Hundertausende gewöhnliche Frauen verwandeln sich im Jahr 1955 in den USA plötzlich in Drachen. Ihnen wachsen Flügel, Schuppen und Krallen. Für Alex Green, ein junges Mädchen, ist es auch Jahre später noch ein Mysterium, denn das Reden darüber ist ein Tabu…

 

„When Women Were Dragons - Unterdrückt. Entfesselt. Wiedergeboren“ ist ein feministischer Fantasyroman von Kelly Barnhill.

 

Die Struktur erschließt sich schnell: Der Roman umfasst 44 Kapitel. Dazwischen sind immer wieder Berichte, Briefe, Auszüge aus wissenschaftlichen Arbeiten und Protokolle eingefügt. Erzählt wird in der Ich-Perspektive aus der Sicht von Alex. Die Handlung erstreckt sich über einige Jahre.

 

Der Schreibstil ist anschaulich, bildstark und atmosphärisch. Die Sprache ist authentisch, passt sich der jeweiligen Textform an und steckt voller Symbolik.

 

Protagonistin Alex ist ein interessanter und sympathischer Charakter, der durchaus lebensnah dargestellt wird. Ihre Gedanken und Gefühle lassen sich sehr gut nachvollziehen.

 

Wie könnte eine alternative Vergangenheit aussehen, in der sich Frauen gegen das Patriarchat auflehnen? Was passiert, wenn sich weiblicher Widerstand körperlich manifestiert? Die Drachenwandlung ist eine spannende und originelle Umsetzung dieses Gedankenexperiments. Wegen der antifeministischen Gegentendenzen sind die Themen unzureichende Gleichberechtigung und Sexismus so aktuell wie je. Die Geschichte regt zum Nachdenken an, gibt gesellschaftskritische Impulse und zeigt Missstände auf. Darin liegt die wohl größte Stärke des Romans.

 

Auf den fast 480 Seiten ist die Geschichte unterhaltsam, aber nicht durchweg fesselnd. Die Handlung ist stimmig. Allerdings bleiben zum Schluss noch einige Fragen offen.

 

Das düstere, geheimnisvolle Cover passt sowohl zum Inhalt als auch zum Genre. Der Titel der deutschen Ausgabe, der wörtlich vom Original übernommen wurde, gefällt mir ebenfalls gut.

 

Mein Fazit:
Mit „When Women Were Dragons - Unterdrückt. Entfesselt. Wiedergeboren“ ist Kelly Barnhill ein außergewöhnlicher Fantasyroman gelungen. Trotz mehrerer Längen eine empfehlenswerte Lektüre.

Unfiltered, Brutal, Brilliant—Pure Bukowski

Women is Bukowski at his most unapologetic — vulgar, honest, hilarious, and painfully human. It’s a chaotic, booze-soaked descent into desire, loneliness, ego, and need, all told through the unmistakable voice of Henry Chinaski.

Bukowski doesn’t try to make himself look good — if anything, he goes out of his way to expose every flaw, every contradiction. And that’s what makes it so compelling. Beneath all the grit and excess, there’s real vulnerability. A raw ache that pulses under the surface.

Love him or hate him, Bukowski tells the truth — his truth — with a style that’s all his own. No filter, no pretension. Just blood, sweat, and typewriter ink.

Five stars. For the writing, the guts, and the madness of it all.

Actual Rating: 4.5

After reading Vicktor's story, I was excited to continue on with this series. I quickly picked up the sequel, but admit I wasn't convinced I'd enjoy Roman's story quite as much as Victor's. Not anything against Roman, I loved his role in In Sheep's Clothing as Victor's friend, and as a Christian who tried to do the right thing and was always there to support his friends along with David (Preach)'s help when issues arose that needed prayer or advice. He struck me as the fun more carefree one of the group, well if there is such a thing in a group of Russian FSB (formally KGB) members and American soldiers. But, still.... He's the one with the jokes and always trying to make light of a dark situation when his friend need the hope and a loyal companion.

That said, his story, and character, are drastically different from Vicktor's. Whereas Vita is the 'tall, dark, and handsome, Russian cop, take no prisoners type tough-guy who things women are either cursed or all crazy, and is hard set on revenge to atone for past sins, with or without the help of his Believing friends. Roman is different. Coming from a very different background, Roman is just trying to prove himself worth and good enough as a man of God, trying desperately to avoid his father's failures, while struggling to find his place in God's will in the harsh Siberian reality.

