I said I was done with Marvel, but it’s kind of hard to avoid these days. I ended up watching Loki over the summer because my sister asked me too. (Overall, I wouldn’t recommend it. The characters were interesting, but fell flat in the end because the entire final episode was devoted to setting up the second season instead of giving any sort of resolution.) But this isn’t about Loki. It’s about the movie I saw in the theatre yesterday, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings. Before you get on my case for repeatedly backsliding after swearing off the franchise, let me explain: I didn’t watch it because I wanted to watch Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings. I watched it because half the students at my school all planned to watch it together, and I wanted to spend time with my friends. Marvel merely served as a tool for the greater good, not as an end in itself. That being said, if you want to watch a movie for its own sake, you could do a lot worse than Shang-Chi. If you’re not a fan of Marvel’s past work (or were a fan until you watched 50 hours of world-saving shenanigans and tired of it) there’s nothing here to change your mind. But if you enjoy the superhero genre, you’ll find Shang-Chi a worthy addition. After a sweeping prologue in which an immortal warlord loses his heart to a maiden from a mystical village, the film cuts to present-day San Francisco. We meet Shaun and Katy, two valets with no greater ambition than to park cars by day and sing karaoke by night. Then Shaun wins an MMA fight on a bus, becomes a viral YouTube sensation, and boards a plane to China with a doggedly insistent Katy by his side. Turns out Shaun is actually Shang-Chi, the son of the warlord from the prologue. His father wants nothing more than to reunite his family— and is willing to kill anyone who gets in his way. Shaun thinks his father’s methods are a bit extreme, so he teams up with his vengeful sister, an ex-terrorist actor, and a faceless furry chicken-pig to stop him. The humor is excellent, and the central conflict between father and son lends the story some emotional weight. Interestingly, there’s no romance— Shaun and Katy remain solid friends throughout, but without a hint of anything more. My favorite character was the one-armed mercenary who looked shockingly similar to my music teacher. I walked out of the theater weaving a backstory to explain how he went from viola virtuoso to machete-wielding militant. Anyway, if you’re looking for an action movie, Shang-Chi is worth your notice. There’s a fair bit of swearing, although nothing that doesn’t reflect that way that most young Americans actually talk. A lot of punching, kicking, and yelling. Zero sexual content. Nothing to worry about if you’re comfortable watching any other Marvel film. If you skimmed this article instead of actually reading it, I made a flow chart to summarize:
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By the time I was 11, I had all of life figured out. I’d found three book series that I liked, and I figured I could just keep rereading those three over and over and never again have to worry about finding new books. One of those books was The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart. Eventually, I read it so many times I grew sick of it, and didn’t touch it again for six years. This summer, I finally returned to the story, and came to a conclusion: it’s quite good. My favorite description of The Mysterious Benedict Society is this: imagine Harry Potter, but instead of the students having magical powers, they’re all just really nerdy. Oh, and the school is evil. The story follows a team of four incredibly talented orphans as they enroll at a school that seems bent on purging its students’ minds of logic and common sense. But the school’s the center of a much larger nefarious plot, and Reynie, Sticky, Kate and Constance are spies sent to uncover it. Our four heroes are strangers to each other at the beginning of the book, but in the midst of danger and with the guidance of the wise old Mr. Benedict, their friendship grows into something powerful and beautiful. The character development is my favorite part of the book. I especially enjoy how Reynie, Sticky and Kate grow in their relationship with Constance— the most difficult-to-love member of the team. I highly recommend either a) reading The Mysterious Benedict Society yourself or b) giving it to your child to read (or both). The TV show: The Mysterious Benedict Society was recently adapted into a miniseries that is currently being released on Disney+. Read the book first. I suspect it would have been better as a single film rather than eight hour-long episodes. As is, loads of unnecessary subplots bog down the core story, including a random high-stakes tetherball match (I’m honestly baffled as to why anyone thought adding that would be good idea). The characters