Light and Thread- Reflections from Han Kang

 Light and Thread by Han Kang

Light and Thread book cover

Author and Nobel Laureate Han Kang

Many thanks to Random House and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Nobel Prize winning Han Kang’s latest book, Light and Thread. I was so excited to find this title, and even more excited to learn that this was Kang’s first book of reflections, a kind of nonfiction journal and brief exploration of some of her writing. I don’t know if there are other nonfiction publications in Korean from Kang, but this was the first time I’ve seen her nonfiction in English. After reading and being haunted by books like The Vegetarian, Greek Lessons, and last year’s incredible We Do Not Part, I was excited to see what this book has to offer.

Although the book is slim, there’s much in it, and Kang provides some insight into her writing, especially around the questions she attempts to explore with each novel. I loved reading about these influences and especially how her novels revolve around these questions of the relationship of the past to the present and the living to the dead. It’s something that emerges in her writing, and especially in the relationships between characters that are at the center of her books. In addition, there’s a section where she discusses some of the writing of We Do Not Part, which I did not realize took her 7 years to write. We Do Not Part is not only a powerful story about friendship, connection, and the restorative power of art, but it’s also an incredibly affecting and viscerally moving work of art that readers can feel. There is something tangible about the book, and in Light and Thread, we learn that Kang experimented with walking around her home in Jeju Island in the darkness before dawn to learn exactly how dark it was or how shadows from candles displayed on walls. More surprising was the fact that Kang went out into the snowy Jeju forests to see how long she could hold snow in her hands before succumbing to the numbness of the cold. It makes sense that Kang would delve into these sensory experiences to create such a vivid and tactile experience for readers.

There’s also some lovely poetry throughout the book that feels threaded to We Do Not Part, in which Kang discusses the kinds of connections she experienced. She notes that some of her earliest writing from elementary school featured poems that dealt with these kinds of threads and connections which she sought to bind writers to readers, and possibly members of society. I’m amazed at the kinds of questions she raises through her examination of some of the most brutal events in history- although she seems struck by the violence and brutality, she still wonders how the same humanity that can punish and brutalize others is capable of such love and forgiveness, or care. It’s something that is hard to reckon, especially when we tend to not see these threads that bind us, but often look for the separation and tears.

The last section of the book is titled “Garden Diary,” and it details Kang’s first how she owned on her own, and how she worked with a landscaper to plant some trees and greens and deliver light to them, despite the north-facing garden. The landscaper tells her to bring mirrors to her yard in order to catch the sunlight and deliver it to the garden, and Kang writes this lovely poem

“We’re catching the sunlight shining south. By reflecting it with mirrors.

…

Thus, in my garden there is light.

There are trees that grow, nourished by that light.

Leaves sparkle, translucent, and flowers slowly open.”

The rest of the garden diary details a year and a half of the growth and life she documents as she continues to bring light and life to her plants. She observes the bugs, including wonderous fairy bugs, whose luminescence makes them seem ethereal, and the aphids she worries about eating the leaves of her plants. These are mostly short observations throughout the year, but it’s marvelous to read the subtle differences in the changing of seasons, and the position of the sun gradually evades the garden, rendering the plants lifeless until the next spring. In one November entry, she mentions that “In winter, a south-facing house becomes a jar of light,” which was a phrase I just loved. Throughout the year, we see how the plants and growth connect Kang to her home, which she says “feels like a friend” when she “heard myself say, ‘Be right back.” It’s not just the home, but the life and growth that connects her to the space, and also demonstrates that kind of care and concern that counters the brutality and violence of humanity and history. Towards the end of these entries, Kang notes that “I had been wanting to fill the north wall full of green, and now time is doing the job for me.” Even though these entries are mostly a sentence or two, it’s a lovely document of how time unfolds in these older, seasonal ways, similar to Jenny Odell’s wonderous book Saving Time, that looks at different measures of time, and Donald Quill’s Living the Irish Wheel of the Year, which also takes a more seasonal approach to the passing of time, reminding us of the renewal and return that occurs in life. The last few entries from Kang detail how her viburnum “has grown taller than I am,” and how “When I step through the front gate, the scent of lilac is everywhere.” Kang’s entries not only made me long for spring as we made it through a rough winter, but it also affirmed how important it is to be surrounded by life, and especially how good it can be to take care of other living things, even if they are plants. I loved this brief book, and as I look back on rereading certain sections, my appreciation and joy for it grows more and more like Kang’s viburnum or lilacs. This is definitely a book to revisit and reread, but also one to share with others. Highly recommended! 

