Allen's Updates

Allen is 68% done with Under the Eye of the Big

Sat, 26 Apr 2025 00:49:23 -0700

Allen is 68% done with Under the Eye of the Big Bird.

Allen is currently reading 'Under the Eye of the Big Bird'

Tue, 22 Apr 2025 22:43:14 -0700

Allen is currently reading Under the Eye of the Big Bird by Hiromi Kawakami

Allen added 'Madonna in a Fur Coat'

Tue, 22 Apr 2025 04:22:12 -0700

Allen gave 4 stars to Madonna in a Fur Coat (Paperback) by Sabahattin Ali
screaming crying throwing up

(i *might* edit this review, later)

Allen added 'The Emperor of Gladness'

Sun, 20 Apr 2025 05:38:55 -0700

Allen gave 5 stars to The Emperor of Gladness (Hardcover) by Ocean Vuong
In his new novel, Ocean Vuong tells the story of a 19-year-old boy named Hai, who has a whole life ahead of him, yet has decided he no longer wants to partake in it. And of 82-year-old Grazina, an elderly woman who suffers from the trauma of war and is slowly succumbing to dementia.

Hai and Grazina, their shared condition is that of being deemed invisible by society—one is seen as unequipped (for being too young), and the other obsolete (for being too old). This leads to mutual estrangement and vast loneliness.

But rather than resign themselves to that marginality, they reach for each other—and in doing so, create a type of kinship that is deeply human and so, so tender.

He had no history because one was not required of him, and having no history also meant having no sadness.

The book opens with a luscious description of East Gladness, Connecticut—a small town that Ocean crafts with such poetic imagery it begins to feel like a character itself: melancholic, full of history, and pulsing with life.

The sky a benevolent grey as the afternoon drained to evening and the cold turned his breath to fog. Under his boots the tracks hummed from steady gales slamming the steel straps. Yes, it is beautiful here, which is why the ghosts never leave.

As I was reading, I noticed this book is evidently different from his first novel, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous��not only in its third-person narration but also in its ambitious thematic scope.

The book progresses by diving into the human psyche—not as isolated struggles, but as conditions shaped by structural forces such as economic precarity, generational trauma, and the grind of labor and consumption against the backdrop of capitalist America. Hai, Grazina, and Sony aren’t merely struggling; they are weathering systems designed to erase, exploit, and push them out of the frame of society.

Which is to say... this isn’t just a book about pain. It is also an indictment of the systems that create it.

Once you realize they've lied to you, you lose faith in their fucked-up systems. Searching for another purpose, you start to root for outsiders. Underdogs. But then you realize the underdogs are nowhere to be found, the media has hidden them from you, the prisons and madhouses have locked them up, so you think you're the only one out there losing your mind when in fact there are many like you, trapped in this supposedly free world of work and sleep and endless fucking cakes.

Listen here, this country, was purposefully built on war. The reptilians shape-shift into politicians and celebrities, then use these puppets to start wars so they never run out of bad energy to consume. Don't you get it? War is fertilizer for their crops.

Among the many aspects of this book worthy of praise, the one I was most drawn to is how Ocean dignifies the working class—especially food service workers, who nourish both body and economy, yet are so often overlooked.

Here, he posed the question: if a life doesn’t ascend in the traditional ways—no degree, job, or raise—does that make it a life any less worthy of literature?

The Emperor of Gladness is a love letter to those who stay grounded, who keep showing up despite the stagnation, and still find meaning not in grand change—but in simply being.

To be alive and and try to be a decent person, and not turn it into anything big or grand, that's the hardest thing of all.

4.5 (rounded up).

An advance reader’s copy of this book was sent to me by the publisher; this in no way affects my opinion of the work.

Find me elsewhere:
| | | | |

Allen added 'Middlesex'

Sat, 05 Apr 2025 03:27:06 -0700

Allen gave 3 stars to Middlesex (Paperback) by Jeffrey Eugenides
Middlesex is a historical, multi-generational story about the Stephanides family, from a small town in Greece, eventually immigrating to America amidst war, revolution, and a constantly changing world.

