This month’s State of the ARC will be more about the state of my TBR. I didn’t read any ARCs, though I did publish two reviews. Unfortunately, I also requested more ARCs so I’m right back to the same number I began with. I’m not mad though, because I managed to grab Leila Aboulela’s Elsewhere Home. Soooo excited to read it. I also nabbed Instructions for a Funeral (David Means), The Library Book (Susan Orlean) and Lies that Bind (Kwame Anthony Appiah). I had some crazy good luck this month.
Lies that Bind is already overdude (I requested it super late) but I’ll try to read and review it during September. The Library Book comes out October 16th, so keep an eye out for that one in a couple months. Most of my new acquisitions are going to be published until next year, so I will dedicate the rest of this year mostly to TBR and overdue books.
I wrote four reviews (click the image to see the review). How to Love a Jamaican earned three stars and was altogether underwhelming. I gave The Namesake five stars and I recommend it to everyone (seriously, read it). The Newcomers was another three-star read for me. The review is on Goodreads for now, but I might actually post it here as well. I finished Persepolis in July, but published the review this month. It was also only a three-star read for me. July was an underwhelming reading month, making August an underwhelming State of the ARC month. September should be much better. The weird layout of the covers is purely accidental, but it looks better than the weirdness I had when trying to get them in a line. I think I really need to learn how to format things on WordPress.
Now for the part I’m most proud of: I read ten whole books this month! I’ll simply list them, because this post is already image heavy. The links lead to Goodreads.
Out of these, the only one I loved was The Namesake, but there were a few others on the list that I at least liked and there were two that I absolutely hated. Keep an eye out for reviews here and on Goodreads to find out which ones. I’m definitely reviewing Her Body, The Road, Regiment of Women and Home and Exile here, but I’m not sure about the rest yet.
Just looking at that list makes me happy.
The last thing I’d like to share today is my State of the ARC BINGO. I’m making progress! I really want to put Song of Blood and Stone in the “ARC with your favorite color cover” spot, but this is a 2nd-half-the-year BINGO, so I’ll have to find another. SOMEONE GIVE ME PURPLE ARCS PLEASE (or indigo or forest green or spring green).
That’s it for now. If you want to join the meme/ see what it’s about/ read the other State of the ARC posts, stop by Avalinah’s Books!
Price per Gram: $0.29 ($5 per piece, or $13 for 3-4 pieces)
There are no pix for this post, because apparently I didn’t take any good ones… Whoops~
Brewing Method: Bitter Leaf’s website has a video (linked above) showing an optional brewing method, but otherwise left no instructions. Because TOT is both a ripe pu’er and a dried orange, I decided to steep it with 100 degree (Celsius) water. The largest gaiwan I had at the time was around 120 ml. To expose more of the leaves, I took the top of the orange off and cut horizontal slits into the orange rind. The idea was to have the orange act like a filter. I added 10 -15 seconds to each brew after the first one.
Appearance & Smell of the Leaf: It’s….so… small! Bitter Leaf isn’t joking when they say the orange is tiny. A small package doesn’t mean a small aroma though. The fragrance hit my nose as soon as I opened the packed. It smelled like a sweet tart. TOT didn’t smell particularly like dried orange or ripe pu’er. It was oddly sour, but in a good way. I could tell right away it was a mandarin orange by the smell (mandarin oranges are superior oranges, don’t @ me). TOT also smelled similar to “ugly oranges” (丑八怪橘子). The leaves themselves looked like Bitter Leaf’s Black Beauty. They were pressed into the orange, so of course it was difficult to get a good look at them.
First Steep: I rinsed like one would normally rinse a pu’er then steeped for 45 seconds. The aroma of the liquor was sweet yet strangely earthy. It smelled like what I imagine cooking red meat in a roasted oolong would smell like. The liquor was a cloudy, coppery orange. I was super nervous about tasting the tea. Perhaps not surprisingly, the first steep tasted overwhelmingly of orange, with only a hint of pu’er. The flavor was medicinal in character but it wasn’t unpleasant.
Second Steep: This steep was about a minute long and I was in love with the color of the resulting tea liquor. The orange gave way to a red, and the coppery tone intensified. The brew was also much more clear than the previous one. As expected, I could taste more of the ripe pu’er in this steep. For some reason, though, this steep came out bitter. I still detected more orange than pu’er, but the pu’er was definitely there (I think that’s where the bitter note was coming from). I was not in love with this brew, but I didn’t hate it either.