Powerful, Poetic Memoir of Growing Up in Jamaica: How to Say Babylon by Safiya Sinclair

How to Say Babylon: A Memoir by Safiya Sinclair 

How to Say Babylon book cover

Author Safiya Sinclair

I read Sinclair’s How to Say Babylon almost right after visiting Montego Bay in Jamaica, and reading this powerful memoir afterwards helped me understand a part of Jamaican culture that is sometimes misunderstood—the life of a Rastafarian. While Rastafarianism is often presented as a patriarchal religion, Sinclair’s memoir presents her perspective as a young woman growing up under her father’s ever-changing rules for his family. Although difficult to read at times, Sinclair’s story is powerful and poignant, not only from her experiences growing up Rasta and the kind of discrimination she faced in school but also as a daughter at home, but her story also explores the search for and development of her own voice as a poet. I found this section, especially when she works with a mentor and the almost equally oppressive approach he had on her attempts to find an authentic voice, compelling. Sinclair’s evocative descriptions of the natural beauty of Jamaica are contrasted with the emotional reflections of the oppression and discrimination she faced as a young, Rasta woman in Jamaica. It was surprising to see how tightly controlled her father kept her family, and how he viewed women. Sinclair’s narration of some events from her childhood capture the kind of innocence and naivety that is a part of childhood. Simple pleasures like playing on a beach reserved primarily for tourists also help to show the racial and class discrimination present in Jamaica, which is further exacerbated by access to necessities like school and education. These moments in school, where Sinclair has to navigate new friends and social groups, are also compelling to read and help to highlight the kinds of challenges that Sinclair would face due to her hair and the assumptions that others, including teachers and peers, would make about her. I really enjoyed this memoir and was really inspired by the strength that Sinclair drew from her family, particularly her sisters and mother. Despite the flaws of her father, he is also presented in a humane manner, where I can appreciate his desire to be an artist and yet his concern about the wickedness of Babylon. Yet, I was also disturbed by his distrust of his daughters and the increasing control over them that he exercised. Nevertheless, Sinclair’s mother is the one to whom she turns to when she experiences hardship and trouble, and who encourages her pursuit of writing. Full of both joy and sadness, Sinclair’s How to Say Babylon is a beautifully written and poetic memoir about growing up, trying to navigate different worlds, and eventually finding one’s own voice through these struggles.

Personal Poems that Transform the Everyday to Extraordinary: Jane Wong's How to Not Be Afraid of Everything