At the center of it all is Cal Stephanides, the narrator—an intersex person looking back on the intricate web of history, genetics, and upbringing that shaped his identity. It’s part family epic, part personal journey. Spanning continents and decades, always circling back to the question: how do we become who we are?

The premise had me hooked, and the shiny accolade on the cover made it even harder to resist. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 2003, I thought the book was enticing, so I dove into it.

Middlesex leaned more toward being a family saga. It spent a lot more time unpacking the family’s history than it did focusing on Cal’s sexual identity (which was given more of the spotlight in the latter part of the book). But maybe that’s just as important—because through it, we see the roots of Cal’s genetics and psychology, and how those layers shape his sexual identity.

Reading this in 2025 (nearly 23 years after its first publication) was an interesting experience for me. Because I get to compare how much more the society know about gender and sexuality now with how much people in the past struggled to understand it—intersexuality in particular.

I remember encountering a landmark case in law school here in the Philippines that pertains to intersexuality: the Cagandahan case (G.R. 166676, decided in 2008). In this case, Jennifer Cagandahan, born in the 1980s and registered as female on his birth certificate, developed male characteristics due to a condition called Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia. He petitioned the court to change his name from Jennifer to Jeff, and his sex from female to male. This made him the first Filipino legally permitted to change both name and gender markers. The Court recognized the rights of intersex individuals to have their legal documents reflect their lived gender identity, acknowledging that the gender assigned at birth may be inconclusive and subject to change upon maturity.

I thought that the case of Cagandahan and Middlesex are connected through their shared exploration of intersexuality. And it’s beautiful to see both the legal and social recognition of gender identity—and that understanding one’s existence in a world that has long struggled to embrace gender diversity, is in a way revolutionary.

Going back to the book, I was hooked during the first hundred pages of it. I thought the first chapter was one of the most memorable intros I’ve read. And again, in the final sections, the thrill and action were just compelling. But the middle chunk? I really struggled. And for a 500+ page book, that slump felt like a lot. At some point, it started to feel more like a task than a story I was enjoying.

In terms of writing, at times I found it lyrical, even beautiful. However, I also felt a bit disconnected. Some parts read more like history or genetics lessons than a novel. It was a complicated experience, but I’d still be willing to read the author’s other works.

I can tell that Eugenides put a lot of time into researching on the subject matter—it really shows on the page. I get the appeal of the book. And there's so much to unpack about it. But considering its length and pacing, I’m not sure if it’s a book I’d easily recommend.

Find me elsewhere:
| | | | | |

Allen wants to read 'The Heart's Invisible Furies'

Sun, 30 Mar 2025 12:48:23 -0700

Allen wants to read The Heart's Invisible Furies by John Boyne

Allen added 'The Book of Disappearance'

Wed, 26 Mar 2025 06:09:37 -0700

Allen gave 5 stars to The Book of Disappearance (Paperback) by Ibtisam Azem
What would happen if all Palestinians were gone?

I feel that Palestinian stories carry a certain magnitude—pressing itself onto the world, asking to be read and understood. The Book of Disappearance is one of the many stories that do just that.

The novel imagines a Palestine where, one day, all Palestinians simply vanish.

It follows Alaa, a young Palestinian who writes letters to his grandmother—one of the many Arabs displaced during the Nakba—while carrying the weight of her memories of displacement from Jaffa.

And then there’s Ariel, his friend and neighbor—a journalist and liberal Zionist—who wakes up to find that all Palestinians, including Alaa, are gone.

“I was never that close to death. Maybe when we are born in such a place, on a cradle of disasters, we always search for riveting stories about surviving life and death. Because “normal�� stories don’t resemble us. We no longer see ourselves in our stories—the ones in which we tend to our boredom. So we search for ourselves elsewhere, so we may resemble our images in news stories and novels. Why did I just switch to writing in the plural? Everything around me is fragmented."

Though the story is a work of fiction (first published in 2014), it feels prognostic in light of present-day realities, in terms of the world’s response—or lack thereof. The book’s premise mirrors the annexation that Palestinians continue to endure.

