Book Tag | Goodreads Was Wrong

This has been floating around the book blogosphere for a few years, but I believe the tag originated with Gabs About Books on YouTube. I have a love-hate relationship with Goodreads, and have used it inconsistently over the past 11 years (!!) and I’m intrigued to expose my own unpopular opinions.

1. What is the highest rated book that you gave a low rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on average ratings and find the highest rated book you gave a low rating)

Daring Greatly by Brené Brown

Goodreads average: 4.25

My rating: 3

Perhaps self-help non-fiction is not for me, but I just couldn’t understand what everyone was raving about with Brené Brown. I didn’t find her ideas to be all that substantial and definitely not life-changing. Maybe I was generous with the 3 stars!

2. What is the lowest rated book that you gave a high rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on average ratings, in reverse order, and find the lowest rated book you gave a high rating)

Topics of Conversation by Miranda Popkey

Goodreads average: 2.8 (ouch!)

My rating: 4

I had an ARC of this and for the longest time I avoided it, scared off by the dismal GR score. But then I considered how GR has definitely been wrong before, and decided to give it a go. I found the fragmentary style to be compulsively readable, and it interrogates modern womanhood in a pretty unflinching, nuanced way. Don’t be put off by the GR score if you can handle a non-traditional narrative! Review here.

3. What is the most popular book you disagree with the avg rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on number of ratings, and find the first book you disagree with the average rating)

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Goodreads average: 3.88

My rating: 2

Number of reviews: A staggering 2.2 million

This book is just so totally overrated for me. I was recommended it at an age when I was much more receptive to such whimsy, and I can only imagine that if I re-read it now, I would have an even stronger negative reaction.

4. What is the least popular book you disagree with the avg rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on number of ratings, in reverse order, and find the first book you disagree with the average rating)

Margarettown by Gabrielle Zevin

Goodreads average: 3.46

My rating: 2

Number of reviews: 1,129

One of my favourite books as a young teen was ‘Elsewhere’ by Gabrielle Zevin. So enamoured was I with this book that I wrote one of my favourite passages down my door in sharpie.

As I started to feel like I was aging out of YA, I looked to some of Zevin’s adult fiction – but Margarettown was such a bizarre experience for me, and 10 years on I remember little about it apart from it being confusing and weird.

5. My thoughts (aka mini-rant) on Goodreads

When I created an account on the site in 2010, our expectations for what a website could/should do were very different from today. Back then, just the fact of being able to track your books in something other than a spreadsheet or alphabetised diary (yes, I had one of those – sort of like an address book for books) – was good enough.

The problem is, despite the might of the almighty, tyrannous Amazon behind it, Goodreads still feels like a website from the noughties. The amount of data they aggregate could produce fascinating insights into our reading behaviour – the basics on genre breakdown and pages read, but also how many authors of colour, and what times of year do we read or shelve the most. There are loads of things I’d be interested to know, and Goodreads tells me none of them.

My second bugbear is related to the first – think of the recommendations that we could get if the algorithms were smart enough! I don’t know about you, but the recommendations panel when on a certain title is always quite baffling, and rarely are these recommendations relevant to the selected book – or they just push the same books as recommendations on multiple pages. It’s hardly a way of discovering books you might not otherwise have known about.

There are absolutely good things about Goodreads – I wouldn’t have kept using it if there weren’t. I just wish it would do more (and wasn’t owned by Amazon). Rant over!

Here are the questions:

I picked and chose my questions, but here is the list in full if you’d like to participate!

1. What is the highest rated book that you gave a low rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on Average Ratings and find the highest rated book you gave a low rating).

2. What is the lowest rated book that you gave a high rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on Avg Ratings, in reverse order, and find the lowest rated book you gave a high rating).

3. What is the most popular book you disagree with the avg rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on number of Ratings, and find the first book you disagree with the avg rating)

4. What is the least popular book you disagree with the avg rating? (Sort your books in Goodreads based on number of Ratings, in reverse order, and find the first book you disagree with the avg rating).