Third Steep: I brought out another fairness pitcher so I could have one for fresh steeps (the ones I’m writing about in each section) and one for cumulative steeps. I collect the cumulative steeps by pouring the leftover liquid from each brew into a separate vessel, then after a few brews I try the tea from the secondary vessel. When brewing gongfu style, certain characteristics will come and go depending on the temperature of the water and how long you’ve steeped the tea. Tasting the cumulative brew gives you an “average” of the tea, and is similar to what you would taste when brewing western style.
The third steep was incredibly red. When I tasted the third brew, I audibly gasped in surprise. The flavor was so balanced. The orange was no longer dominating, the pu’er was coming into its own and the medicinal note also calmed down quite a bit. There was no more bitterness in the tea. I still detected something I didn’t quite like, but it wasn’t a bad flavor per se.
Fourth Steep: The orange got fat. The leaves were really trying to break free but the orange was not letting it happen. By the fourth steep, the orange color had left the liquor; it was becoming more brown. The tea was swelling to fill the gaiwan. This is the steep that marked the transition from orange to pu’er. The tartness was gone and the soil flavor increased, but the brew was still relatively balanced.
Fifth Steep: More surprise: the orange flavor made a strong comeback. It may have been because I was playing with the orange after the previous steep. TOT didn’t blow my mind but I liked it. It’s a nice, casual drinker. I hadn’t brewed a tea for so many steeps in a long time.
Sixth – Twelfth Steeps: There was a battle over which flavor would come out on top: ripe pu’er or orange? At times the bitterness was overwhelming, and I noticed that the hotter the water (I had to boil more partway through my tasting) the more bitter the tea. Normally I can’t drink this much tea at once, but because I was only drinking one three-sip cup per steep then pouring the rest into the other pitcher, I could handle it. The orange got so big it was difficult to cover it with water.
Around steep nine, I randomly started to think TOT would be great for cold brews and for cooking. It would go great with chicken, fish or tea eggs. I imagine it would also be awesome to stew pork (I cannot verify this) or lamb. Basically, it would be awesome with everything, lol. I imagine it would go well with lemon grass and black pepper, with a bit of garlic.
Please don’t take my cooking advice. My food is terrible.
For steeps ten – twelve, I took the leaves out of the orange. They were tightly rolled still, and they filled the gaiwan almost completely. There were easily 5 – 7 grams of tea in the orange. TOT’s leaves were the first ripe pu’er I’d had in a year that I actually liked. After brewing the leaves by themselves, I brewed the orange by itself. It tasted like weak candy, but it didn’t have a lot of flavor but itself. Tasting the orange alone, I finally figured out that one of the flavor notes I caught was prickly ash, minus the spice. Prickly ash is technically in the citrus family and I love prickly ash so this is a win.
The conclusion: All in all, TOT was pretty awesome. It’s not on my favorites list, but I enjoyed the experience. I’ll most likely buy it again someday. Bitter Leaf’s tea’s international shipping is pretty gui (expensive), though, so I’ll have to wait a while. Besides, I’m craving some Teasenz products right now.
Price per Gram: 30 to 34 cents ($15 – $17 per 50 gram packet).
Brewing Method: After my last brewing disaster, I decided to find new brewing instructions for the tea. I found something that said to use 2 – 5 grams of tea for 225 ml gaiwans. My gaiwans are typically about 100 ml, so I did some quick math and decided on 3 grams of tea and 95 degree water. I later found the brewing instructions on the seller’s website. They’re similar to the method I used, but they call for a slightly higher leaf-to-water ratio (5 – 8 grams for 120 – 150 ml, depending on preferred strength) and shorter brewing times.
Appearance & Smell of the Leaf: The dry leaves were long and twisted, but not super thin. There were browns, dark moss-green leaves and spring greens. They were relatively unbroken when I received them.
I learned that Yulan Xian translates to “magnolia fragrance.” I have no idea what magnolias smell like (to be honest, my repertoire of flowers is super limited). The leaves smelled like artificial grape flavoring and dried apricot. I liked it a lot, and could definitely smell that it was a phoenix oolong.
First Steep: I started with a quick rinse. The liquor was light and left me skeptical. I tasted the rinse, just because I wanted to, and I was struck by how thin it was. After the rinse, I brewed the tea for about 1 minute. The wet leaf smelled like cranberry wensleydale cheese and was a lot brighter than the dry leaf. It smelled like my hair product (Kinky Curly Knot Today, which contains things like marshmallow root, slippery elm, mango fruit extract and some fragrance). The tea liquor was a super pale yellow.
