Book Review

Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie

By Julissa Mendoza Robles

Drums, Girls + Dangerous Pie by Jordan Sonnenblick centers around Steven, an eighth-grade drummer, whose younger brother has cancer. Inspired by a past student of his, Sonnenblick set out to write a cancer story that would accurately portray the lives of families with family members who have cancer, particularly the relationship between siblings in that situation. After reading the book, I would say he was successful in writing a story about cancer that not only let me glimpse into the lives these families may have, but also made me laugh despite the heavy subject matter, and further developed my knowledge on the importance of mental health.

Throughout the story, readers can see how Steven deals with middle school, drumming, mental health, and his brother’s cancer treatment, as well as how the people around him help him. The aspect of Steven I loved the most was his humor. He was very sarcastic and the majority of the humor of the book came from his light sarcasm. Despite the tough situation, he was able to bring some light to it for his family, especially for Jeffrey, who definitely needed something to laugh about as he was only five years old. Steven even used his sarcastic humor around his friends before he told them about his family’s new situation.

Besides Steven’s humor, I loved seeing his journey with mental health. While at first he kept his feelings about his brother’s cancer diagnosis bottled up, it was nice to see him eventually trust people with his feelings about the difficulties of being a sibling of a cancer patient. I personally felt that it was very realistic for Sonnenblick to not have Steven trust people right away, since I can also be reluctant to tell people when I’m having a hard time. I liked that everyone was willing to support Steven once they realized he was struggling.

His relationship with the school counselor was one of my favorites to see develop. At first he was hesitant to tell the counselor anything, but he soon trusted the counselor with anything that was troubling him. With that gain of trust he was able to receive the help he needed. His counselor definitely gave Steven wonderful advice on how to cope with a difficult situation that anyone could use. My favorite advice that his counselor gave him was that while he can’t control everything, such as the fact that his brother has cancer, he should focus on what he can control. That piece of advice definitely helped Steven stress out less about what he couldn’t control and I feel that anyone could benefit from focusing on what they can control, to stress out less.

Of course, the main relationship that the story focused on was that of Steven and Jeffrey. While they did have an eight-year age difference (something that bothered Steven in the beginning of the story), they still managed to have a strong, loving relationship. When people were being sad or concerned around Jeffrey, Steven would make sure to keep Jeffrey’s spirits up so other people’s negative energy wouldn’t bring the five-year-old down. Not only that but Steven made sure Jeffrey didn’t feel like an outcast because of his condition. The work Steven put into making sure Jeffrey was happy and could have a happy childhood was admirable.

Overall, I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to read a story with a heavy subject matter that isn’t as sad as other options. People will definitely learn something about the obstacles that families have, and how they persevere when a relative has cancer —while also having some good laughs.

Julissa is a student at Eleanor Roosevelt High School.

Mexican Gothic

By S.G. Smith

“You must come for me, Noemí. You must save me.”

Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s bestselling novel “Mexican Gothic” begins with Noemí Taboada receiving a frantic letter from her newlywed cousin Catalina, begging for Noemí to save her from an unknown horror. Noemí heads to High Place, a dark and eerie Gothic mansion in the Mexican countryside. Little does she know what she is about to uncover.

Noemí takes the stage as an unexpected heroine. She plays a noncommittal debutant who switches her college major almost as frequently as she drops suitors. Her chic gowns and glossy lipstick appear more fit for a life of glamorous parties than a seemingly haunted mansion. But it is clear from the start of the novel that Noemí is also an intelligent, nosey woman, talented in unearthing secrets. She will do anything to protect her cousin.

She finds High Place filled with mysteries and horrors, such as the elderly patriarch who ogles her and the old cemetery in the backyard. The hostess keeps an ever-watchful eye on her, and Catalina’s husband exudes a foreboding presence. Haunting portraits decorate the walls, mold grows in corners and servants maintain a sinisterly poised composition.

In a harkening back to Shirley Jackson’s classic Haunting of Hill House, the house itself seems to have its own persona. It invades Noemí’s dreams with visions of gore and violence, and it seems to observe her every move.

The descriptions of the house as a stately Victorian manner play on Catalina’s love for romance novels such as Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. Catalina has found her brooding Mr. Darcy and his Gothic mansion, but can she and Noemí survive the horrors it contains?

While the family members keep Catalina under strict surveillance, Noemí’s only friend is the youngest son in the family. He appears to want to assist Noemí in recovering her cousin, but he struggles to discern where his true loyalties lie.