5. Choose two books that have an average rating of 3/5 stars but you gave a higher rating.

6. Choose two books that have an average rating of 3/5 stars but you gave a lower rating.

7. Choose two books that have an average rating of 4/5 stars but you gave a lower rating.

8. Choose two books that have an average rating of 2/5 stars but you gave a higher rating.

9. Do you tend to agree or disagree with GR average rating and do you use GR as a guide for books you want to read?

Summerwater by Sarah Moss - book review

Book Review | Summerwater by Sarah Moss

Families at a remote Scottish cabin park are stuck inside on the longest day of the summer, while the rain hammers down. You haven’t experienced a proper British childhood if you didn’t spend at least one summer holiday in a perpetual rain-soaked, chilled-to-the-bone state. And Moss conveys this atmosphere so effectively that you almost feel the cold and the rain seeping through the pages.

‘There are waterways through the soil, aren’t there, trickles and seeping, and the branching streams within her body, the aortic river and the tributaries flowing from fingers and toes, keeping her going. Faster, then. Faster. The wind is lifting the mist, making a space for her between the rocky trail and the low sky.’

We feel the oppressive weight to the story right from the beginning; the atmosphere feels smothering, dense, thickening, the ‘grey pallor seeping through the trees.’ Cut off from contact with the outside world – there’s no phone service up there – holidaying families must turn inwards, forced into spending time together.

Through vignettes, we get a peek into the lives of those inside the cabins. There are married couples with nothing in common except their children; a boyfriend and girlfriend in their twenties in the heady stages of new love, angry and misunderstood teenagers pissed off at spending their holiday stuck in a cabin with their parents, of all people. The second thing that Moss excels at is shifting into these different voices in a way that feels authentic and empathetic – whether it’s the bored teen or woman with early stages of dementia or young girl, her astute observation of human interaction is really something to behold.

‘You can’t wait for the fucking weather, not here, you’ll be dead before it stops raining.’

But you can’t forget the building tension as the day wears on, and the humming undercurrent of racism and xenophobia. A British-Ukrainian family staying in one of the cabins, the Shevchenkos, are assumed to be illegal immigrants and referred to variously and carelessly as Romanian, Polish and Bulgarian. Whilst some holidaymakers continue to scapegoat the ‘foreigners’, others lament the idiocy of the Brexit vote, the English ‘stupid… not [to] see the ring of yellow stars on every new road and hospital and upgraded railway and city centre regeneration of the last 30 years.’ The renegotiation of national identity is such a key preoccupation that Moss can’t ignore it.

Nothing much happens in this slender book – if you like plot-driven narratives, this isn’t for you – but the masterful way the tension and sense of unease is built, in both the depiction of the natural and interior worlds, is absolutely worth reading – and the ending will leave you with chills.

Top Ten Tuesday

Top Ten Tuesday | My Ten Most Recent Reads

Top Ten Tuesday is a weekly book tag hosted by That Artsy Reader Girl. This week’s topic is ten most recent reads, with a one-line review for each. I think writing a one-line review will be more of a challenge for me than writing the usual ~500 word reviews, but here we go!

Book Review The Plot
The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz

Psychological drama exploring the torturous nature of writing and elusive pursuit of success, through a failing writer who steals a killer plot from a dead student.

Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason
Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason

A nuanced portrait of a woman, Martha, whose life is shaped by psychological anguish – and yet her story is told in a caustically funny, smart way.

Book Review | The Other Me by Sarah Zachrich Jeng
The Other Me by Sarah Zachrich Jeng

Compelling sci-fi/thriller where a woman walks through a door and into an alternate reality – an interesting concept with uneven execution.

Han Kang - Human Acts Book Review
Human Acts by Han Kang

Told in brutal, sparing prose, this striking piece of literary fiction examines what happens when a country turns against its people, set against the brutal crackdown in 1980’s Gwangju, South Korea.

Book Review | Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory by Raphael Bob-Waksberg
Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory by Raphael Bob-Waksberg

In equal parts surreal, devastating and hilarious, this short-story collection is brilliant, heart-wrenching and heart-warming.

The Panic Years by Nell Frizzell - Book Review
The Panic Years by Nell Frizzell

A validating, refreshing and candid exploration of the period of tumult that hits women at the end of their twenties as they make life-changing decisions about having – or not having – babies.

