“Purple Hibiscus,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie


I hardly know where to start.

Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus explores the complex nature of familial relationships, meeting unhealthy depictions of love with even unhealthier examples of violence and abuse in a wealthy, religious family in Nigeria.

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The “Persepolis” Memoirs, Marjane Satrapi


I’ve decided to discuss both of Satrapi’s memoirs in one post, not because I want to reduce their individual importance, but because they complement and bookend one another so effectively. It doesn’t make sense to me to talk about one without the other, because, to me, Persepolis and Persepolis 2 feel like a novel divided by a distinct before and after. Together they operate the way many of my favorite novels do: beginning with rising, sure-footed fire and ending with the uncertainty, consequences. Continue reading

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” Harper Lee


Let me just start by saying: I cannot believe this was not in my high school’s English curriculum.

Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird is a poignant coming-of-age story set in a town torn apart by discrimination, racism, and dangerous ignorance.

I’m glad I read it now. Its relevance today is both striking and disappointing—mainly because it’s a 55-year-old book about racism and bigotry still rings true. So much of the ignorance found in the people of Maycomb is still seen in people young and old today. I’d have hoped for more progress in that time. There have been steps, for sure. But the malicious mindset still exists. I’m getting carried away. Anyway.

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I’m not a fast reader. This was problematic for me, as an English major. In the four years of my undergraduate degree, I frantically motored through countless chapters of fiction, as well as theoretical material, and had to devote every spare moment to it.

It burned me out.

Since graduating, I’ve been trying to introduce reading for fun back into my life. Life and anxiety still hold me back, but still I try. Coming back to books after such a long time has meant having to determine what exactly I like to read. It had been so long since I’d chosen a book for myself. So I decided to fill in the gaps. It started as an attempt to read the classics—beginning with To Kill a Mockingbird—I’d never read in school. Luckily, as  a bookseller with a tidy employee discount, I could (almost) afford to fund my own literary exploration. The effort, however, was quickly waylaid by the realization of what had really been lacking in my academic career.

Female authors. Where were they?

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