fall short of the vibrancy they possess in the book. The show leaves out most of the small details that really made them come to life (like Sticky’s bald head and Constance taking naps all the time). Even Mr. Benedict’s narcolepsy barely gets a passing mention. But despite its flaws, I’m still going to watch the remaining episodes as they come out. Mainly because my little brother Nate loves it and begs me to watch the new episode with him every Friday. The show’s not bad— it just could have been a lot better. I’d like to see it animated, mainly for Constance’s sake. There’s no actor on earth who could do her character justice. I recently became aware of a mystery that lies deep in the human mind— a mystery I’m only aware of because of the bizarre behavior it produces. You see, I was in a casual conversation with a couple of my female classmates, and they mentioned that they’d watched a vapid and cliched chick flick recently. Because they’d hoped for a good movie and were disappointed? No! To my horror, I realized they’d turned on this movie fully aware of its awfulness. At first, I thought this must be a bizarre form of self-flagellation associated with occult rituals, and wondered if I should inform the faculty. Fortunately, my classmates clarified that it was perfectly normal, saying “sometimes you just want to turn off your brain for a couple of hours, you know?” I prefer books to film, but I feel the same way. Sometimes I don’t need a masterpiece. I don’t always look for complex themes or characters a dozen layers deep or exquisite prose. Sometimes a good story is good enough. There are few transcendental masterpieces in this world; there are many good stories. Enough that you should never have to read a truly bad story, even if you’re just looking to relax. Relaxation is good. Relaxation while reading a good story? Even better. When a random author emailed me out of the blue and asked me to review her novel, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I had some time to fill in between homework assignments, and E.B Roshan is a fellow Christian as well as a fellow author, so I agreed. She sent me a mobi file of her story, For Better and Worse, and I dove into it. And... It was a good story. Not life-altering, but good. At 50k words, it’s in the gray area between novella and novel— short enough for me to read in an evening. Which I did, enjoying the relatable characters and well-paced plot. Boris and Anna are a married couple running a catering service in the midst of a war-torn city with their first child on the way. They struggle to love each other despite the conflict building between them— Anna wanting to flee to a safer city, Boris wanting to stay. Things only get worse when Boris rashly stands up to injustice and draws the attention of the local mob boss. The worldbuilding is weird— we get a couple brief mentions of World War 3 ending, so it’s set in an alternate universe, but not one with any distinctive features. Dor is a generic war-ravaged city. But unless you’re looking for an intricate, well-thought out alternate history, this won’t be a big problem. The setting doesn’t explore many interesting questions because it never raises them in the first place. It’s a romance— the relationship between Boris and Anna serves as the story’s emotional core. But it has the distinction of featuring an already married couple, which I enjoyed. Oh, it’s also the fourth book in a series. I read it without having read the other three, and it stands alone just fine. Conclusion: Next time you feel the urge to watch a chick flick, read For Better and Worse instead. The title says it all. Better: this book. Worse: super dumb movies that somehow people still pay money to see. Why would you want a worse thing when you could have a better? I strolled through the living room of my childhood home on a sunny California afternoon. A random book my 11-year old brother had pulled off the library shelf lay on the table, and I picked it up. The premise— a boy caring for his autistic sister in a magical garden growing rapidly out of control— piqued my interest, and I started to read, having no particular expectations. And I was completely blown away. Mighty Jack and its sequel, Mighty Jack and the Goblin King, are perhaps my favorite graphic novels of all time. They’re written for a middle-grade audience, but I’ve enjoyed them just as much as my younger siblings. The characters are fascinating, the worldbuilding full of mystery, and the artwork fun to look at. Our hero, Jack, is instantly sympathetic, as we see his love for his financially struggling single mother and autistic sister, Maddy. He finds himself in way over his head after Maddy inexplicably instructs him to buy seeds that turn out to be magical. His headstrong neighbor, Lily, gets involved— followed by dragons and ogres. Things only get worse until the climactic disaster that leads into