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls

Astonishing memoir about a troubling childhood that is told with levity and compassion from the woman who lived it.

The Divines by Ellie Eaton

Beautifully written and totally absorbing, this is a slow-burn piece of literary fiction set at an all-girls boarding school in the 90s.

The Dinner Guest B P Walter
The Dinner Guest by B. P. Walter

Engrossing domestic noir with deftly-handled twists and turns that explores the lives of the British upper echelons.

The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris

Smart, incisive social commentary on race in contemporary America and how this plays out across the world of publishing.

Thanks for reading this week’s top ten tuesday!

Book Review The Plot

Book Review | The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz

Jacob ‘Finch’ Bonner – the affected middle name adopted due to his love of Harper Lee – is a struggling writer. After the modest success – in literary circles – of his first book, he’s in his thirties and finds himself  ‘sent to the special purgatory for formerly promising writers, from which so few of them ever emerged’.

Failing to come up with any new ideas, and feeling left in the dirt as the stars of his contemporaries continue to rise, he takes up a position at a small MFA program, teaching creative writing. Among his students is the insufferable narcissist Evan Parker, determined that writing is not something that can be taught (leaving Jake questioning, understandably, as to why Evan has bothered to attend the program). But despite his personal faults, Jake can’t deny that Evan has achieved that elusive goal – he’s got a damn good plot.

A few years pass, and Jake expects to hear about Evan’s book as it is undoubtedly picked up by a big publisher. But nothing happens, and a Google search brings up Evan’s obituary – his debut unpublished, confined to the recesses of history. So Jake steals the plot, and it catapults him into the hallowed halls of success he’s always dreamed of. Soon, he’s selling out thousand-seat concert halls and is plagued by adoring fans at book signings. He justifies his plagiarism to himself, of course:

 ‘Every single work of art was in conversation with every other work of art: bouncing against its predecessors, drawing form its contemporaries, harmonizing with the patterns… And that was a beautiful, thrilling thing.’

But he can’t quite shake his guilt and fear that the past will come back to bite him – and his worst fears are confirmed when he begins to receive anonymous, threatening messages.

In an interesting (and effective) structural choice, Korelitz weaves passages from Jake’s bestselling novel into the pages of the The Plot, running concurrently with Jake’s own narrative. Far from feeling disjointed or disruptive, this adds an extra dimension to the story.

I picked this one up because I loved the HBO adaptation of The Undoing, based on the book You Should Have Known by Korelitz. I also read John Boyne’s A Ladder to the Sky earlier this year, and really enjoyed it in all its wicked psychological drama and wit – and sensed immediate comparisons with the themes of literary theft and fame. The Plot isn’t as good as either of the above – but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have merit. It begins as a slow-burn psychological drama, which feels consistent but plodding throughout – the pace hardly picks up even when it really needs to for the sake of the plot. The twist is pretty easy to see in advance, even if we’re not quite sure how we’ll get there. But the story really shines as an exploration of the torturous nature of writing and elusive pursuit of success, and the nebulous ownership over the stories we tell.

‘The superstition held that if you did not do right by the great story that had chosen you, among all possible writers, to bring it to life, that great story didn’t just leave you to spin your stupid and ineffectual wheels. It actually went to somebody else. A great story, in other words, wanted to be told. And if you weren’t going to do that, it was out of here; it was going to find somebody else who would.’

With thanks to the publisher for the advanced copy. The Plot will be published on May 11th, 2021.

Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason

Book Review | Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason

This book is a tragicomedy in the best possible way. It’s devastatingly sad – it winds you, sometimes, at just how sad it is. But at the same time, it’s caustically funny and smart.  

This is the story of Martha and Patrick, and how their relationship comes together and breaks down. We know at the beginning that we are seeing a love story that has already come apart at the seams. Alongside the romantic relationship is Martha’s devotion for her sister, Ingrid, who can’t stop getting pregnant, and a complex bond with her aspiring sculptor mother, Celia. I also loved the characters of the exacting but deeply caring Aunt Winsome, and Martha’s struggling poet father.