“I used to wonder: Should I tread lightly? Was I walking over the corpses of those who had passed through, and who were decimated in the nakba? Was I walking over a land made of decomposed bodies? When I walk in Palestine I feel that am walking on corpses. The images of multitudes of people escaping in terror are always on my mind. All my grandparents had died, except for you. Do we inhale the decomposed corpses? What are we going to do with all this sorrow? How can we start anew? What will we do with Palestine? I, too, am tired.��

In many ways, the novel does not just speculate on an imagined scenario. It compels us, the readers, to confront the unsettling parallels between fiction and reality. Perhaps asks us, too, how to prevent it.

Set in Jaffa and Tel Aviv, the novel raises an unsettling question: How would the world, especially Israelis, react if all Palestinians disappeared?

“Your Jaffa resembles mine. But it is not the same. Two cities impersonating each other. You carved your names in my city, so I feel like I am a returnee from history. Always tired, roaming my own life like a ghost. Yes, I am a ghost who lives in your city. You, too, are a ghost, living in my city. And we call both cities Jaffa.��

The book largely explores the weight of one’s existence. But beyond that, it is also about love—for one’s homeland, its people and communities, its culture, and the shared history that binds them together. I found Alaa’s letters and his grandmother’s story so tender. They felt like a friend and family to me.

“Perhaps I am writing out of fear, and against forgetfulness. I write to remember, and to remind, so as memories are not erased. Memory is my last lifeline.��

The book is also a reminder that even in the face of erasure, what is loved and remembered refuses to disappear—that a homeland is not defined solely by those who remain but also by those who have been taken from it. Both the resilience of those who are present and the absence of those martyred are woven into the very fabric of Palestine, never to be forgotten.

“I can no longer bear what is happening in this country. It is no longer possible to live in a country where the desire to eliminate the other has reached the level of genocide. It is no longer possible to believe in tolerance, or dialogue, because there is no one left to have a dialogue with.��

“I’m tired, tired, tired. But then I say again that this is my only chance to live and I have to live it.��

"Rights are never lost as long as one demands them."

Free Palestine. Always.

Find me elsewhere:
| | | | | |

Allen added 'I Who Have Never Known Men'

Fri, 14 Mar 2025 07:17:55 -0700

Allen gave 4 stars to I Who Have Never Known Men (Paperback) by Jacqueline Harpman
I Who Have Never Known Men followed 40 women, including our narrator—the youngest among them—who were imprisoned in an underground bunker with no knowledge of why they were there. Watched by guards, they had no concept of time. Their pasts were reduced to vague memories, and the outside world existed only as a distant longing. While the others recalled fragments of their past lives—families, friendships, even love—the girl had never known anything beyond captivity, making her existence a relentless search for understanding and meaning. Yet, it was she who ultimately became the key to their escape.

The book was short yet dense with introspection, focusing on identity, time, and camaraderie, especially among women. It oscillated between hopelessness and hopefulness, questioning what it meant to exist in a world devoid of answers—where purpose felt both necessary and unattainable.

Through the child’s perspective, the story confronted the weight of isolation, the fragility of human connection, and the unsettling realization that survival didn’t always come with meaning.

The first few pages immediately pulled me into the story, creating an atmosphere of mystery and unease. While the middle felt slow and repetitive at times, I was so engrossed that I kept turning the pages. And the latter part was just absolutely chilling. I literally had goosebumps. Those final pages were some of the most haunting and unforgettable I had ever read.

It was one of those books that would make you think about everything. A book that you would remember out of nowehere, even on a good day in summer. A book that would make you want to call your mom. A book that will linger.

It was disturbing, yet so beautiful.

Note: Yes, I was aware of the outdated views on womanhood in this book. (And this is not to give an excuse) but I also considered the time it was published, and I think given its brevity—less than 200 pages—it obviously had limitations in fully developing its themes while also building its world. That said, I could see where it could have been improved. Still, I enjoyed my experience with it regardless.

Find me elsewhere:
| | | | | |

Allen added 'Yellowface'

Tue, 25 Feb 2025 06:50:01 -0800

Allen gave 4 stars to Yellowface (Hardcover) by R.F. Kuang
What makes an idea original? When can you say a piece of work is truly yours?