the second book. And this is where the series really stands out. In Mighty Jack and the Goblin King, the stakes are so real that the characters’ fear, anger and love bleed right into your own. The story successfully melds the looming darkness with age-appropriateness for its target audience, and thus becomes capable of seizing the imaginations of young and old alike. The final triumph of goodness is so much more powerful for the genuine threat posed by the monsters our heroes must overcome. Themes: One aspect of Mighty Jack that makes it so compelling is the familial love on display. Jack’s primary goal is to protect his sister, and although his own fear and selfishness sometimes conflict with that, his love for her shines though in the end. Content: The climactic battle in Mighty Jack and the Goblin King has a few panels of blood and violence. My siblings weren’t bothered by it at all, but some Amazon reviews said it gave their little kids nightmares. Conclusion: The two Mighty Jack books are delightful in every way. I’d recommend them to any child or adult looking for an excellent story in graphic novel format. There’s a third book, Mighty Jack and Zita the Spacegirl, which is a crossover with Ben Hatke’s Zita the Spacegirl series. My brother and I eagerly awaited its release, but were sorely disappointed. The plot makes no sense, character development is out the window (except for one touching moment with Lily) and the intimidating villains of the last book are reduced to oafs. On the plus side, the artwork is awesome— I loved seeing portrayals of our characters as a few years older than we last saw them. Mighty Jack and the Goblin King provides a satisfying ending to the series, and in my headcanon, it is the final book. “Boys, handle the military. Mommy will be right back.”
I left the theater in April 2019 with a feeling of satisfaction. The movie I’d just finished watching, Avengers: Endgame, was a lumbering behemoth, with glaring flaws to match its moments of sublime beauty and sheer awesomeness, but it offered the one thing I wanted most out of Marvel’s storyline: a conclusion. The character arcs of Captain America, Black Widow, Iron Man and Hawkeye had all come to together in a fitting climax. With that, I resolved to let the end be the end, have none of this Phase 4 nonsense, and exit the Marvel fandom. Then Marvel released a sitcom mashed with a psychological thriller, starring two of my favorite characters. Wait, what? The opening episodes of the new series WandaVision so utterly defied Marvel’s typical formula that I (against my better judgement) took my sister’s recommendation and let myself be sucked back into the franchise. And, wow, am I glad I did. Some reasons: The concept is wildly innovative (if it seems too weird at first, hang in there. All shall be revealed in good time). Character development is excellent. I really enjoyed Wanda’s internal transformation, and how each of the side characters forced her to change and grow. There are NO fight scenes for the first eight episodes (the finale features the epic battle that is the sine qua non of any Marvel story). Instead of physical combat, we get tense confrontations and deeply meaningful family interactions as Wanda struggles to love her husband and children while navigating the moral minefield she’s placed herself in. And did I mention the humor? The first few episodes had me laughing my eyebrows off. The final episode is about as good as I could reasonably expect it to be, given that it’s made by Marvel. There’s enough resolution that I could watch it and be happy— no need to follow the franchise across another 800 movies to find out what happens to these characters. Several loose ends are left as teasers for future productions, but I’m fine with never seeing those tied up. Themes WandaVision contains some troubling themes, mainly regarding ambiguities as to what, exactly, constitutes a human person. In the show, new life is created by unnatural means, and the moral implications of that aren’t seriously explored. However, that’s something I have to put up with, as I live in a culture which seems to only be getting more and more confused about what it means to be human. I can still enjoy WandaVision while acknowledging its flaws. In fact, if I want a better story, I’ll have to just write it myself. And so I will. On a positive note, the show does an excellent job portraying Wanda’s struggle with her grief, how she handles it poorly, and how she’s able to face it by the end of the show. Even villainous characters help her change for the better, which I enjoyed. Content A few raunchy jokes, but nothing particularly concerning. One character is a ‘witch’, although one who flies around and shoots colorful balls out of her hands rather than engaging in actual occult practices. Conclusion If you’re willing to give Disney your money, WandaVision is a good reason to do