My first Murakami (ok, ok, my second— I did read his nonfiction about writing and running)

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Everyone who has spoken to me lately has, in a way, already read this book—I can’t stop talking about it. I’ve been retelling these stories, giggling at the absurdity, finding the similarities in my life, and then diving into deep conversations about diaspora, migration, and identity. No light chats with me, hehehe.

To me, that’s the mark of a brilliant book.

In Dearborn, author Ghassan Zeineddine presents ten tragicomic stories that capture the layered experiences of Lebanese Americans in Dearborn, Michigan. For those of you who know Lebanese people, you know that we love very little more than our most beloved Lebanon.

Some of my favorite stories: a father teaches his son to hide cash inside frozen chickens to evade the IRS; a group of couples at the gym pool are inexplicably hypnotized by a newcomer wearing a tiiiiiiiiny Speedo covered in landmarks of Lebanon; and in "Yusra," a male butcher spends Fridays living as their true self, as female Yusra, and finds a friend who sees them fully. Yusra gave me all the feelings.

These stories are so funny, so tender, and so beautifully written—a collection I’ll be thinking about (and talking about) for a long time.

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I read this book last year but never wrote about it here. Not because I didn’t absolutely love it, but because I don’t always write about the books I read. Sometimes, I feel lazy, or I don’t like the photos I take, or I don’t think I have anything particularly interesting to add.

But enough time has passed. A second reading has happened. Now, I feel like I have more to say beyond “this book broke me, it is unfair, it drove me mad, but I loved it.”

This is a novel about poverty and the quiet tragedy of life. It was written in a way that makes you feel like you are unraveling as you spin your way through the lonely and unfair life of Macabéa. I couldn’t help but think about all the lives that are just like hers.

Reading The Hour of the Star in an abstract bubble is one thing. Reading it after walking through Rio de Janeiro is another. It is impossible to ignore the deep inequality that defines the city—the stark contrast between the gleaming glamour of Leblon (or the posh parts of any city) and the sprawling favelas that spiral into the sky. Macabéa, with her empty stomach and unfair life, is not just a character. She is real. She is one of the many invisible lives who are ignored, unheard, and deemed unimportant in a world that has only grown more selfish.

Maybe that’s what makes The Hour of the Star so devastating. Macabéa’s life didn’t matter—not to the people who around her, not to the society that left her behind. And yet, through the book, she exists. We bear witness to her life, hunger, loneliness, dreams, that moment of happiness as she listened to music and danced in her room. She mattered to us. And maybe that is the only kind of justice fiction can offer—to say, if only for a moment, she was here.

Macabéa mattered.

And this, my friends, is why writing and stories matter.

#bookstadon #alwaysreading #lispector #books #readeragonnaread #thoughts

Currently reading: We Do Not Part by Han Kang.

Has anyone on here read this already? I’m about a quarter way through and have so many thoughts!

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