When I tasted the tea, I was unimpressed. I didn’t find the tea pleasant at all. It tasted like what I imagine furniture polish must taste like, with a strong baking soda after taste. I could taste notes similar to what I detect in certain tieguanyin (iron goddess) teas. It was very “green” in flavor, but not green enough to be classified a green tea.
Second Steep: I meant to add just 15 seconds to the brew, but I wound up adding 30 seconds. This time, the tea liquor was a little furry and was more the color of pale urine. It had more yellow in it than the previous brew. The flavor had not changed all that much. It was very light and I actually started to suspect my water. The flavor of the water came through more than the flavor of the tea.
I felt bad because I received these samples for free and I really wanted to like them but they weren’t doing anything for me. I figure that perhaps I just don’t like dancong’s that much. Maybe I can’t enjoy the complex flavors. Later brews were more pleasant than the first two brews, and stronger brews were definitely better.
Yulan Xiang was so thin it felt like water, despite the fuzziness. There was also a bit of astringency but not so much that the tea wasn’t refreshing. I guess you could compare the feeling of drinking Yulan Xiang to drinking fresh spring water. I’m drawn to oolongs because of their variety, and I’d love to be able to enjoy something more delicate than my typical cliff tea. One of these day’s I’ll get it, I’m sure. 🙂
Actually, I still had about 3.5 grams of Yulan Xiang left, so I brewed it just before writing this post. The larger amount of leaf definitely solved the thinness problem, and the liquor was darker, but my other observations remained pretty much the same. The second time around, however, I found myself better able to enjoy the tea. Perhaps it really is just a matter of getting your taste buds accustomed to the flavor.
Despite feeling tepid towards the tea itself, I loved the look of the wet leaves. They totally transformed and were unrecognizable from the shriveled dark leaves I started with. The wet leaves are bright green with some orange-red and brown-red leaves mixed in. They glisten in the relatively clear tea liquor. If anything, this tea is fun to take photos of.
Here’s the first tea I tried from Wudong Teas. My impression was not as positive as this one. Would I recommend Yulan Xiang? If you like dancong then yes, this is probably really good. If you’re on the fence about it, perhaps you should stick to more popular and readily available varietals. While some teas can be over hyped, there’s usually a reason one or two teas become more popular than the rest.
Synopsis: An Indian-American family comes together and discovers their new sense of identity. They create a personal concept of family, and each shapes their lives in and around both Indian and American culture. Though the story starts off focusing on the parents, it quickly shifts focus to the eldest son.
A note: The Gangulis are culturally Bengali, but I will refer to them as Indian. Bangladesh gained independence from Pakistan in the early 1970s, which means Bangladesh became its own state during the lifetimes of these characters. However, the Gangulis are from Calcutta, meaning they are Indian by nationality. Because I’m writing this review in terms of nationality and citizenship (i.e. American and Indian), I refer to them as either Indian or Indian-American. Some reviews and websites refer to them as Bengali; I believe this is a matter of preference. I failed to find an official reference to the issue. Feel free to comment and let me know if you’ve seen something.
Book Trigger Warnings: train crash and recovery described in detail, PTSD, parent loss, alcohol mentions
Rating: 5 glowing stars
First Impression upon Finishing: That was so heartwarming!
The Review: The Namesake is a powerful and beautifully written historical fiction novel. Lahiri’s narrative style is easy to read, yet generously (and delicately) decorated. Lahiri provides just the right amount of detail and manages to alter time in such a way that you neither feel rushed nor retarded, despite the obvious quickening and slowing of events in her characters’ lives. Lahiri gracefully switches focus between characters when the situation calls for it, though she mainly writes about Gogol (Nikhil) Ganguli. Gogol eventually changes his “public name” to Nikhil, but Lahiri continues to refer to him as Gogol in the narration, which lends to a sense of familiarity and camaraderie that draws us further into his story.
Near the beginning of The Namesake, we see how foreign American culture is to Ashima, and we see her attempts to bridge the gap by cooking (or trying to cook) food she grew up eating. Over time, we see both her and Ashoke (her husband) orienting themselves in American culture, holding fast to their own traditions but in some cases modifying and blending them with new, American habits. All of this feels organic. Though the elder Gangulis’ integration is sometimes clumsy, it doesn’t come off as a heavy-handed attempt to illustrate immigrant struggles.