 How to Not Be Afraid of Everything 

by Jane Wong

How to Not Be Afraid of Everything book cover

Poet Jane Wong

I was so excited to find Jane Wong’s collection of poems How to Not Be Afraid of Everything in my local library. A few years ago, I read Wong’s excellent memoir Meet Me Tonightin Atlantic City. Her memoir details her early years growing up as a daughter of Chinese immigrants who owned a restaurant in Atlantic City, and continues focusing on her education and scholarship, which have all influenced her art and writing. I was also excited to read this collection since I don’t get to read poetry as much as I used to. I’ve read a few collections over the past few years, but sadly, I don’t encounter poetry as much as I once did as an English major. I was intermittently feasting on Wong’s words over the course of a few weeks and was satisfied by this collection. I noticed many recurring themes in these poems and in Wong’s memoir. I think that my favorite element of Wong’s poems in this collection is her ability to recognize the beauty in ordinary items and daily activities. Maybe it was growing up in a restaurant and playing around the food, the appliances, and the leftovers, but some of the poems detail life in the restaurant kitchen and outback, finding joy and adventure in what many adults would overlook. It’s this ability to take a childlike eye and transform the everyday that makes these poems transcendent and enjoyable. It’s also a reminder for me that poetry has the ability to closely examine an object or event and transform it to something exquisite or extraordinary. I really enjoyed this aspect of her writing. Other poems reflect and honor her family, especially her relatives from China, focusing on both the foods that nourished them as well as the tragedies and hardships that eventually brought them to America. At the center of Wong’s collection is the longer poem “When You Died,” which examines both the Great Leap Forward, when China tried to revolutionize agriculture, which resulted in over 35 million dead, and Wong’s own relatives that she never met. Like the art installation she created, her poem seeks to nourish her family’s hungry ghosts, and she uses food imagery throughout to both honor and forge her own connection with her ancestors. It’s a striking, powerful poem that I will need to revisit to further understand. Another theme is the autobiographical nature of her poems where Wong explores both her vulnerability and her desire to “Put on My Fur Coat”, which was one of my favorite poems. It was kind of like the opposite of the poems that deal with the sadness and loss; or at least, it was more like a more determined response to the setbacks and sadness that life sometimes offers. I could see this poem being almost anthemic, like Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise”, offering readers reassurance and support in facing life’s challenges. Other poems around this one, like "The Cactus” and “What I Tell Myself After Waking Up With Fists” also deal with sadness, regret, fear, loneliness, and were poems that I could also relate to. In addition, Wong’s parents feature in both her memoir and her poetry, and the poems that deal with her father’s gambling and transient ways, and her mother’s persistence and determination to make a new life. After reading her memoir, I appreciated these poems as well, and they deal with the complicated emotions of having a parent with addictions. Although I need to return Wong’s collection of poems soon, I’m excited to find more of her work, both in print and online. 

Reflections on Blue: Imani Perry's Black in Blues: How a Color Tells the Story of My People

 Black in Blues: How Color Tells the Story of My People by Imani Perry

Black in Blues book cover

Author Imani Perry at The Anthology of Rap CC BY NC-2.0 by 92YTribeca

Thelonious Monk, at the piano. He is briefly featured in one chapter

“Wonder is a near universal response to deep rivers and vast oceans. But for some, the water also evokes terror. In it, I see God and slave ships both.”

A big thank you to Ecco Publishers, Harper Collins, and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Imani Perry’s new book Black in Blues: How a Color Tells the Story of My People. Perry’s book explores the color and significance of blue from multiple perspectives, examining its tranquility, as well as its violence, its beauty as well as its decadence. Although to say that this book simply examines different shades of blue is a severe underrepresentation, the book considers how blue is interwoven into the lives of Africans and African Americans throughout different cultures and historical eras. To do this, Perry examines different shades of blue in many different contexts and themes. Several books I’ve recently read have been touching on some of these same recurring themes, and Perry’s book was one of the more inventive that aligned with these. For one, Toni Morrison features prominently in these books, and I really loved how Perry framed part of her inquiry into the color blue by discussing Baby Suggs from Beloved. She refers to Baby Suggs’s desire to take some time and think about colors, noting how Blue “never hurt no body,” yet Perry notes “but it surely did. The word even denotes ‘hurt.’ ‘Blue’ has been a word for melancholy in English for centuries.” Perry’s book looks at all of the different ways that blue has played a role in African American life, examining different areas including art, clothing, jewelry, music, and literature. One of the other themes was books written by interdisciplinary artists—those whose work encompasses different areas, yet finds commonalities and intersections among different fields. Perry’s work was so interesting because the focus on blue would seem so limited, but she expands the topic by exploring history, literature, art, and culture. And while the focus is primarily on African American history, Perry traces preferences to blue and its various shades all over the diaspora, traveling to Liberia, the Kongo, Haiti, and other regions where people were enslaved.