Yellowface asks those questions, giving us a microscopic view of the publishing industry: an insider glimpse into the writing careers of authors, focusing on its ugliest corners. But where Yellowface truly shines is in its sharp commentary on privilege and morality. The novel is about theft: of stories, of identities, of success that isn’t yours to claim.

June Hayward is one of the weirdest protagonists I’ve read in a while. She is desperate, insecure, and terrifyingly self-rationalizing. One could say she’s human—deeply flawed. But it’s her utterly convincing narrative of her own delusions that impresses me most.

The pacing is so well done. The first chapter throws you straight into the mess, and from there, it’s just one disaster after another. The lies spiral, everything snowballs—it’s all so addictive.

Contemporary references are scattered throughout the book: the Twitter controversies, ŷ�� fiascos, and online critique wars. Some, I noticed, seem to echo RFK’s own experiences. At some point, I found myself wondering: how much of this book is fiction, and how much mirrors real life?

The balance between satire, social commentary, and sheer drama is what makes this book unputdownable. There’s no clear villain or hero—just a bunch of unlikable characters and their entangled mess.

A chunk of the novel highlights the stress of being a published author: the relentless criticisms, haters and death threats, and the constant pressure to deliver the next big hit. But at its core, the book explores the loneliness of the profession—how isolating it is to navigate such a competitive industry.

And the ending? Haunting. Not outright scary, but chilling in a way that lingers.

Perhaps the only thing I wished this book explored further was its commentary on white privilege and the exploitation of marginalized voices. I also thought there was an opportunity to tackle classism. Knowing RFK’s extensive background in literature and research, she’s more than capable of diving deeper into these themes. So the fact that she chose not to makes me wonder why.

Find me elsewhere:
| | | | | |

Allen added 'Warcross'

Tue, 28 Jan 2025 01:27:16 -0800

Allen gave 3 stars to Warcross (Warcross, #1) by Marie Lu
I was 15 when Warcross was first published, and now, at 23, I finally read it. I mention this because I think the timing influenced my experience. Had I read this as a teenager, I probably would’ve been more impressed. Instead, I found myself underwhelmed, even though the premise and execution had their moments.

First, the world-building. On paper, it’s vibrant, futuristic, and brimming with potential. Virtual reality, the NeuroLink, and the Warcross games create a high-tech playground that feels like a love letter to gamers (like me!!!). I appreciated the attention to detail and Marie Lu’s clear enthusiasm for the gaming world. But as much as I wanted to immerse myself, the world felt too vaguely constructed at times. I struggled to visualize the Warcross games—an experience that should’ve been electrifying. Instead, the action felt blurry, as though I was squinting at the screen without my glasses. It was frustrating to feel disconnected from the centerpiece of the story.

The book also leans heavily on well-worn YA tropes without adding much to refresh them. There’s the underdog protagonist with a tragic backstory, the tech-genius billionaire with secrets, and the “hidden conspiracy�� plotline. While tropes aren’t inherently bad, their overuse made the story feel predictable and, at times, uninspired.

And then there’s the romance. Emika and Hideo’s relationship felt... odd. Emika’s admiration for Hideo is understandable—he’s a global icon, a genius, and the architect of her world. But Hideo’s sudden attraction to Emika, a relatively unknown, poor, bounty hunter, felt forced. Their interactions lacked depth, leaving the romance feeling hollow. It wasn’t quite insta-love, but it wasn’t far from it either. There wasn’t enough emotional buildup or meaningful dialogue to make their connection believable. I wanted to root for them, but I couldn’t buy into their chemistry (and you know what, it was actually for the best lol).

On a brighter note, the plot twists were a mixed bag. While I saw the main twist coming from a mile away, another revelation caught me completely off guard, which was a pleasant surprise. It added some intrigue and bumped my overall rating. The ending, in particular, left me torn in the best way. It presents a moral and ethical dilemma that lingers long after the final page and sets up the sequel with just enough intrigue to make me want to continue.

I can see why it resonates with many readers, particularly younger ones or those new to the genre. If I’d read this eight years ago, my experience might have been entirely different.

Find me elsewhere:
| | | | | |