Many mysteries lay buried in High Place. The family’s colossal fortune was built upon the backs of miners, none of whom survived; madness and violence mar the family’s history; and no one has ever escaped the house alive.

As Noemí tries to draw out the secrets of High Place, she finds herself slowly being held captive by its daunting power. She is both haunted by and drawn to the cryptic house.

With Mexican Gothic, Moreno-Garcia attacks the period romance genre and flips it on its head. The book’s feminist use of a heroine in a Victorian mansion is a dark parallel to the Elizabethan romances in which a wealthy estate-owning man saves the female protagonist.

In Mexican Gothic, Moreno-Garcia writes a breath-taking thriller that can be read in a single session. She builds a mystery that the reader uncovers along with Noemí, but upon looking back, the reader can see that the explanations make perfect sense. The ending is shockingly delicious to fans of the genre and will dwell with readers for days afterwards.

S.G. Smith is an undergraduate student studying English with a concentration in Creative Writing at The Ohio State University. Her work has been published in The Journal and Flash Fiction Magazine, and she is the second place recipient of the university’s Jacobson Short Story Award.

The World of —Throne of Glass—

By Cecilia Yang

Fantasy. An entirely different, impossible world. Fantasy authors create these worlds for us, the readers, to explore. The number of people who read paper books dwindles each year, yet the writers do not stop. Sarah J. Maas is one such author who paints a picture of another realm that ignites the imagination of her readers. Her best-selling novels, including the popular series Throne of Glass, are devoured by many young adult book readers.

The protagonist, initially named Celaena, is introduced merely as an infamous assassin. However, throughout the stories she evolves into something more, someone who can change the fate of her world. I followed her journey and growth through these books, as if I also lived and breathed in Celaena’s world due to the vivid imagery and breathtaking descriptions. Celaena’s world instantaneously came to life in front of me, a fantastical world full of assassins and magic. Celaena’s dangerous yet exhilarating life and the intrigue of the courts and palaces plunged me into this world, and it was almost as if I was a part of it.

In her book, Maas breathes life into her characters—a snarky witch, a stoic warrior, a stunning shifter. These rich characters are so well developed that despite not being real, they steal the tears and break the hearts of unguarded readers such as myself. For instance, I was devastated by the fate of a few of my favorite characters, twelve brave, fierce witches who sacrificed themselves to protect their leader.

Celaena herself, of course, is fascinating. Imagine a slim girl with untamed blonde hair and glinting turquoise eyes. She holds a careless attitude to the world, her every word laced with sarcasm and spite. However, she is powerful, and even though she has been held prisoner and tortured, she persists, never giving up. When she rises to power later in the story, she becomes even less selfish, willing to lay her life down for her friends.

Yet despite the many tragedies that occur, the series is not without its lighthearted moments. Celaena is a rulebreaker, and when discovered, entertaining scenes are bound to ensue. A particular favorite of mine in the first book is where it was the morning of a holiday, Yulemas. To her assigned servant’s surprise and consternation, our dear protagonist was already up at seven, snacking on chocolate and candy. I find that unfortunately relatable.

Once I picked up Throne of Glass, I could not put it down until I was done reading. Celaena’s world is iconic, filled with intriguing characters. If you have an interest in fantasy and a fondness for a riveting world and are looking for your next read, this is the series for you.

Cecilia Yang is a high school freshman from the Harker School in San Jose, California. She passes the time with her nose buried in a book. While she has been writing in nearly all the genres, fantasy is fondly her favorite. When she is not reading or writing, she can be found drawing or dancing to the city’s sounds. Her story, entitled “Memories Bottled Up,” has appeared in the Flare Journal.

Brave New World

By Tara Awate

A dystopia wherein all the citizens are forever happy and content, —can it even be called a dystopia? This is the theme that Huxley plays with throughout the novel Brave New World. Unlike other totalitarian novels, here, stability is achieved by deluding the citizens from reality and drugging them into happiness. Promiscuity is the norm, families no longer exist, and children are reared in large factories where they are conditioned by birth to love their drudgery and hate nature and books.

All citizens are satisfied, thanks to Soma– a hallucinatory euphoria inducing drug available on demand. It is only Bernard Marx, (a brilliantly done anti-hero) who feels ill at ease. And it is through this dissatisfaction that the plot is kickstarted. He has to struggle to not give in to this morally corrupt world and be true to himself.