Gogol and Sonia (the Ganguli children), having been born in America, are on a quest for assimilation rather than integration. As is often the case with first-generation Americans, Gogol and Sonia reject aspects of their parents’ culture. They speak English between each other and resent their trips “back home” to India. As children they long for french fries and hot dogs more than they crave their mother’s more traditional cooking. Of course, time has a way of changing things.
Some people—particularly those who are the first in their families to start a life in a new country— will find familiarity in Ashoke and Ashima’s story. I, however, found Gogol’s story so relatable it literally hurt. Though my parents and I are all American, we belong to our own southern Black sub-culture. I’m nearly 40 years younger than my parents; I grew up in a very different American than they did. They still retain habits of the Old Days, for better or for worse. Like Gogol, hearing my parents speak anything other than our own vernacular English feels wrong, “off-key.” For Gogol and I, hearing our parents speak our “public names” send shivers down our spine, and it’s impossible not to detect the note of sadness, betrayal and disappointment in their voices whenever they utter them.
Having people from outside our cultures meet our parents is another matter entirely. It’s not because we are ashamed, it’s simply because there is usually too much explaining and translating involved. It becomes uncomfortable on our end. By the end of The Namesake, Gogol had progressed further than I have, but he is also about 7 years older than I am.
This review is not going in the direction I thought it would.
Here’s the thing: despite the simplicity and straight-forwardness of the plot (Lahiri possesses excellent powers of foreshadowing), The Namesake is an incredibly complicated novel. I can’t recommend it enough because there’s something for everyone. Even if you don’t identify with the characters or the events in their lives, you get to enjoy a heartwarming coming of age story. You get to read an Own Voices novel that doesn’t have much of an agenda. As she has stated in many an interview, Lahiri writes largely as a means to work out some aspect of her own identity. She describes being “culturally displaced… [growing] up in two worlds simultaneously.” While putting this exploration on public display could be interpreted as political action, the politics don’t seem to be at the forefront of her mind.
I’d be lying if I said The Namesake will not play with your emotions, but at least it doesn’t leave the reader raw as some stories are wont to do. I felt the ending was a little abrupt, but that’s probably because I really wanted to see Gogol grow further. Nevertheless, the ending satisfied me, and I’m content with this brief but thorough glimpse into his life.
I’m not sure whether my review captured both the essence of the novel and my excitement for it, but I highly recommend The Namesake. There’s a movie as well, which I might check out. I loved The Namesake so much that I plan on eventually buying a personal copy so I can access it whenever I like. I’d like to see whether the impact of the novel will change as I myself grow and change.
If any of you have read the book, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. If there’s something I missed, let me know!
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Looking for more stories about people coming to America and trying to find their way? Check out my review of We Need New Names (5 stars) or How to Love a Jamaican (3 stars).
Tea: The company lists Black Beauty as a Gong Ting (imperial) ripe puer (宫廷熟普洱). There is no information as to whether the trees are young or old, but given the price, I suspect the trees are fairly young. The tea had been aged about 10 years by the time I tasted it. There is no other information about the tea on the website.
Price per gram: 18 cents per gram ($4.50 for a 25g sample).
Brewing Method: I followed the brewing instructions on the package. I used 3.3 grams in a 100 milliliter gaiwan and brewed the tea at about 95 degrees Celsius for 3 seconds. I added 3 – 5 seconds for each infusion after that. The flash brewing got a bit tedious, but Bitter Leaf must have had a reason for including those instructions, so I intended to humor them. A small leaf brews faster than a long leaf, and it tends to get bitter. Bitter Leaf tried to save me.
Appearance of the Leaf: The leaf was surprisingly small. I’m used to very long, elegant leaves so seeing the small pieces was a little off putting. Black Beauty appeared to be made from leaf pieces rather than full leaves. Seeing as I know next to nothing about ripe puer (but I’m learning!) I figured the small leaves are probably okay.
Despite the size of the leaf, the colors were quite promising. Black Beauty’s leaves were about the color of milk chocolate, with some light caramel notes mixed in. I didn’t see any black leaves mixed in, rather, the leaves were all varying shades of brown. They looked like piles of various forest twigs.
The leaves smelled like dirt to me, if I’m being perfectly honest. I know that ripe puer is supposed to smell and taste like dried fruit and baked goods and even pudding depending on the type, but for some reason I just can’t smell or taste it. I’ve had only one good ripe puer before, and it was a random hole-in-the-wall shop product. I’ll never find it again. (T_T) I smelled a little bit of fudge on the leaves, but the dry leaves smelled like wet soil. After a quick rinse, the chocolaty notes got stronger, but so did the “soil” smell. The wet leaf smelled more palatable.