This is very much a character study, a life told in vignettes as our protagonist navigates the world with an unnamed and undiagnosed mental illness, a ‘bomb that went off in [her] brain’ on her seventeenth birthday. I’ve rarely read such a confronting description of the black hole of mental illness in such an accessible way, and Mason navigates it carefully, conveying absolute gut-wrenching despair without being overwrought or morose. There’s a fine balance of witty observations and moments of joy and connection, alongside the pain. The sorrow alongside the bliss, if you will 😉

“I’m fine, Patrick. It’s just been a full day of men who loved me once then stopped or thought they were in love with me, then realized they were just hungry or something.”

Of course Martha is difficult. It’s difficult to watch someone who, in the words of the novel, keeps trying to metaphorically ‘burn her own house down.’ But she is not an unlikeable character. We only hear from her first-person narration, but we know that she is loved fiercely by those around her. She is an authentic, empathetic character, who, throughout the novel, learns to navigate her life and take ownership of her choices.  

‘That is what life was, and how it continued for three years after that. The ratios changing on their own, broken, completely fine, a holiday, a leaking pipe, new sheets, happy birthday, a technician between nine and three, a bird flew into the window, I want to die, please, I can’t breathe, I think it’s a lunch thing, I love you, I can’t do this anymore, both of us thinking it would be like that forever.’

I can see the merit in the Fleabag and Sally Rooney comparisons, and I have to admit that I was initially picturing Martha as a Marianne Sheridan character. I don’t think the novel quite reaches Fleabag heights of brilliance, but if you enjoy droll humour that goes hand-in-hand with agony then this might just be for you. But Sorrow and Bliss also exists in its own right as a powerful and nuanced portrait of a life shaped by psychological anguish yet that still searches for some kind of equilibrium and happiness.

It leaves you feeling kind of heavy, in the pit of your stomach, but at the same time, hopeful.

Book Review | The Other Me by Sarah Zachrich Jeng

Book Review | The Other Me by Sarah Zachrich Jeng

Kelly walks through a door on her twenty-ninth birthday and finds herself in another life. A moderately-successful Chicago-based artist, she suddenly finds herself married and living the suburbs. The problem is, she has all the memories of both lives coalescing in her mind, and no idea about how she got there.

‘The possibility of my entire history ceasing to exist, of it never having existed, induces a dreamlike horror that stops up my throat. I can’t speak.’

She remembers, for example, that she loves her husband, Eric. She knows the name of her nieces and nephews that do not exist in her ‘real’ life. She knows the contents of all the cupboards in her suburban kitchen. But at the same time, she has the memories of her Chicago life – her best friend, Linnea. Her cat and roommates. Her beloved art studio. Experiencing, understandably, a profound sense of disorientation, she bolts to Chicago when Eric has gone to work, desperate to retrace her steps and find any traces of the life that was once hers. It’s a slow burn mystery, and I was intrigued to see how it would play out within the confines of the genre.

‘What I’m searching for is some emotional connection to the life I find myself living. But even with my entire history laid out in front of me, I’m unable to feel that it’s mine.’

The narrative gets even more interesting when the two timelines appear to begin to bleed into one another – Kelly’s tattoos begin to appear on her arms, before fading immediately. Photos disappear and reappear on the walls. And there’s a general unease about Eric, too. He seems almost too perfect – and those of us acquainted with a thriller know that can only mean one thing.

It’s a great concept, and compelling reading for the first 60% or so. I haven’t read anything with this premise, so to me, at least, it felt like a refreshing take on a manipulative relationship. My main problem was that it was sort of sci-fi, sort of thriller – without accomplishing either entirely effectively. Taking on a sci-fi concept, like this, requires real finesse. I’ve never read anything that falls into the science-fiction without the science category (though if this is a well-established genre, I stand corrected!) and to me the light-touch on how the time travel actually worked just left too many plot holes for me to truly buy in to the concept.

This may not be a deal breaker for other readers, and this book certainly had its merits. I just wish there was a little more of an investment in the details for the world-building and central premise to be fully and effectively executed.

With thanks to Berkley Books for the advanced copy. The Other Me will be published on August 10th, 2021.

