Review: Moonlight Murder by Uzma Jalaluddin
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Review: Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke
A flawless Christian woman. The manic pixie American dream girl of this nation’s deepest, darkest fantasies. The mother every woman wanted to be, and the wife every man wanted to come home to. Like a nun in a porno, it didn’t make sense, but also, by God: it worked. My name is Natalie Heller Mills, and I was perfect at being alive.
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Review: Leave and Come Back by Lavanya Lakshmi
Kavitha’s words come back to her: She and her aunt are so similar, both unable to move past their own sorrow. Grief is a type of myopia, a way of seeing the world in negatives, the empty spaces sharp and clear, the full ones blurry and overlooked. Simran couldn’t see how much she hurt the people around her because it felt like her wound was the biggest. It was so large, it swallowed her whole. And the same thing had happened with Veena perima.
page 274
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Review: Detective Aunty by Uzma Jalaluddin
The perfect cup of chai takes at least twenty minutes to brew, which was why Kausar usually stuck to the quick method of a tea bag and boiled water.
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Review: Here Where We Live Is Our Country by Molly Crabapple
The accusation of failure isn’t one we should level against the Bund, or any other Jewish group of that place and time. It’s for the Western world of which they were such a precarious part. It was the West, after all, that hypocritically paid lip service to freedom and humanity while hewing to the crude doctrines of might. The true failures were the democracies who played nice with Hitler in the early years, then shut their doors to Jewish refugees who fled from the hell they helped enable. The failures were the British and American diplomats who hobnobbed in Bermuda while the ghetto burned.
page 381, Postscript