it. All nine episodes are currently available on Disney+. Chris Fabry’s June Bug tackles the unique challenges of writing a child protagonist head-on and masters them. The story takes its name from its nine-year old heroine, who lives the life of a vagabond, traveling in an RV under the loving care of the man she assumes is her father. As a viewpoint character, June Bug is both realistic and compelling, all without be an orphan (well, sort of). Even from before the moment when she sees her own face in a poster for missing children, she forms the core of the engine that drives the novel’s plot, changing the lives of the characters around her. Along with To Kill a Mockingbird, June Bug falls into the category of one of my favorite type of novels— those with a convincing child protagonist, yet targeted at an older audience. The story delves into some dark areas, mainly while in the viewpoint of the sheriff investigating the disappearance of the girl in the poster. However, the love between June Bug and her father-figure, John Johnson (there’s an important reason he’s named that) shines a light throughout— even when the mysterious circumstances that led to Johnson becoming June Bug’s guardian put a strain on their relationship. Here, as in the other one of his books I’ve read, The Promise of Jesse Woods, Fabry excels at portraying Christian characters in an honest, nuanced way that flows naturally from the story. No preachiness, no overly sanitized body of Christ that are the only people to give the protagonist good advice, not even any conversion scenes— just realistic Christian characters, living with the spirit of God inside of them, yes, but going through the same struggles anyone else might. June Bug and her father-figure form the best part of this book. I found other plot lines, like the one about the sheriff and the grandmother of the missing girl, less compelling— not bad, just falling short of the ‘I will follow this character anywhere’ level. A couple of quotes that made me laugh, to show you June Bug’s awesomeness: “Dad drank his coffee black, which I could never understand because I tried it once and it tasted like drinking week-old rainwater out of a shoe.” “The man sighed like I’d just told him the world was coming to an end on Thursday and he was going fishing on Friday.” Content Although June Bug contains no graphic sexual content, it does touch on some sexual perversity. The sheriff interrogates a suspect who is implied to possess child pornography, and later listens to an account of a woman who used her sexuality to bribe a man into committing a crime. No objectionable language. Some moments of intense peril and descriptions of a veteran’s PTSD, but nothing really to worry about. More concerning are graphic descriptions of cute puppies. Be wary of giving June Bug to your wife, sister or mother, unless you’d like to increase your home’s canine population. Conclusion: June Bug is a compelling story with a vivid and lovable heroine. Highly recommended for anyone who likes contemporary Christian fiction, Les Miserables, or who is simply looking for a good story. I typically don't get along with YA contemporary fantasy, but when my sister Maddie charged me with reading Kara Swanson's Dust, I gave the genre another try. Maddie's view proved correct: I thoroughly enjoyed Dust, letting the story grab my attention for hours during the road trip to Tennessee.
The premise: Claire, a nineteen-year old orphan with mysterious dust that flakes continuously from her skin, travels to London in a desperate gamble to find her twin brother. Meanwhile, Peter Pan has been kicked out of Neverland, and needs Claire’s help to get his old life back. Kara uses the original Peter Pan as backstory, although I found myself enjoying this one more— Dust replaces Barrie’s extremely disturbing omniscient narrator with a first-person, present tense POV that alternates between Claire and Peter. The two narrative voices are distinctly developed, so much that the chapter headings declaring the POV are almost unnecessary. Kara’s reinterpretation of Tiger Lily, who voluntarily leaves her home in Neverland to accompany Peter after his fall to earth, was the most striking character in the book for me. She functions as a mentor figure to both Peter and Claire, which I appreciated, as it is rare for a girl (other than a love interest) to be the voice of truth in a male character’s arc. Tiger Lily and Peter have a deep, meaningful friendship, although without so much as a hint of romance. This makes sense, considering that Tiger Lily is light-years ahead of Peter in terms of maturity. Dust ends in a way that both satisfies all major promises made earlier in the story, and leaves us with a cliffhanger that sets up the second book in the series. Claire’s arc wraps up a chapter earlier than Peter’s. For a moment I prepared myself to turn the page into the acknowledgements and declare, “that was not a good ending!”