Han Kang - Human Acts Book Review

Book Review | Human Acts by Han Kang

It’s 1980, and a country has turned against its people. In Gwangju, South Korea, Dong-ho staffs the municipal gymnasium, tending to the bodies of the dead. “Apparently all the dead will be brought here from now on,” he is told. “They say there’s no room left in the morgues.” A brutal crackdown in response to a call for democracy, where hundreds (or thousands – a disputed figure in the history books) are massacred. Some of them, like Dong-ho, are children. Dong-ho is only fifteen, and he peers into the faces of the dead, desperately searching for his friend Jeong-dae.

‘Why would you sing the national anthem for people who’d been killed by soldiers? […] As though it wasn’t the nation itself that had murdered them.’

What follows are vignettes from those who play a part in Dong-ho’s story, charting the reverberating effects of brutality as the decades wane on – from 1980 to the 2010s. It’s at times excruciating to read, but you also can’t look away. In a particularly difficult-to-read chapter, Jeong-dae is a corpse, rotting on a pile. If you’ve read Han Kang’s critically acclaimed (Booker International-winning) The Vegetarian, you’ll know she doesn’t shy away from gut-wrenching, visceral corporality.

‘When they threw a straw sack over the body of the man at the very top, the tower of bodies was transformed into the corpse of some enormous, fantastical beast, its dozens of legs splayed out beneath it.’

But what awaits those imprisoned is almost a fate worse than death; they are met with incessant torture and near-starvation. It’s unthinkable: that this is not ancient history and that a military inflicted such violence against its own people. Later chapters chart the course of an editor grappling with censorship, a mother grieving the loss of her son – before a full circle to Han Kang’s first person narration, as she explains her personal connection to this horrifying piece of history.

It’s sparingly told, but brutally so. There is an understated lyricism in Han Kang’s prose – and Deborah Smith’s translation – where the effects of traumatic experiences linger on the body – and on the means we have to express our trauma.  

‘Gasping for breath in these interstices, tiny islands among language charred out of existence.’

‘The interrogation room of that summer was knitted into our muscle memory, lodged inside our bodies.’

Han Kang is ingenious with perspective, slipping between first, second, and third person perspective. The second-person chapters lend a particularly galling sense of immediacy to the narrative. The devastation is unfurling in real time, and we are a very real part of it.

It feels important to read books like these, to remember the inhumanity we are capable of, but also the humanity. To know that these things happen, decade after decade, all over the world. There are three reasons to tell these stories, one of the characters tells us. ‘Testimony. Meaning. Memory.’

CW/TW for torture, sexual violence

Book Review | Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory by Raphael Bob-Waksberg

Book Review | Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory by Raphael Bob-Waksberg

This collection of short stories – simultaneously full of caustic humour and emotional devastation – is very clever. And I don’t mean clever in a trying-to-be-clever way, in a way that’s itching after English-student dissection and critic bamboozlement and literary prizes. Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s debut is highly attuned to the intricacies of love, in all of its many incarnations, and plays with surreal and off-beat turns of plot and genre.

Like in any collection, there are stories that worked better than others. I admire Bob-Waksberg’s playing with form, from rhyming couplet long-form poems to lists, but the ones that worked best for me were a little more traditional in their approach. In ‘A Most Blessed and Auspicious Occasion,’ a couple take on wedding planning in a short story that manages to satirize the wedding industry in an alternative universe where how many goats to slaughter during the ceremony to how long the wailing chorus should lament to how much to spend on a promise egg are the central preoccupations of everyone around them. Bob-Waksberg manages simultaneously to issue a critique of capitalism and tradition, all while being laugh-out-loud funny.

In a story that felt very much like a short film, ‘Missed Connection – m4w’ shows a man falling in love with a woman he sits across from on the Brooklyn Q train, ‘in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you’re looking at and fall in love with that person.’ Whilst working up the courage to say something to her, the years melt into decades, and still they ride the train back and forth on the same line – neither ever summoning the strength to speak.

‘For months we sat on the train saying nothing. We survived on bags of Skittles sold to us by kids raising money for their basketball teams. We must have heard a million mariachi bands, had our faces nearly kicked in by a hundred thousand break-dancers. I gave money to the panhandlers until I ran out of singles. When the train went aboveground I’d get text messages and voice mails (“Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”) until my phone battery ran out.’

