​A Captain’s Duty by Richard Phillips is an account of his harrowing story off the shore of Somalia where his cargo ship was captured by pirates, and he was taken hostage in a lifeboat in 2009. The book goes through Captain Phillips’ actions to prepare for an attack, what he did to keep his crew safe, and how he survived. The tension between the pirates and Captain Phillips is palpable as he accounts the mock executions, the humiliation, and his crews’ actions. It was interesting to read his account because I remembered the event in the news. Though, the book revealed specific actions he’d done to keep his crew safe on the Maersk Alabama by running drills, building repertoire with the pirates, and alerting his crew over the radio. There were so many things that he’d done right, but it was interesting for him to recount and focus on the mistakes he made. And while the book’s style/content wasn’t particularly one I usually read, I still found it held up. Overall, I enjoyed the depth with which it went into Captain Phillip’s mindset and his perseverance.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​The Kenyon Review Winter 2023 features short stories, essays, poetry, and visual art, with a folio focusing on bridges and how people/connections/moments can be bridges for other things. This issue has a few fascinating stories, one of which is called ‘Block Party’, by Danny Lang-Perez, which features a magical man who can cook/make anything from his mobile kitchen and his son, Charles, who people adore. When Charles doesn’t appear one night because his mother asked him not to help, the neighborhood goes crazy, throwing things at the man and running him out of their cul-de-sac. It’s an interesting way to look at how the entitled treat workers, and what happens when things don’t go their way. I also enjoyed the language in ‘Eight Poems’ by Abbas Kiarostami and ‘The Orphanage’ by Emeline Atwood. Though, everything else felt a little lackluster.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​BeHere/1942 by Masaki Fujihata is a book describing an exhibit put on by the Japanese artist Masaki Fujihata, which documents and explores the Japanese American Internment Camps. The book seems to be paired with an art exhibit featuring 3D renderings of famous photographs taken as Japanese Americans were forced to leave their homes. In one instance in the book, Fujihata zooms in on the eyes of famous photographs to show how the observer (the photographer) is reflected in the eyes of the observed (the Japanese American). The book is broken up into three parts, first describing Fujihata’s project and process, second discussing the history of the internment camps, and third focusing on Fujihata himself. The book, and Fujihata’s vision, is to think about how the observer/photographer/government wanted to represent and positively spin the incarcerations. There were some striking, and deeply emotional photographs and it was interesting to learn about the exhibit even though I wasn’t able to see it.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​The Best American Poetry 2022 is a selection of poetry guest edited by Matthew Zapruder with poems from Ada Límon, Ocean Vuong, Louise Glück, and Diane Seuss, among others. Most, if not all the poems, featured meditations on the affect of the pandemic, the loneliness/isolation it brought, and how daily life was interpreted. There were poems, such as ‘Goblin’ by Matthew Dickman, which showed how thin the line between care and abuse is and what that power meant to the speaker. And in this way, Dickman, upon saying, “There are so many ways/to eat the young.” recognizes and fears how his actions can change his child’s view of him. Or take Robin Myers’s poem, ‘Diego de Montemayor’, which finds Myers at a weird crossroads, knowing their ancestor oversaw a massacre, and still recognizing that ancestor as a part of their family. And, of course, how can I not forget Ocean Vuong’s, ‘Reason for Staying’, with the immaculate line, “Because my uncle never killed himself—but simply died, on purpose.” There were certainly high points, but after reading the bios, the writers did seem homogonous in their backgrounds, from which I would’ve liked to see more diversity.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​On Writing by Stephen King is a book that’s part memoir and part a discussion on the craft of fiction. King goes about describing how he came to be a writer, what he thinks exists in good writing, and how became a better writer. I enjoyed his matter-of-fact tone and the way he approaches his craft. I specifically connected with the idea that the story is a fossil the writer excavates. And while I didn’t read this book before I wrote my piece in CRAFT, my author’s note rings eerily like his, “Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered pre-existing world.” I like this idea, and it’s reaffirming to know he treats his stories the same. I also enjoyed the glimpses into his life where I saw parallels to my own writing journey.
 