. However, one final chapter from Peter’s POV sets all things right. Themes Kara Swanson is a Christian, but the Christian elements in Dust are implied rather than stated. Both lead character undergo powerful transformations. Peter is forced to confront the sins of his past and begin the long, hard journey toward growing up. Claire must learn to accept love despite finding herself worthy of rejection. Both characters’ journeys take us deep into their souls, and watching Claire and Peter grow helps the same growth take place in our own souls. Content Some fighting, but without much detail. Passionate kissing. Conclusion Although I normally don’t enjoy YA contemporary fantasy, Dust proved an exception. If you’d like to start with something shorter (and without a cliffhanger ending) try Kara Swanson’s earlier novella The Girl Who Could See. This basically serves as Dust-lite, with a similar premise and cast of characters, but a less complex plot. Now that I think of it, Kara’s short story Seaglass also has a similar premise, but on an even smaller scale. Almost as if her entire career has been building up to Dust. Interesting. This makes me eager to see where she’ll take her work next. Disclaimer: Up until my move to Tennessee a couple weeks ago, I attended the same church as Kara Swanson. I never knew her on a personal level, but my sister talked with her quite a bit. Anyway, Kara is one of Maddie’s favorite people, and Maddie is one of my favorite people. I picked up An Anthropologist on Mars on an offhand recommendation from a friend, and read The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat shortly afterwards. Both are fascinating collections of short stories, biographical sketches of people with unusual neurological disorders. Dr. Sacks is a skilled writer as well as a neurologist. His use of specific sensory details drew me into the stories he tells and helped me connect with the characters described despite the fact that their experience of life differs vastly from mine.
The people portrayed range from a musician for whom every face belongs to a stranger, to a professional painter suddenly struck with colorblindness, to a surgeon whose overabundance of nervous energy manifests in random, obsessive movements, to brilliant artists who are also severely autistic. In each case Sacks does an excellent job of presenting his subjects as human and relatable. Some of his stories introduced me to ways of thinking and viewing the world I scarcely would’ve though possible, such as that of a woman with no conception of ‘left’— she can only turn right, look right, think about things on her right side. The writing is rather erudite, and while I followed the stories easily enough, some of Sacks’ allusions to other neurological case studies flew over my head. However, as I continued reading, I grew more and more familiar with his field of study and grew able to better understand what he was talking about. Like any profession, neurology has its own vocabulary. You will learn some of it if you read these books. Random philosophical thoughts Some of the stories in these collections can be disturbing because they raise questions about what composes the very core of one’s existence. Some of Sack’s subjects have lost all ability to form new memories. Others appeared serious and thoughtful, before a head injury changed them into obsessive jokers. Emotions and memories alike are at the mercy of certain structures in the brain. Damage to them can cause a seeming paradigm shift in personality. What is ‘the image of God’, then? That is, what fundamental trait sets humanity apart from animals? Our ability to empathize with others, to think rationally, or to create new things have all been offered up as explanations. But these abilities are dependent on a physical organ. They can be lost if the brain is damaged. But the brain-damaged are certainly not less human than others. Nor are children, although their abilities to do all those things are less developed than an adult’s. Reading Sack’s work reminded me of what really lies at the core of our being— not intellectual prowess, but the ability to love and be loved by an infinite God. The tasks I can accomplish with my brain are great, but ultimately insignificant except in the way they influence my relationship with my Creator. I do not think any brain damage can impede God’s ability to make himself known. In some cases— maybe in the majority of cases— he is present in a way that is missed. In An Anthropologist on Mars, autistic professor Temple Grandin says that she is unable to feel numinous awe. She says, “When I look up at the stars at night, I know I should get a ‘numinous’ feeling, but I don’t. I can understand it intellectually.” For Temple, her autism reduces the world to mere logic. Everything is a purely cognitive concept to be ordered and categorized. However, I