Huxley paints a vivid portrait of his world, describing it with harrowing detail. It doesn’t sound so bad, when the governments agenda is only to keep the people happy and be mindless consumers, does it? It is only as Huxley walks us through what the people lose and are ignorant of, in order to attain that everlasting state of bliss, when we marvel at the sheer brilliance of the premise.

Far away in America the old way of life continues of which John (the main character) is a part. John, coming from very unique circumstances, is very derisive of the civilized life. He is often extreme in his actions and character, very much in stark contrast to the world, to the point of being unreasonable.

While reading this book, I came face to face with life’s greatest questions of which Huxley does an impeccable job of answering. As I read, my carapace of long held beliefs and accepted norms and values was slowly ripped away in short painful successions. By making bold statements about how a life should be lived (through each character’s point of view) Huxley mercilessly uproots the dormant thoughts of existentialism, musings on the meaning of suffering, traces of nihilism and the subsequent allure of hedonism that reeked in the attic of the mind and brings them to limelight.

Through the fleshed-out characters, all these ideologies struggle against each other and within me,— each character representing a different school of thought.

Though it seems blatant what Huxley himself stands for, he nevertheless presents meritorious arguments both for and against his ‘brave new world’ solely through his characters. At one point, it had me considering whether I would want to inhabit this world instead of immediately dismissing it as vile.

The society is not a blatant dystopia which is what makes it so compelling and haunts you days after reading it. There are no uprisings, no unrest, all people are happy.

The book had me hooked for the themes it explored more so than the story itself. But there is still enough suspense and conflict to keep you going.

Tara is a senior in high school residing in India. Her favorite form in writing is fiction but she’s currently exploring creative nonfiction and hopes to dive into poetry sometime in the future as well.

Review: One Hundred Years of Solitude

By Christine Baek

Gabriel García Márquez’s Cien Años de Soledad, or One Hundred Years of Solitude, reads more like a history than a novel. Chronicling seven generations of the Buendía family, the narrative acts as a wandering guide, often retracing its steps to breathe new life into past memories before moving forward. This writing style could almost be mistaken as discursive if not for the vibrant cast of characters– explorers, scientists, soldiers, artists– whose variegated trials and errors, loves and losses distract us from the rapid shifts through time, and revitalize the glories and pains of humanity.

In the very first chapter, we are carried from the present as Colonel Aureliano Buendía faces the firing squad, to the past where the colonel and his father José Arcadio first touch ice, and then even further back to the founding of Macondo, the Colombian village-home of the Buendías. These bursts of “time-travel” permeate nearly every page and can be as confusing as the repetitious Buendía family names: two Amarantas, four José Arcadios, and over twenty Aurelianos. But the mind-bending effects of these elements are purposeful, forwarding the themes of cyclical fate and the inseparability of past, present, and future. Whether by divine will or by virtue of human nature, each and every generation of the Buendías suffers from Solitude. Family members bearing the same name even share identical causes, which can take the forms of spurned love, violent death, or decrepitude. And with this infallible condition of Solitude comes slow decay, as the once invincible Buendía family descends into ignominy, unable to break free from the inheritance and conditionings of its predecessors.

While One Hundred Years of Solitude can be read solely as a compelling family drama, Márquez’s 448-page book serves as a political commentary on the Latin American elite and the cycles of violence and instability plaguing the continent. Intertwining with the Buendía narrative are military campaigns, political executions, and short-lived dictatorships. In doing so, Márquez retells his own experience as a Colombian living in the crossfire of the banana republics. His unflinching narrative of destruction and decay, therefore, is less of a pessimistic criticism and more of a solemn reflection on humankind. The paradise of Macondo, removed from society and technology, cannot last, Márquez seems to say, because human nature and history deem it so.

And yet One Hundred Years of Solitude reads as uplifting, celebrating the brevity of joy and peace in the midst of war and turmoil. This strange and seemingly irreconcilable dichotomy only cements the nuance of Márquez’s voice and of his belief in our capacity for redemption. As he states in his Nobel Prize Lecture, an echo of the story’s ending:

“It is not yet too late to engage in the creation of the opposite utopia. A new and sweeping utopia of life, where no one will be able to decide for others how they die, where love will prove true and happiness be possible, and where the races condemned to one hundred years of solitude will have, at last and forever, a second opportunity on earth.”

A high school student from the Atlanta suburbs, Christine Baek enjoys writing for The Muse and reading up on history, philosophy, and paleontology.