First Steep
Black Beauty’s liquor was gorgeous. It was a deep brown-red color, something like mahogany. I’ve had red teas (also called black teas) that were a similar color. The liquor simply smelled humid. The flavor was not nearly as bad as the smell. I still tasted the dirt notes, but Black Beauty was incredibly smooth. Still, I don’t think I could call it tasty. It tasted like wood and dirt and furniture polish. I emptied the tea into my tray.
Second Steep
The second steep was less abrasive. It was shocking. I like the smoothness of the tea, if not the flavor. The smoothness might get me into ripe puer, but ripe puer still feels like a grandpa tea to me. The session ended quickly.
I really want to understand why people like ripe puer. Of course, I know that not everyone will like everything, but I feel there must be something I’m missing. I won’t give up on it until I’ve thoroughly explored it, but for now I’m going to keep saying that I don’t really like ripe puer.
Here’s an older installment of my ripe puer adventures. I loved the company but not the tea: Teasenz Chocobar Puer
Synopsis: An adult Satrapi recounts her childhood experiences living in Iran during the Iranian Revolution and resulting turmoil. The story covers roughly four years of her childhood, between 1980 and 1984 (ages 10 to 14).
Rating: 3 stars
The Review:
I finally got around to reading this cult classic.
If I had a dollar for every time a friend of professor recommended this title, I’d have a solid 50 bucks. Persepolis appeals to a wide variety of people. In my media classes, we discussed Persepolis as an “inventive way to tell the story of the Iranian Revolution and its aftermath.” In my writing classes, we fawned over the flow of the narrative, dissected the symbolism in the images and fawned over the writer’s gender. In my political and Islamic circles, people hold Persepolis as the pinnacle of #MuslimahExcellence because she “gives a voice to those who would otherwise be silenced” (problematic, I know).
Curiosity eventually drove me to buy the book. I’m interested in the history of the Gulf States and figured this graphic novel would both help me learn a bit about what happened during the Revolution and give me a glimpse into Iranian lives. I suppose you could say the book served its purpose, but it was nothing spectacular. Perhaps I knew more about the Iranian Revolution than I thought I did, but I didn’t really learn anything new from Persepolis. The more interesting parts of the book dealt specifically with Satrapi’s life.
It’s impossible to tell whether she’s embellishing her story, but she seems to have had a pretty deep understanding of the situation despite her young age. I’m guessing her analytical skills came from her family’s apparent wealth, her parents’ political leanings and her secular French education. Based on Satrapi’s telling, the less-educated children were more susceptible to believing the propaganda of the “Islamic” regime. Still, her family’s status lead to several uncomfortable moments for me throughout the story.
Near the beginning, when Satrapi discusses the nation-wide veiling mandate, she drew an image that equates the veil to oppression, without much context. The protesters on the left are women covered head-to-toe in black garments while shouting, “veil! veil! veil!” The women opposite them have their hair exposed and they’re wearing light clothes while shouting, “freedom! freedom! freedom!” Here the reader is supposed to assume that wearing hijab is something evil, oppressive and wrong, whereas not wearing an outer covering is the “correct” choice.
Persepolis, page 5
Seeing as the regime mandated the covering, I can see how Satrapi would conflate covering with oppression, but the lack of nuance in the story telling is precisely what leads Western societies to assume all women who cover are doing so by force. It also leads Western governments to take actions that prevent Muslim women from exercising their choice to cover. Despite being irked by Satrapi’s choice, I appreciate that she later told the audience that both women and men were subject to strict dress codes.
Persepolis, page 75Persepolis, page 75
About halfway through Persepolis, Satrapi begins discussing the exodus of her friends and family. The image she uses to illustrate this moment in history implies that the majority left simply by obtaining a passport and flying out of the country.
Passports at that time were expensive and increasingly hard to come by. This blatant display of wealth left me cringing and wondering about those who were less fortunate. How did they leave the country? Did they choose to stay or were they forced to? Did they use smugglers to illegally cross borders in hopes of seeking refugee status? This is her story, so I didn’t expect her to go into too much detail about it, but I expected such a smart child to at least consider the question. The only times we hear about people hastily crossing the border are when the people a) have a direct relationship with Satrapi and b) are being pursued by the police.