suspect she may be wrong in her own understanding of how she views the world. She may indeed feel numinous awe, the sense of coming up against something mind-bogglingly bigger than herself— but perhaps in a slightly different way. After all, she cannot feel anyone’s else’s emotions to know what they are describing when they say ‘numinous awe’. Perhaps she misinterpreted her emotions. My reason for speculating this comes from the end of Temple’s chapter, which reads: “I like to hope that even if there’s no personal afterlife, some energy impression is left in the universe... Most people can pass on genes—I can pass on thoughts or what I write. This is what I get very upset at...” Temple, who was driving, suddenly faltered and wept. “I’ve read that libraries are where immortality lies... I don’t want my thoughts to die with me... I want to have done something... I’m not interested in power, or piles of money. I want to leave something behind. I want to make a positive contribution—know that my life has a meaning.” In her fear of dying and being erased, I believe she does express numinous awe. Perhaps the night sky does not make Temple feel her own smallness. That is fine. But when she ponders death she realizes, and she desperately to leave an impact that will continue after she is gone. However, no matter how strong an energy impression she leaves on the universe, it will pass away. Books will rot. The ideas she put in them will one day be forgotten, perhaps along with her language and entire civilization. Eventually the sun will expand and consume the earth. Eons after that, energy will equalize across the entire universe, leading to a heat death that will carry on for all eternity. The consuming power of death can only be escaped through the eternal God. Her search for meaning, too, reflects a desire built into the human soul, a desire that ultimately can only be satisfied through God. Fear of oblivion and a longing for meaning are not the same as a personal relationship with God, but they are signs that he is there and wants a relationship with Temple, wants to fulfill all the needs of her soul. I only know Temple Grandin from the book and cannot be sure of her own personal situation, but I believe the ideas expressed here are generally sound. Content A few quoted expletives, and occasional frank discussion of sexual behavior Conclusion The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat and An Anthropologist on Mar are both well-written windows into experiences of life very different from my own (and probably yours, too). Recommended for anyone looking either for a good book to read, or to expand his understanding of human nature. My reviews may have been somewhat... stiff, lately. That is, I explain what makes a certain book/movie/whatever good, but I’m not sure I’ve done so well giving you a taste of the experience I had with that story. So I’m trying something different— throwing my typical review structure to the wind and saying this: The Chosen is freakin’ AWESOME and you should watch it. In case you’re not familiar with that of which I speak, The Chosen is a recently debuted TV show that boldly and adeptly adapts the Gospels. Gone is the stereotype of Christian media as corny, pandering, and full of one-dimensional characters. The characters of The Chosen feel almost as real as the people they must have been, from Simon Peter to Mary Magdalene to Jesus Himself. The Chosen strikes a masterful balance between compelling storytelling and fidelity to its source. The first season follows four main characters— Mary Magdalene, Simon/Peter, Mathew, and Nicodemus— and gives each one a rich backstory built on the details found in the gospels. In scene that are drawn directly from the Bible, most of the dialogue is preserved verbatim, although additional lines and body language lend conversations a smoother flow. Mathew Mathew the tax collector has Asperger’s, a bold move that adds depth to his character and explains why he would choose the life of a tax collector— a social outcast. Oh, and it provides comic relief. I love it. Peter We first meet Peter (Simon, actually. Jesus hasn’t gotten around to changing his name yet) trying to cheat his in-laws. He has an excellent character arc leading up to his first encounter with Jesus, and later his banter with the other disciples is great. His wife, Eden, is also particularly well-written. Mary Magdalene The main thrust of Mary’s arc wraps up in the first couple episodes. She fades mostly to the background afterwards, but I look forward to seeing more of her in future seasons. Her first encounter with Jesus brilliantly parallels the account in the gospel of John of her meeting with resurrected Christ, which shows me that the makers of The Chosen have really thought this thing out. Nicodemus Nicodemus gives a human face to the Pharisees, a group that can appear to modern readers