Perry spends time discussing the different shades of blue, and I didn’t realize how indigo was made, nor how precious it was in earlier times. Finding the stories about how these shades were developed and used for clothing was fascinating, yet also sad to see how labor and processes were often exploited to generate wealth that was never shared. She also discusses the idea of Blue Black, and revisiting Curtis Mayfield’s famous proclamation of “We the People Who Are Darker Than Blue,” and its significance in culture and history. I think that my favorite parts of the book were those that dealt with literature and music. One chapter focuses on Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, one of my all-time favorite books, and how the use of Blue features in Hurston’s work. She also discusses the dancer Katherine Dunham, who studied traditional dancing in Haiti around the same time Hurston was there for ethnography for Tell My Horse. It was interesting to see the parallels and differences between these two artists, who were navigating different social and class circles due to the nature of their work and possibly their skin tones as well. Hurston appears in other chapters that focused on Hoodoo and root work, which are often related to the Blues. I was amazed at Perry’s ability to draw all of these topics and artists together under the rubric of blue. It was fascinating to see her analysis and understanding of how blue impacted lives and cultures in different ways. Another section focused on Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison, looking at their works and how blue features in them. For the chapter about Richard Wright, it focused on Mississippi Blues, and Perry brought up a great quote that I wasn’t really familiar with “The most astonishing aspect of the blues is that, though replete with a sense of defeat and down-heartedness, they are not intrinsically pessimistic: their burden of woe and melancholy is dialectically redeemed through the sheer force of sensuality….” It was interesting because I didn’t remember Wright as being kind of musical in his writing, but I can see this kind of resiliency in Black Boy. The following chapter focuses on Ellison’s Invisible Man, another book that I used to teach and was always a favorite. There are so many interesting characters, many of whom are musical, and Perry focuses on the character with the blueprints, who asks the narrator if he’s “got the dog”. I always thought this was such an interesting part, where the chiasmus elicits a kind of reflective questioning—about whether the dog has us, or if we have the dog. Perry then goes on to link this section focusing on the idea of blueprints to Thelonious Monk and his composition of the song “In Walked Bud.” It was so cool how Perry brought these ideas together—blueprints as a map of intention, and as Ellison notes, the need to always improvise and adapt to the situation, which is what Monk experienced in his composition, based on a Berlin tune, that he adapted to a situation with police brutality. You have to read these connections. Other chapters focused on both DuBois and Booker T Washington’s Tuskegee Institute. One of my favorite chapters was focused on George Washington Carver, who studied and did research at Tuskegee. I didn’t realize that he was a painter who used peanuts to create colors, especially blues. Again, just fascinating scholarship and analysis to bring all of these different aspects of African American history, culture, and art into the various shades of blue. I’m looking forward to re-reading different sections, and I think that this would be a great book to either supplement some of the main texts discussed in it (Morrison, Ellison, Wright), or to use as a springboard for further discussion on topics related to race, identity, culture, and art. This is a remarkable book, filled with accessible complexities and considerations, yet solely focused on blue. Truly an amazing book, and I can’t wait to read more of Imani Perry’s work. 

Excellent Collection of Essays by a Contemporary Poet and Social Excavator

They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us by Hanif Abdurraqib

Hanif Abduraqib by

Mwa410, CC BY-SA 4.0  via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve only read one other book by Hanif Abdurraqib, Go Ahead in the Rain, which explores his personal connection with A Tribe Called Quest. While Hanif is a few years younger than me and had different experiences growing up, I felt such a connection to him the way he connected with Tribe. I absolutely loved that book because he was able to translate the feelings that great music conveys to listeners. In addition, Hanif explores the historical context of the songs, albums and lives of Tribe’s members, mostly focusing on Q-Tip and Phife, while also including his own personal life events and how the music relates to his life, especially his adolescence, which was when I first encountered ATCQ as well. I was really glad that I finally read this collection of essays because Hanif uses similar methods to explore a broad range of musicians, musical styles, songs, and albums. However, he also analyzes social issues, literature, films, and basketball. While I don’t know a lot about emo music, Hanif describes going to shows that reminded me of going to see basement shows of friends’ bands in college. His ability to vividly describe the scene, as well as the journey there and what happens afterward, made his experiences familiar to my own. Although I felt that his essays on music were some of my favorites, his writings about his family and educational experiences were some of the most moving and powerful in this book. His ability to interweave his own personal experiences with the topics of his essays truly shows his deft skills as a writer. It also makes me want to just sit down and hang out with him. It’s been a while since I’ve read a book where I’ve felt such a connection with the writer. I’m looking forward to reading his latest. 

 Purchase Adburraqib's other books here