Grotesque- The Naked Picture of Feminism

By Phuong Mai Nguyen

Grotesque, a crime novel written by Japanese author Natsuo Kirino, uncovers the diary behind the death of a prepossessing prostitute, Yuriko. The novel begins with the autobiography of Yuriko’s sister, whose name is deliberately kept anonymous throughout the entire story. Her narrative gradually reveals the apathetic relationship between the sisters, as she admits: “(…) I also do not care about finding out the truth about her death.” Her hostility towards Yuriko stems from her inferiority complex about appearance when constantly being compared with her gorgeous sister during childhood.

Since her birth, Yuriko has appeared as God’s own creation, standing out among any crowd that has the privilege of surrounding her. Yet, that idiosyncratic beauty embraces an unusually distorted soul. Unlike any unconfident Disney princess, Yuriko is fully aware of her superior appearance. Precocious realization of her gifted advantage – beauty – has fashioned a child with the capability to arouse the “Lolita” blind lust in men. Yuriko’s “career” of riding the flagpole initiated when she was only 12 years old, at her complete will and satisfaction. As the story progresses, Yuriko is murdered after appeasing the sexual appetite flowing in her veins. Coincidentally, the man who killed her is also charged with the death of Kazue Sato – an ambitious classmate of both Yuriko sisters at Q. gifted high school. Now Yuriko is dead, her sister becomes the legal guardian for her son. The novel ends with Yuriko’s sister, a 40-year-old virgin, standing under a street lamp at midnight, craving for “the clutch from a man” for the first time in her life.

Behind the tragic fate of female characters and memorable description of humans’ salacious desire, Natsuo Kirino delivers an in-depth message on modern feminist movement.

The protagonists in Grotesque can somehow be seen to represent typical feminist ideals: Yuriko embodies the rise of third-wave feminism, advocating for women’s utmost liberty to pursue their beliefs, even if their values contradict past movements by objectifying women as men’s possession. On the other hand, Yuriko’s sister is a second-wave feminist who strongly believes in the significance of women’s independent status, which leads to her opposing stance against prostitution. She even goes so far as to refuse any intimacy at the position “beneath” men. Although their mutual high school friend, Kazue, does not directly express her personal viewpoints, the character is built around the ideal model of modern feminists: ambitious, well-educated, and hard-working.

Despite their differences, the main characters suffer almost similar endings: they are forced to submit to male dominance in various forms.

Yuriko takes advantage of her mesmerizing charm to seduce men for materialistic purpose, but when old age arrives and her beauty is fading, she becomes nothing more than a depreciated goods.

Kazue leads a double life. Her white-collar job and social status establishes her as a role model for modern women, but her true-self only comes out when Kazue wears a nubile skirts and stands in a wintry street at night. She views satisfying men’s sexual desire as a means to assert her femininity and attractiveness based on social standards. Even her brilliant academic achievements cannot dispel the inferior perception of self-worth, which has penetrated in her mind since high school. From Kazue’s eyes, the value of a woman is determined by her appeal to men. As a matter of fact, excellent student awards can never attract as many boys as a two-second wink from Yuriko.

Yuriko’s older sister, who spend her entire life living under her sister’s shadow, tries to conceal her insecurities by separating herself from men (or even the whole world) and labelling that lifestyle as rational. She looks at life through the most negative lens, she only sees the ugly parts in humans. She avoids nearly every social interaction, not even bothers to tell her name and vice versa, no one recalls her name. But in the front of her unimaginably beautiful nephew, she is willing to work as a prostitute – a job she used to detest – in order to “save money for the future.” After struggling to establish the independent role of women, the anonymous lady gives up her belief, ironically because of a young man, and allows the objectification of women to continue.

The endings of three characters partially depict the dark side of feminist movement, which can hardly be acknowledged in today’s media. The submission of female characters to invisible suppressors implicitly confirms the immaturity and lack of cooperation among feminist movements. Three women suffer under the same regime but instead of uniting for a common cause, they choose to let personal enmity and jealousy prevail. Why does pop culture associate genuinely intimate comradeship with “brotherhood” but fake smiles and back stabs with “sisterhood”? Can frail internal structures, and isolated branches divided by ideology gather enough power to change social prejudices?

Behind the exploration of dark aspects within women, Grotesque left us pondering over the misogyny that takes a deep root, even in modern society…

Phuong Mai Nguyen is a student, movie critic, cartoon artist and part-time drummer from Hanoi, Vietnam