Though, as with any writing advice, I’d be hesitant to take everything he says as the ultimate truth. I agree story is the most important part of fiction and character’s actions/situations drive the narrative. I also agree one most read a lot and write a lot to become better. However, I’m a little more hesitant to take his advice on writing a thousand words every day or the specifics of his craft. To me, it seems much of his advice is prescriptive, and without it, one isn’t being a proper writer. His authoritative voice is convincing but doesn’t apply to everyone. I’m also not sure of his idea that competent writers can only become good writers, or you can’t become a great writer if you’re a good writer. To someone just starting the craft, this seems demoralizing and assumes people can’t fundamentally change. Overall, I’ll be taking a few nuggets of wisdom from King, but I’ll be leaving everything else.
 
Overall Rating: 3.5/5

​The Kenyon Review July/Aug 2022 is a collection of poetry, non-fiction, and short stories, with a folio focusing on mothers reflecting on the climate crisis. There is anger and grief in the issue, which bleeds through its non-fiction, particularly in ‘To Live Again’ by Aliyeh Ateaei translated by Salar Abdoh. The story is about a mother trying to teach her son about her home in Afghanistan and why they had to flee to Iran. I absolutely loved the way the language held so much weight and how she treats her son with tenderness. And one of its final lines aches with meaning as her son says, ‘”Next time I’ll try to be born as oil”’. I was also a fan of the short story ‘Still Life with Lobster’ by Timothy Reynolds with its sharp use of imagery. Overall, I enjoyed the pressing discussions of climate change, but couldn’t quite connect with the poetry.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​Musui’s Story by Katsu Kokichi is an autobiography of a samurai during the 1800’s, which follows a man in his adventures, poverty, and old age. It’s an interesting piece of Japanese history, which focuses on the lesser-known aspects of a samurai’s life. For Katsu Kokichi, his account of his life seems to be boastful, and at times exaggerated when he talks about his fights with other warriors, or how he escaped from his incurred debts. Though, what is interesting is that he is consumed with discussing his money problems while trying to explain his misdeeds. It was interesting to see how relationships, ceremonies, and the societal structure all affected each other at that time. It's an account of a seemingly lower rung samurai, and because of this, its language is sometimes brash, but straightforward.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​The Paris Review Issue 240 is a collection of poetry, prose, and interviews with many of the short stories focusing on queer life. I particularly enjoyed the story ‘Descent’ by Harriet Clark which is about a boy whose mother is in a prison on a mountain for being a getaway driver. I liked the way the son’s relationship between his mother and grandmother begins to fray. I also enjoyed the story ‘Ira & The Whale’ by Rachel B. Glaser, which is about a gay man who is slowly dying in the stomach of a whale. It uses the initial premise of the Noah and The Whale narrative but spins it in a modern and enjoyable way. And finally, I found the heartbreaking nonfiction piece ‘About Ed’ by Robert Glück to have immense depth. Though, the rest of the issue didn’t feel as strong as those three narratives.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote is a novel about a boy who’s been sent to his father’s house in the South. The boy is seen as more feminine by those around him, and his personality is contrasted well with another character, Idabel, a tomboy. Though, when the boy, Joel, arrives to his father’s house, he is met with his stepmother and his uncle, Randolph. Throughout his time in the house, he learns that his father is immobile and can’t communicate, that he has deep feelings for Idabel, and Randolph shot his father.
 
Capote created vivid descriptions and moments of vulnerability, though its language, at times, felt antiquated. I especially enjoyed Randolph’s confession and description of how Joel’s father got hurt, and his attraction to Pepe Alvarez. For the time, I’m sure it was groundbreaking to have a gay character that wasn’t seen as completely immoral. Though, it felt like the language when talking about the Black characters fell into racial stereotypes that we have grown out of.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5

​Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima is a novel about a boy questioning his sexuality and coming to terms with being different. Set in Japan before and during WWII, the novel exists within the anxiety of a mind before tragedy. The narrator highlights different moments of his life where he realizes he is different through his encounters with Omi, Sonoko, and a prostitute. Throughout, the narrator hints and describes his desires for men, the way he fantasizes them being tortured, but can’t come fully to terms with his sexuality.
 
I think what holds this narrative back is the way it resides too long with Sonoko. The actions and motivations of the narrator around Sonoko are sometimes murky. And while, I understand Mishima wrote the book at a time in Japan where being gay was taboo, it felt like the book skirted way too far away from the subject. It tiptoes around how the narrator feels for Omi and Sonoko, and because of that, there isn’t a decisiveness to what the novel wants to be. Is it about Sonoko and the built friendship, or is it about the narrator’s sexuality? Overall, however, it gave a snapshot of Japan’s sentiments on being gay. It had some well-crafted metaphor, and the moments with Omi always felt special.
 
Final Rating: 3.5/5