of the gospels as merely a cabal of nameless villains. Of the four major characters, his arc is the last to reach its climax, so he continues to provide a source of tension throughout the last few episodes, where the plot becomes a bit scattered. Jesus We first meet Jesus in a bar. No, He’s not there to get drunk (quite the opposite), but it’s as if The Chosen wanted to give its viewers the clear message that this is not your grandmother’s clichéd sanitized Christian TV show. I appreciate it. The Chosen rises to the challenge of portraying a character that is simultaneously 100% human and 100% divine. This version of Jesus laughs, prays, jokes, and weeps in addition to performing miracles and speaking with an authority beyond any on earth. The setting Nobody’s going to be able to visit Israel for awhile, what with the pandemic and all, but watching The Chosen is not a bad alternative. Seeing ancient Israel— the houses, the fishing boats, the tax booths— helped me visualize what I’m reading in the gospels. Particularly enlightening was a scene in which a character uses a winepress. I’d read about winepresses, of course, in the Bible, but never given a second thought to what they looked like or how they worked. Too many characters! The Chosen has a huge cast— disciples, Pharisees, Romans, people in need of Jesus’s healing. It handles this well, although I would have preferred a more focused story that developed our four main characters deeper. However, I’m not sure there’s a way to do this without sacrificing a bit of fidelity to the source text, as Jesus did talk to a lot of people over the course of his ministry. Most of the minor characters, such as those woman at the well, manage to be distinct and memorable. Conclusion Watch it. The Chosen is available for free on VidAngel until April 30, 2020. If you’re reading this after that date, watch it anyway. The Chosen is worth your money. (I love the first season so much that I donated to help fund the production of season two). Within two chapters, Butterfly Yellow had wrapped itself around my heart. I dived into the rest of the book, barely coming up for air as I was swept away in the current of two journeys— that of Hằng, a refugee from Vietnam determined to find her long-lost brother, and of LeeRoy, a wannabe cowboy who finds himself roped into helping her. Thanha Lai’s writing is evocative and beautiful, her characters richly imagined and complex. By the end, both Leeroy and Hằng have undergone drastic changes. Their growth resonates and leaves a joyous sense of satisfaction— like watching a butterfly emerge from a cocoon. Hằng begins intent on finding her brother, but merely locating him is not enough. The child she remembers as a cheerful five-year old is now eleven, with an American name and family— and he thinks she’s crazy. With LeeRoy’s help, she manages to stay near him, but her quest to bring him back into her family will bring her into conflict, both with those who love her and those who love her brother. In the end, Hằng must make a terrible confession, one that will change the fate of two families. Butterfly Yellow is an intense emotional odyssey, plunging us into the lives of its characters and giving us glimpse of joy, sorrow and anger. Humor also abounds throughout the tale, mostly stemming from Hằng and LeeRoy’s cultural differences. There’s even a bit of romance toward the end (honestly, though, I was wondering why it took so long for our male lead to notice Hằng. I’d fallen for her almost immediately.) Themes Hằng’s backstory is masterfully spooled out, bit by bit. As we gain a greater understanding of the horrors she’s witnessed, we also see her begin to recover from them. Hằng’s journey gives us a powerful example of recovering beauty from heartbreak, offering hope for the destitute. LeeRoy shows us Hằng’s healing from another perspective. Although he begins foolish and self-centered, a rapid humbling forces him to work with Hằng. Gradually, he replaces with grand rodeo dreams with a quiet respect that blooms into love. When Hằng must confront long-suppressed memories, LeeRoy forgets his ambitions entirely, staying by her side with deference and humility. LeeRoy’s story reminds me how to comfort the afflicted, and of my own limitations in doing so. Content A few references to LeeRoy experiencing involuntary erections at inopportune moments. Also a few uses of the word s*** in the literal sense. Conclusion If the above paragraphs aren’t clear enough, let me say this: READ IT. Butterfly Yellow ranks among an ever-growing crowd of books I anticipate returning to again and again. |
Progress on Doombear, Rough draft:10%
Progress on The Lore of Yore, third draft:
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"In truth, by leaving, I was seeking only one thing. A journey."
-Oathbringer, pg 981 Types of blog posts:
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