Persepolis, page 64
Perhaps this particular scene bothered me because in a way, I’m also choosing not to live in my own country for political and financial reasons. I chose to work outside of the US because I couldn’t find work that justified the insane amount of tuition I paid for my undergraduate degree. On top of not being able to find a decent-paying job, I’m constantly targeted for my race, gender and religion. Why would I live through that when I can just go find work elsewhere?
I’m aware that my choice to leave is an exercise of privilege, and sometimes I feel guilty about not “weathering the storm” but I’ve got health and other issues to worry about, without my environment making it worse. I don’t plan to leave the US permanently, at least not yet, but I’ve chosen to leave in search of a safer, more comfortable life, which is precisely what Satrapi’s friends and family did.
Right under the image of people lining up to leave, we see a picture of Satrapi’s family in their car. When her mother suggests they also leave, her father brushes off the idea, suggesting they’d “sink” to the level of taxi drivers and cleaning ladies in the US. This, to me, meant he was attached to his material wealth, and that he thought himself better than people in those service industries. I was raised to treat everyone equally, regardless of where they come from or what they do for a living (assuming they’re not in the business of harming people), so this scene rubbed me the wrong way. Satrapi’s father placed his wealth in higher regard than his family’s safety. This isn’t the only scene where we see his attachment to worldly goods.
Persepolis, page 64
While I was reading, Satrapi’s parents’ judgmental attitudes continued to bother me. Satrapi didn’t illustrate their judgement as a form of criticism. Rather, she illustrated their character in a way that was boldly honest. I’ve witnessed women all over the world criticize/judge anyone and everyone around them. Regardless of whether they were South Asian, Chinese, Black or Arab, they all found fault in the women (and teenage girls) around them. When I think about it, I wasn’t so much bothered by Satrapi’s parents specifically; I was bothered by global trend I’ve noticed. I could understand some level of political judgement during the Iranian Revolution or during other similar times of war and upheaval, but usually the judgement is petty and unnecessary, and it revolves around someone’s appearance.
Persepolis, page 75
Despite all of my issues with it, Persepolis isn’t a bad book. I can see how it’s important in the cannon of Middle Eastern female writers. Persepolis, however, obviously isn’t meant for people like me. If you know nothing about Iran or the Iranian Revolution, then perhaps you’ll enjoy the novel. If you’ve never met an Iranian person and have no hopes of meeting one, then give Persepolis a go. Since I’ve already learned at least the basic situation and having met several Iranians in my life, Persepolis didn’t add anything to my knowledge base. That said, I kept reading because I wanted to see what happened in Satrapi’s life, and the graphic novel ended on a little cliff hanger. I’m intrigued enough to want to read the second part, but I don’t feel compelled to read it right away.
Do I think Persepolis is overrated? Yes, absolutely. Would I still recommend it? Yes, why not? Persepolis gets three dim stars from me while I try to figure out what I missed. If you’ve read it or plan to read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts. If you loved it, please help me understand why Persepolis is so popular.
Brewing Method: I debated whether to brew the tea Dawuye in Guangdong style (lots of leaf, with a long steep time) or Wuyi Style (lots of leaf, with unusually short brewing times). I ultimately decided to go with Guangdong style because I wanted to push this tea to the edge.
Dawuye’s leaves were beautiful. They were long, dark and twisted. They were mostly dark green with a few flecks of grass and hay-yellow leaves mixed in. The leaves reminded me of a higher grade Shou Mei (white tea). Before I heated the gaiwan, the leaves smelled like smoked dried plums or waxberry or similar dried fruit. After I heated the gaiwan, the leaves smelled green. I’d compare it to Fukamushi tea of Biluochun. Overall, the leaves smelled grassy and vegetal, a little like asparagus, but not overwhelmingly so. You could also compare the smell to cooked cabbage.
First Steep
For the first brew I steeped the tea for a full minute. Interestingly, the wet leaves smelled like macaroni and cheese and the leaves were even more gorgeous than before. The greens were glistening; they really popped. Dawuye’s tea liquor was very, very golden. Once again, it reminded me of the vibrancy of Japanese green tea. You could also compare the color to certain sheng (raw) puers. The liquor was surprisingly cloudy. There were a lot of particles and dust, even though I used a filter. I’m not sure whether the dust came from the shipping or whether it’s a feature of the tea, but if it’s a flaw I doubt it was the farmer’s fault.The leaves I received were, for the most part, quite long and unbroken.
