4.11 average · 137 reviews
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Well-written and elegantly argued, this one’s for the girls (gender neutral) who like to Theory. This one’s for the reader like me—a phrase whose depths are plumbed, the subtleties dredged up. Dionne Brand is a poet and brings that economy of words and virtuosic form to social and literary analysis. The intricacies of the thoughts sometimes feel sublime, sometimes like despair, and sometimes dry and academic. In all cases, this is a vital, necessary voice in discussions of literary merit and value of the “canon”.


Come with me to the rough-and-tumble worlds of Venus and Earth in the early days of the Diaspora, a fantastical journey into that special place in the heart where history meets the imagination, hard science meets flights of fancy, love leads the way, and the impossible becomes—for a moment—true, on … How Many Miles to Babylon? [theme music]
A love letter to genre, the conventions of storytelling, its horizons and limitations. It weaves together themes of family and legacy, colonialism and exploitation, the interplay between art and commerce, and the linearity—or lack thereof—of life, time, and narrative. The prose is exquisite, the descriptions of settings lush and sensual, the settings themselves whimsical, fantastical, and delightful. There is murder, romance, grime and spectacle. I laughed, I cried, I felt ill at ease—but more than anything, I felt awestruck by both the marvels and the profound depths of emotion that Valente deftly portrays. For days since finishing, I’ve felt myself in the daze of one recently re-emerged from a darkened theater where a most wonderful movie has played.
Give it the shine of magic, a surreal spit-and-polish. Not too much—everyone hates the avant-garde, deep down. But enough to go out with a bang.
Utterly captivating. In a year of spectacular reads, this ranks among the best.


Devastating. The beauty of Kanafani’s writing dazzles, even through translation. His stories offer a searing portrait of humanity, the specificity of being Palestinian made universal through his careful, intimate, and moving detailing of his characters’ lives and motivations. It’s a work to return to over and over, a grounding in the everyday lives of those at the forefront of the struggle.
May the martyrs be raised into jannah and may Palestine be free in our lifetime, inshallah. Ameen.


I think: it all comes back to houses. To how people live. There are rich people who own houses to live in and poor people who do not. And this is wrong. Literary separatism, fashionable now among blacks as it has always been among whites, is easier to practice than to change a fact like this. I think: I would level this country with the sweep of my hand, if I could. “Nobody can change the past,” says my mother. “Which is why revolutions exist,” I reply. My bitterness comes from a deeper source than my knowledge of the difference, historically, race has made in the lives of white and black artists. The fact that in Mississippi no one even remembers where Richard Wright lived, while Faulkner’s house is maintained by a black caretaker is painful, but not unbearable. What comes close to being unbearable is that I know how damaging to my own psyche such injustice is. In an unjust society the soul of the sensitive person is in danger of deformity from just such weights as this. For a long time I will feel Faulkner’s house, O’Connor's house, crushing me. To fight back will require a certain amount of energy, energy better used doing something else.
This reminds me of Toni Morrison’s famous assertion that "the function, the very serious function of racism is distraction.” But, though I know this was not her intention and there is more context to clarify this, the Morrison quote has always felt like pressure to me—to focus and not allow myself to be distracted. I love the way that Walker’s imagery locates the pressure (external) and its effects (on the soul). I also love that she connects the horror of racism so effortlessly and viscerally to the horror of capitalism and private property and its commodification of shelter.