There is such an intense and yet understated lyricism to the way these stories cut open affairs of the heart, in both romantic and familial love. In ‘You Want To Know What Plays Are Like?’, a sister goes to her playwright brother’s opening night, only to discover the play is an excavation of their childhood which doesn’t portray her in the most flattering light. The second-person narration (which Bob-Waksberg does so well) describes her feeling like ‘The Museum of You is now open for business, every piece of you hung up on a wall, laid bare on a table, harshly lit and awkwardly described.’ He’s economical with words, and yet they perfectly encapsulate our deepest vulnerabilities.

‘…There remains one place more than any other you know you can never return to. You know where it is and you go out of your way to not see it, to not be reminded of the thing that happened there. It’s too much, this place. It would swallow you whole, this void, this pit, this unassuming two-story brownstone in Carroll Gardens that houses the one-bedroom apartment a much younger you and the man now listed in your phone as “DO NOT CALL HIM” were ever so foolish as to refer to as “home.”’

There are more I could talk about – ‘Rufus’, narrated from the perspective of a dog trying to communicate with his owner. ‘The Serial Monogamist’s Guide to Important New York City Landmarks,’ where too many places in the city bring back memories of failed relationships, ‘tragic victims of your fickle heart’. ‘Move across the country,’ a quietly devastating exploration of running away from Sadness, personified. But this is not a necessarily pessimistic excavation of love. In its propulsive and gut-wrenching way, it feels honest and unflinching and, ultimately, kind of hopeful. Dare I call it one of the most brilliant short story collections I’ve ever read?

‘And when the morning comes, our love like bugs will scatter in the light.’


Six Degrees of Separation | Douglas Stuart to Zakiya Dalila Harris

Six Degrees of Separation is hosted by Kate. Each month, everyone starts with the same book and we see where our links take us. This month’s starting book is Booker-prize-winning Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stuart, which sets the tone for the rest of this list – brace yourself for a heavy one…

I’ve not yet read Shuggie Bain, partly because I am working up the emotional strength to do so. It’s the story of a young boy growing up on a council estate in 80’s Glasgow in a dysfunctional family. I’ve just seen that Roxane Gay compared it to A Little Life, one of my top 10 books of all time, so now I have to read it.

For another gritty novel set in 80’s Scotland, my mind goes to Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting (a bestselling novel before it was made into the film starring Ewan McGregor). It’s about a group of heroin addicts and those on the fringe of society, and it’s compelling and horrifying and darkly funny. It’s also written in Scottish dialect, which leads me to…

A Clockwork Orange – the only other book that I can recall reading that is written in dialect. The opening line – for those who haven’t read it – contains the sentence ‘we sat in the Korova Milkbar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry.’ Anthony Burgess’s masterpiece – first published in the 60s – is a nightmarish vision of a future with a violent gang of boys, led by ringleader Alex, perpetuating ‘ultra-violence’. Not for everyone, it’s nevertheless a linguistic tour-de-force.

I once switched on the TV when the film adaptation of A Clockwork Orange was about to begin, and as the opening credits rolled, I turned it off. I’d read the book, and the thought of seeing the violence on the page depicted to the screen was too much for me. And I felt exactly the same about The Handmaid’s Tale watching Margaret Atwood’s dysoptian and intensely misogynistic world on the screen – having read the classic novel – was just not how I wanted to spend an evening, so I gave the TV adaptation a pass.

In an attempt to shift gears away from the brutally hard-hitting, Margaret Atwood won last year’s Booker Prize in conjunction with the phenomenal Bernadine Evaristo, for her polyphonic and expansive novel Girl, Woman, Other. If you’ve not read that one yet – bring it to the top of your TBR! It’s a true achievement.

Finally, although there are 1001 books with ‘girl’ in the title that I could have picked from for this connection, in the spirit of uplifting new publishing and shining a spotlight on institutional racism is Zakiya Dalila Harris’s The Other Black Girl. It’s a biting social commentary about race in contemporary America, and will be published this summer.

Thanks for reading my April Six Degrees!