follow on.  

The author's thorough research (we infer from the acknowledgements) lends a precision to the text and earns readers' trust. The writing is lucid and evocative too. Yet, the book fails to garner a perfect score on two accounts. 

Repetition is a common literary device used to assert or drive home a point. At Night all Blood is Black by David Diop and The Twilight Zone by Nona Fernandes are historical fiction works that come to my mind instantly as instances where this is employed and works pretty well. However, in this book, though repetition enhances the reader's emotional connect with the plight of the women initially, it lends a clear drag thereafter; pronouncedly in the last three chapters where the Japanese are branded as traitors, incarcerated, evicted from their homes and interned at camps following the Japanese attack of Pearl Harbour. Instead of letting this tragedy sink in us readers, the drag left a sense of urgency in me to complete the book.

Also, though the writer's usage of 'we', a first person plural in narration to amplify the collective experiences of the picture brides felt intelligent, in the absence of a distinct set of characters to connect with, my journey through the read felt directionless at places. 

Despite the above shortcomings, The Buddha in the Attic, a slim and highly important read, will stay with me for long for the way it dazzled in parts. 

Dead-end Memories

My first read for the year 2023 was Dead-end Memories, a collection of five stories by Banana Yoshimoto, translated by Asa Yoneda. 

"This was what it took, I realized, to be something that survived. Not just constancy, or strength. But—like the ever-flowing river—to engulf everything that came your way and move swiftly on as though it had never been."

Women are central characters in the stories here. They are either looking back on a day that changed their lives, fighting horrific scars from their past or learning to handle loss of love or a loved one, betrayal and failed relationships. In prose that is pellucid and brims with tenderness, Banana Yoshimoto dwells deeply on incidents that transform the lives of her characters and shape their memories. 

My favorite stories are ‘House of Ghosts’ which has a coming-of-age flavor to it, ‘Not Warm at All' which poignantly depicts how being surrounded by people doesn't always assure security or ward off loneliness and ‘Tomo Chan’s Happiness’ (though I felt this ended abruptly) which is a sensitive take on what defines and who controls one’s happiness. 

A freak food poisoning accident flushes out toxic baggage from the past for Matsuoka in the story ‘Mama!’. In Dead-end Memories, a newly forged friendship helps the protagonist battle loneliness and her fiancé's betrayal. In my opinion, these two stories would have had a better impact had they been shorter. And, the choice of the title for this collection where every story bestows its characters with hope, a fresh lease of life and space for more memories feels a little incoherent.

I re-read the author’s ‘Bee Honey’ from the Penguin Book of Japanese Short Stories. Looking back at all these stories, I adore Banana Yoshimoto for how she handles grief, loneliness, mental health issues and myriad everyday human emotions like an artist with the most nimble fingers. It's also lovely how she incorporates food as a medium of expression. Her acuity in detailing her character’s emotional vulnerability and maturity is stunning.

I am jotting down some of my favorite lines from the stories that I hope will substantiate the thoughts I have shared above -

"A feeling of closeness lay silkily between us, like a sourdough starter quietly rising." (from House of Ghosts)

"But my family was just the three of us. It seemed to me like we had no backup at all."

(from Not Warm at All)

"I was also learning that every single person in the world had been hurt by their family at some point. I wasn’t special at all—some people dealt with it well, and some didn’t, but that was the only difference, and either way, we were all nourished and cherished by our families, and at the same time limited and defined by them—that was what it meant to be human, I understood." (from Mama!)

"Each one of us has our own personal rock bottom. There are so many people out there with lives far less fortunate than ours, and if we got even a taste of what it’s like to be them it would crush us, we’d never make it through. Because we’re lucky, we’ve got things pretty easy. But that’s not something we need to feel ashamed of.” (from Dead-end Memories)

Mildly melancholic and pretty philosophical, Dead-end Memories feels like a blanket made of words that will keep us warm on cold winter evenings (maybe even help tackle a few cold vibes).