Here’s the reason why I haven’t posted a review in a while: I’ve been procrastinating on Kintu. Not because I hated the book or because it’s bad. It’s because I enjoyed the book so much and got so much out of it that I needed time to process it all.
When I decided to sit and jot down some thoughts on it, I felt overwhelmed and indecisive. I didn’t know what to say, how much to say, or where to start. But I want to stop procrastinating on it and I want to urge everyone to read it, so as best as I can, I’ll just share what comes to mind as I think back on my reading experience with this book (and hope it all makes sense).
Historical; literary; magical realism
2014 in Uganda; 2017 in the U.S.
Uganda’s history reimagined through the cursed bloodline of the Kintu clan in an award-winning debut.
In 1750, Kintu Kidda unleashes a curse that will plague his family for generations. In this ambitious tale of a clan and of a nation, Makumbi weaves together the stories of Kintu’s descendants as they seek to break from the burden of their shared past and reconcile the inheritance of tradition and the modern world that is their future.
It’s going to be a tag-filled week to make up for the few weeks that’ve gone by without me posting a tag. Today, I’m here with the Old Books Tag, which was created by booktuber Books and Pieces. So settle in to discuss some stuffy, moldy, old books. 😉
Have you ever bought a book that was made before you were born? (the physical book, not the text)
The Wine of Astonishment by Earl Lovelace
I told myself I wouldn’t buy another book about writing until I actually started to write. I don’t know what it is, if it’s fear or laziness, but I keep preventing myself from writing what I want to write. I’ll sit down with the intention to jot down the story in my head, but I either run away from the empty page, or write a few pages worth of stuff, get anxious, and run away. I don’t know what my problem is.
When I saw McCann’s Letters to a Young Writer in the bookstore, I couldn’t walk away from it. I was pulled toward it. I picked it up. I skipped the intro and read the first essay, I held it away from myself wondering if I should buy it, I walked around the store with it in hand, I paid and left with it. The title harkens to Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, which I read off and on one summer in New York, and that made McCann’s book seem promising. He will surely get me writing, I thought.
But McCann is frank about what he can’t do for us and what we can do for ourselves. He mentions in his introduction a statement he includes on his syllabus at Hunter College of the City University of New York, where he teaches in the MFA program — that he can’t teach his students anything. He can’t teach us how to write (or make us write), but he can guide us and allow us to do what we most want to do. And in this book, he is sincere, though frank, as he advises us on writing.
It’s been such a long time since I’ve done a book review that I feel as if I’ve forgotten how to write one.
“Where most children are proof of their parents’ love, I was the proof of their criminality.”
I picked up Born a Crime in March and read it sporadically until I got hooked and completed it in a few days last month. I don’t often read celebrity bios, but this one caught my attention because there was a lot of buzz about it and it was featured in the New York Times Books section. Plus, Trevor Noah is cute. His winking dimples compelled me to read his book.
Noah is a comedian and the host of the Daily Show, a satirical news talk show that airs on Comedy Central. I hardly watch the show and haven’t seen it since Noah took over from its previous host Jon Stewart, but I’ve heard it’s great. Prior to the Daily Show, I did not know of Trevor Noah. The few times I’ve heard him speak, I assumed he was British. I never would have guessed that he’s from South Africa, which I learned by reading reviews of Born a Crime.
I’m in a happy mood and since it’s April, meaning rain and overcast weather because of Spring and her waters, I’ve decided to do this award post to brighten my blog. I was nominated for the Sunshine Blogger Award by Green Onion, whose blog I love. Take a look at his crazy tea party post, which I’m sure got way outta hand very quickly.
To accept this award, I must:
- Thank the person(s) who nominated you in a blog post and link back to their blog.
- Answer the 11 questions sent by the person who nominated you
- Nominate 11 new blogs to receive the award and write them 11 new questions
- List the rules and display the Sunshine Blogger Award logo on your post and/or on your blog.
Can you describe your ideal man-cave/woman-cave/library, and what kind of things we would find in there?
Hmm… let’s go with my ideal apartment, which I do not have. It would be situated in a city that’s easy to traverse on foot and by public transport (though public transport will sometimes be very crappy because of numerous delayed trains and other BS) and that has lots of museums that I can visit for free. My apartment will be a cozy place swathed in the colors of the sea. It will have books and art everywhere and will have a subtle scent of jasmine in the air. I doubt there will be a TV or many chairs, but there will be a laptop and cushions galore. And no matter the time of day, my apartment will be the best spot to watch the sun set or rise.
This isn’t the cover of the book. It’s the cover of the ARC I received, which is way more awesome than the book’s cover.
I was surprised that I enjoyed this one.
A dazzling debut novel—at once a charming romance and a moving coming-of-age story—about what happens when a fourteen-year old boy pretends to seduce a girl to steal a copy of Playboy but then discovers she is his computer-loving soulmate.
Billy Marvin’s first love was a computer. Then he met Mary Zelinsky.
Do you remember your first love?
The Impossible Fortress begins with a magazine…The year is 1987 and Playboy has just published scandalous photographs of Vanna White, from the popular TV game show Wheel of Fortune. For three teenage boys—Billy, Alf, and Clark—who are desperately uneducated in the ways of women, the magazine is somewhat of a Holy Grail: priceless beyond measure and impossible to attain. So, they hatch a plan to steal it. (Goodreads)
The movie for Gillian Flynn’s novel Gone Girl was released in 2014. Everyone was reading it and/or talking about it back then, and my cousin, who had read the book, told me it was great. But I avoided it. Too much hype. Plus, I wasn’t interested in mystery novels. I have no patience for them.
Now it’s 2017. After watching the last half of the Gone Girl movie, I was so intrigued that I immediately downloaded the e-book from my library and was hooked on the story from its first sentence.
Though I knew how the story would end, I was still engrossed in it and curious to see how the events would unfold.
On a warm summer morning in North Carthage, Missouri, it is Nick and Amy Dunne’s fifth wedding anniversary. Presents are being wrapped and reservations are being made when Nick’s clever and beautiful wife disappears.