Despite the beautiful leaves, the vibrant liquor and decent aroma, my first sip of the tea was unpleasant. It tasted like a bad Tieguanyin (Iron Goddess). The tea was extremely bitter with an after taste of baking soda. Though I like the flavor of baking soda, this particular tasting note offended me. I was unhappy drinking the tea, but I decided to take another sip. When I aerated the Dawuye liquor (by slurping it) and breathing out of my nose, I could sense a hint of a floral note, but it was unclear what that flower was. I eventually just poured the tea out. The empty fairness pitcher smelled exactly like the floral note I detected while drinking the tea. It faintly reminded me of Milan Xiang (Honey Orchid).
Second Steep
For the second brew, I decided to steep for 30 seconds. The liquor remained cloudy. I read somewhere on the internet that you can’t really start to fully appreciate phoenix oolong teas until the third steep, so I wasn’t about to give up so soon. I hoped the second steep would be better than the first.
With the second brew, the initial bitterness had gone away. Because I changed the steeping parameters (I shortened the time, and the water had cooled down a bit), I’m guessing the milder flavor was a result of the combination of changes, rather than a result of a single change. After this experience, I would not recommend brewing tea Guangdong style. I’d suggest reducing the amount of tea or increasing the amount of water. I have gaiwans that are around 120 or 150 milliliters, which would be better for 8 grams of dancong. The brew had a medium mouthfeel. It wasn’t thin like water, but it wasn’t something you could chew on; Dawuye’s liquor was slightly viscous. I also detected a dry finishing note, which I enjoyed.
The baking soda (sodium bicarbonate) flavor was still present. I guess that particular tasting note might have to do with the minerality of the tea and my water. For health reasons, I must use bottled water when in China, but I try to use water that still has some of the naturally occurring minerals in it. I use the same water for all of my tea.
The huigan (aftertaste) was highly floral. The vegetal notes were still present, but the floral aroma was the most prominent feature of this brew. Wudong Tea’s Dawuye was not bad; I just don’t think it was my style.
Third Steep
I added ten seconds to this and subsequent brews, which means the third steep was about 40 seconds long. The showed no signs of letting up; it was certainly a tea that I could brew for a long time if I chose to. It was stubbornly dark. On the third brew the bitterness calmed down even more while the dryness ticked up. The floral-ness became more apparent in the initial taste, but it still mostly lived in the aftertaste. Aerating the tea did almost nothing for the flavor, which is strange for a phoenix oolong. While I was slurping, I actually tasted more astringency in the back of my mouth.The tea tasted like bitter medicinal herbs. I could only describe the tea as ku (bitter).
Subsequent Steeps
The fourth and fifth brews of the tea were better than the first three, but I stopped drinking because I wasn’t enjoying it. I’m grateful for the samples Wudong Tea (Chaozhou Tea Grower) sent me but I had to give up on it. I’m excited to try the other samples they sent. Perhaps I’ll find something I like.
Synopsis: How to Love a Jamaican is a collection of short stories about different Jamaican people living in either the US or on the Island.
Trigger Warnings: Depression, eating disorders, verbal abuse, identity issues, LGBTQ* issues (coming out, living), death in the family, child loss, absentee fathers, sexual assault, pedophilia, drugs, death, breast cancer
Rating: 3 or 3.5 stars
First Impression: What on Earth did I just read?
The Review:
I really wanted to love this book, but I couldn’t. I’ll say outright that the first and last stories are the most poignant, the others are forgettable. Though I love the idea of having Caribbean representation, I feel How to Love a Jamaican failed to provide a holistic picture. Because Arthurs opted to write a series of short stories, I expected to see multiple different aspects of Jamaican life. Instead, all of the characters are more or less the same, and they’re all victims.
Most of the characters have absentee fathers who sleep around, almost all of the mothers are portrayed as overbearing, and all of the children suffer from trauma related to their dysfunctional family. There are several gay and lesbian characters, and none of them are fully accepted by their families. Most of the characters see moving away from the island as the ultimate goal in life. While I was reading, I kept feeling like I’d seen the story before. In fact, one of the stories seemed lifted directly out of the New York Times. I felt like I was reading trauma porn.
To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded the trauma porn if there were character growth and if the composition has a bit more artistry. I actually think it would have been better for Arthurs to choose a selection of the stories and drawn them out more. I’d have liked to seen more sides of the characters, rather than the same aspect portrayed in all of them.
