We Are Bridges by Cassandra Lane is a moving story. Point blank period. Despite what the cover says, it feels wrong to call it a straight memoir because it is not. Can’t call it fiction because it is not. By her own admission during a Well-Read Black Girl zoom book club meeting, Lane calls it a hybrid of nonfiction and fiction.
I loved the adorably awkward Norris Kaplan in Ben Philippe’s The Field Guide to the North American Teenager. The Haitian-Canadian teen is a fish out of water when he moves to Austin, Texas, with his mother. The poor boy is “The New Kid” in high school and is having trouble adjusting to the Texas heat and making friends. At least he’s found a hockey team for some semblance of home.
Charming As a Verb was such a cute little gem. This is the second YA novel written by Haitian writer Ben Philippe that I’ve read. As I said in my review for The Field Guide to the North American Teenager, “we’re not dealing with gang/street violence, teen pregnancy, [or] drugs. That’s not the only experience of Black teens.” Once again, Philippe writes about a high school teen boy on a quest to attain #BlackBoyJoy.
Being the book nerd that I am, I of course requested a trip to a bookstore. Unfortunately, there aren’t any reasonably nearby Indie or Black-owned bookstores. There is a Barnes & Noble and I sure darkened its doorstep. H-h-h-hessica was working a half-day in-office, so her husband (poor guy) drove me. He was bored out of his mind as I frolicked through a bookstore for the first time in over a year.
Post workout, I scribbled my daily gratitude note. I chose “breath.” As I wrote it, it dawned on me that in a week’s time it’s the fifteenth anniversary of when my breathing almost ceased.
I am a freaking cliché thanks to this damn pandemic. Excessive online shopping, cooking, baking, drinking, exercising, protests, plant babies, alternating between being glued to CNN or binge-watching popular series.
I don’t usually gravitate towards psychological thrillers. I’m unsure about the reason. I enjoy them, even if a majority of the time I figure out the plot before it’s revealed. Things unfolded slowly and kept me guessing. The only part that felt rushed to me is the obligatory explanation of the villain’s backstory. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but it explained a lot and allowed for the book to progress as it did.
King’s Hawaiian rolls can be enjoyed with or without butter. Straight out of the fridge or warmed slightly in the toaster. More often than not, I’m too greedy to wait for the toaster and eat it chilly. A bad habit I have is putting a smattering of butter, taking a bite, then adding more butter to take another bite. Unhealthy, I know, but we all have our vices. It could be drugs!
The Worst Best Man was a fun read. The characters, including Lina’s family, were well developed with their own background stories that tied into how they supported Lina. There are no mixed feelings when it comes to Lina, Max, or Andrew. I like that Sosa sprinkled in plenty of Portuguese, Brazilian customs, and delicious-sounding dish descriptions that made me want to hop onto Seamless and search Brazilian restaurants that deliver to Bed-Stuy. I’ve only had a few Brazilian eating experiences, one being on the company dime at Fogo de Chao. My taste buds were not the least bit disappointed with the savory meats and side dishes. The same can be said for my experience listening to The Worst Best Man.