Books like Small Bodies of Water

I was drawn into this story from its first brilliant line.

Before this book was released, I read an ARC of the novel as a member of the Group Reads committee that curates a list of novels perfect for book clubs. Immediately, I felt this would be a bestseller and am so glad I was right.

The multilayered characters are so well drawn, and the propulsive mystery is deftly laid out, making it a page turner. This is a novel I kept reading late into the night.

Ocean Vuong writes in a poetic prose that transforms memories into fragments that linger in your mind. His choice to write this book as fictionalized letters to his mother was deeply beautiful and heart-wrenching. This is a book that took me on a journey through the Vietnam War, my first queer experiences, and the journey of finding out what it means to become American.

This is a stunning debut by a talented artist.

In the memoir, the narrator grieves for her mother, and in doing so, revives her Korean self and the parts of her culture she'd rejected as an adolescent. A beautiful grief memoir that reveals the ways in which a daughter's ties to the woman who gave birth to and raised her never dissolve. In Zauner's case, one of the strongest ties is the love of Korean food she shared with her mother. She finds her way back to her mother through cooking.

The book made me think about the ways in which my mother and I connected through some third thing that created the bridge between us. 

I have a special attachment to this book—I first read it as a child, and come back to it repeatedly because I love the way Cunxin describes his life. Every time I read it, I ache for him as he says goodbye to his tiny Chinese village (and beloved mother) and goes over to the harsh world of ballet.

This book might not be a plot-driven thriller, nor a meditation on identity, but it tells a vibrant and uplifting journey. Readers get to see Cunxin grow from a terrified boy who desperately misses home, to an ambitious ballet star. We get to root for him through traveling, falling in love, and eventually having to reconfigure his relationship with China as home. Cunxin tells the story of his life in an honest and endearing voice, and I root for him from beginning to end.

This book gives readers a clear picture of what it was like for an American woman, married to a British colonial, to live in North Borneo just before the Japanese Army invaded in 1942. It was truly an innocent place so far from the cares of the world. I read it in 1968, just before my first sojourn in Sabah, Malaysia. Much had changed by then, but it helped me understand the experiences of some of the older people I met. Today, Sabah remains a land “below the wind” (located south of the annual tropical cyclone belt.) But, as I mention in my book, it is no longer below the “political storms” as China battles the US and five other nations over the rights to the South China Sea.

This book for younger YA’s has some of the creepiest villains you’ll ever meet and knuckle-biting tension as the heroes are chased by the evil Wilberforces, slug-like shapeshifters who live under Auckland’s extinct volcanoes. Their goal is the destruction of the world and only red-haired twins Rachel and Theo Matheson can stop them, with the help of the strange Mr. Jones, who helps the twins unleash their supernatural power.

What I love most about this book is the focus on women. That sounds really obvious, given the title, but it’s unusual. Male migrants are so easy to find in historical sources. On shipping lists, women and children were often only recorded as ‘wife and 5 children’ of a named man.

Due to this bias in the primary sources, men are usually at the center of 19th-century migration literature. Their experience is taken as the norm. Their motivations are assumed to be the ones guiding the migration. So I really love that this spotlight on women highlights the experiences and importance of these migrants to New Zealand and also that it has forced historians who have come after this publication to try harder to include women in their migration stories, too. 

Described as an ‘alternate history coming-of-age YA’, Ursa packs a real punch. Set in a world deeply divided into those who can live freely and those denied all human rights, it shows what happens when the desire for freedom in those oppressed ignites into a revolution. Brutal and unflinching, with important things to say about fascism and xenophobia, you won’t be able to stop reading!

I *adore* Katherine Mansfield’s work. She wrote short stories, not novels.

She was still rather young when she died of tuberculosis. Her portrayals of love, family, and especially of children, are for me gloriously wonderful with insight and perceptiveness about relationships. From the New Zealand settings of many of her stories (where she was born and grew up), she emigrated to London, then to France (where she received medical treatment for TB), and Switzerland (also for treatment for TB—unsuccessful).

She seems to me a lonely genius—perceiving deeply not only other persons (of many sorts) on whom she modeled her short stories but also herself. Her seemingly idyllic childhood in NZ is perhaps the core source of her accomplishment—especially the novellas At the Bay and Prelude. But her adult life was difficult and she seems to have been uncertain about her writing, even though to me she seems a genius… show more.

What I love most about this book is its challenge for New Zealand historians to examine the role of different British cultures in shaping New Zealand society. Akenson, a Canadian author, took a one-year research fellowship in New Zealand, and this resulting book has changed the face of migration studies in New Zealand in the decades since.

He describes previous works as cementing a tradition of biculturalism, ‘lumping… all white settlers into a spurious unity’, but more than just laying down the challenge to do something about that ‘lumping,’ he then shows a way forward, examining the Irish in New Zealand. Marvellous!