Besides the structural issues, I found a problematic thread running through the stories. There were both implicit and explicit declarations that fair/yellow skin, wavy hair and “European features” are more beautiful and that those bearing them are more deserving of success. I’m sure Arthurs included these threads simply to illustrate Caribbeans’ unnatural obsession with fair skin, but I would have appreciated more commentary on the subject. As it stands, I’m not sure whether the characters fetishize “biracial beauties” or whether Arthurs herself (who is neither particulary fair nor particularly dark) actually subscribes to this colorist propaganda.
But Sarabi, if you hated the book so much, why are you giving it three stars instead or just one or two?
Well.
Even though the book is not for me, I will still acknowledge that it’s not that bad. I’m not Caribbean, but I still see myself represented in How to Love a Jamaican. I’m sure there are plenty of others will see themselves as well. There are also moments when Arthurs makes a very good point, laying bare the internal struggles PoC face. The relatability is also part of the reason I included so many trigger warnings. I had to stop reading at times to sort myself out before continuing.
In the first story, which is my favorite of all of them. Arthurs explores the intersection between race and class. She places two adult children of Jamaican immigrants side my side. One is rich, the other is not. The narrator (the poorer Jamaican) discusses how she feels interacting with the rich Jamaican. There’s a sense of camaraderie because they are both black and both Jamaican, but she’s acutely aware that there is a slight distance between them because they have had very different life experiences, and because they each can’t imagine what the other went through. We experience the narrator feeling slightly uncomfortable, embarrassed even, when introducing the rich girl to her home life. We see her disgust when the rich girl only uses black guys to get back at her white lover. The rich girl’s family wealth allows (or perhaps causes) her to behave similarly to the people who once oppressed both of their families.
Later on, we see several versions of sexuality. We see men with men, women with women, men with multiple women and women with multiple men. Each of these stories shows us the Jamaican attitude towards sexuality, and make it clear that while “slack” men are frowned upon, their sexual exploits are much more acceptable than those of “slack” women in the Caribbean community. All of the stories with homosexual characters tell us that Caribbean communities consider homosexuality unacceptable, even if one’s friends claim to tolerate it. None of this information is new, and the stories aren’t particularly good, but the self-acceptance in them is healthy and could possibly help someone still struggling with their identity.
Arthurs even touches on the perception of psychiatric medication in the Caribbean community. The mention of the medicine is so brief you might miss it, the one-liner sends the message that depression isn’t supposed to exist in Jamaicans. Having depression and seeking help is something shameful. I know from experience that this is true not only of Caribbean communities, but PoC communities as a whole. Each community handles mental health issues a little differently, but most of them sweep it under the rug one way or another.
Frankly speaking, even I’ll admit that three stars is a little harsh for this book, but 3.5 is also too much. It has the potential to be a four star collection but it’s just not there for me yet. Some days I think about the book and I want to give it two stars, then I remember some truly terrible collections (like Her Body and Other Stories, which I plan to review… eventually) get two stars and I want to give How to Love a Jamaican four stars.
Ultimately, I decided three stars was a fair compromise, but if I’m feeling generous I’ll call it 3.5. I can see this book winning awards. It ticks all the boxes: it’s a debut collection from a Black female author, it discusses sexuality in detail, it serves trauma for breakfast and it’s full of introspection rather than action. All of the books that have been nominated recently seem to be pretty much the same thing: “innovative” ways to see women’s/minority’s stories. There’s nothing particularly innovative if you belong to that community, but the people making the decisions usually don’t, therefore the novels are praiseworthy.
If you made it this far, thanks a ton. ❤ You’re the real MVP.
If you want to read it, you can find it on Amazon or wherever you usually buy books.
If you have recommendations of books by minority authors, please drop them in the comments. I’m always looking for something that’s actually new. (I.E. The Vegetarian was PHENOMENAL.)
Dawuye’s leaves were beautiful. They were long, dark and twisted. They were mostly dark green with a few flecks of grass and hay-yellow leaves mixed in. The leaves reminded me of a higher grade Shou Mei (white tea). Before I heated the gaiwan, the leaves smelled like smoked dried plums or waxberry or similar dried fruit. After I heated the gaiwan, the leaves smelled green. I’d compare it to Fukamushi tea of Biluochun. Overall, the leaves smelled grassy and vegetal, a little like asparagus, but not overwhelmingly so. You could also compare the smell to cooked cabbage.
the internet that you can’t really start to fully appreciate phoenix oolong teas until the third steep, so I wasn’t about to give up so soon. I hoped the second steep would be better than the first.
Perfect Leaves 
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