Book Beat, The Books

American Indeed

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Back in college, one of my friends took a comic books class where he had to read “American Born Chinese” by Gene Luen Yang. He raved about it just enough that years later, I remembered the title and put it on hold at the library. This is the first book I started and finished this year and it is probably going to set the tone for the rest of my 2018 reading.

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Book Beat, The Books

Same, Sherman

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Sherman Alexie is the first writer of color that I ever read besides Frederick Douglass, and I didn’t read him until college. He and his writing have been immensely influential and this book about his mom completely captivated me.  Continue reading “Same, Sherman”

Book Life, The Books

When You Can’t Even With A Book: “He Who Searches”

IMG_3327I hate to make this book the poster child for books I couldn’t bring myself to finish, but I really like how this photo came out. And that’s where my disappointment stems from, although I know you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover. But I couldn’t help it. This was the book next in line for a review, but I didn’t just couldn’t. I’m sorry book gods, I just couldn’t.

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The Books

Frustrated Feminist

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I didn’t consider myself a feminist until my last two years in college. It’s not that I was afraid of being seen as a overbearing, opinionated, man-hating woman. In all honesty, I just didn’t get feminism. I didn’t see how feminism benefited me. The feminist ideals that were presented to me before those last two years in college were always in connection with white, middle class women, which I am not.

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The Books

Short, Powerful, Insightful

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I have high expectations of any book that is a part of Oprah’s Book Club because I can be easily swayed like that. Edwidge Danticat’s “Breath, Eyes, Memory,” the writer’s first novel published in 1994, is one of those books. While it was a quick read, it certainly did not lack in content.

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The Books

“Caramelo,” Where Have You Been All My Life?

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I’m ashamed to say it, but in my high school days, I thought the only “good” books were written by white male writers. My view of what a “good” book is has changed drastically since then, but at the time, most of what I read for class was written by a white male, so that’s what was ingrained into my reading habits. I had no exposure to any other literature, and I was too naive to seek for more diverse writers on my own. I deeply regret it and even more so after having read Sandra Cisneros’ “Caramelo.”

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