Much to my surprise, I ended up loving this one! More so even than book 1, which blew me away and snuck up on my toward the end! I loved seeing Roman and Sarai's story unfold, but also loved how the truths they discovered, about themselves, each other, and God's will were relevant in my life today, and how they even had the chance to display their newfound knowledge before the story ended, which was a satisfying addition to the story.

I also must mention Genye and Anya! I enjoyed meeting them early on in the book, and loved their role more as the story plays out. They serve several purposes, missionaries, mentors, friends, and a sort of adopted/found family for Sarai for a time along with others. I loved their wisdom and guidance, from Genye's silent knowing and protective kindness, to Anya's talk in the kitchen and her guidance as a medical missionary alongside Sarai.

I also loved seeing the duel POV as Roman and Sarai's relationship grows and develops. I always love duel POV for romances and similar stories, but this one was extra important and enjoyable amidst all the twists and surprises, sometimes even the character themselves made a new discovery of self realization that changes things in how they react to each other in the future, and I loved seeing that progression, and the thought processes that lead to those new turns!

This is an interesting book about the women related to the Mughal emperors. I wound up disenchanted with it and think that its reception so far has been perhaps a bit too glowing, but I did learn some interesting things from it.

Essentially, this is a history of a little over 200 years of the Mughal empire in India, from just before their arrival at the beginning of the 16th century, to just after the death of Aurangzeb at the beginning of the 18th. The focus is on the women of the dynasty, who played far more powerful and active roles than western stereotypes would have it. Also, the “harem” (the correct term for the women’s quarters is a zenana) wasn’t exactly teeming with wives and concubines of the emperor; any woman related to him or to his loyal retainers could show up to live there and many did, along with their own entourages and servants.

Particularly in the early years, these women were hardly in purdah: they accompanied the emperor as he traveled around, even to war or on daring escapes across mountains from pursuing armies (this sometimes resulted in wives and children being captured or killed); they traveled from city to city at their own whim; they went on hajj. Even later on, once the zenana became more separate, the women there still wielded considerable power, as they often had independent fortunes, owned trading ships, commissioned monumental buildings, and weighed in with the emperor on issues of public policy. Maham Anaga was essentially regent of part of India for awhile, while Noor Jahan coined her own money and had the authority to issue edicts under her name and with her own seal.

All of which is fascinating, and I’m glad to have learned about these women, but the execution let me down a bit. First, the author covers more than 200 years and a ton of women in just 246 pages of text, which means it’s rushed and often doesn’t get much past generalities. Second, the first third is definitely the best because Mukhoty can rely on the memoirs of Gulbadan, daughter of Babur and relative of the later emperors, which bring a lovely personal touch to the story. In the later portions we don’t have that and so it becomes more distant. It might also be that the earlier women are just more interesting, as many of them led quite dramatic lives while the later ones seem to have mostly stayed behind walls amassing wealth and commissioning buildings in their names.

Third, the author seems to glorify the Mughals overmuch, in a way that comes across as colonialist. We may not think of the Mughals as colonizers because they weren’t European and, unlike the British, at least they kept India’s wealth in the country and acculturated themselves to the place. But still, they rode in from Afghanistan and killed a ton of people to conquer territory for their own power and glory, and continued to do so throughout the existence of the empire. Mukhoty mostly elides the fact that their wars consisted of naked land grabs, and there’s a weird “oh, those Hindus and their barbaric customs” vibe that comes close to suggesting the Hindus needed the Mughals to save them from themselves.

Finally, the book just doesn’t come across as very historically rigorous. Mukhoty’s decision to write the entire history in the present tense is weird and distracting. There’s also a tendency to use the same evocative generalities over and over again; the author is always talking about someone’s glittering, blistering, blinding, incandescent, etc., etc., ambition, which is a fancy way of saying the Mughals loved conquering people and imposing architecture. There are endnotes (though frustratingly, no index) and the author seems to have used at least some primary sources. She also doesn’t run rampant speculating on thoughts and feelings (lack of source material is perhaps why the book covers so many people in so few pages). But I would have appreciated more facts and less editorializing.

In the end, interesting book that opened my eyes to a part of history I didn’t know much about. Could be worthwhile reading if you’re interested in the subject, but ultimately it was frustrating for me because it could have been better.

I picked this book up primarily because I loved the author’s memoir, The House at Sugar Beach, about growing up in Liberia until political instability and terror forced her family to leave. This book, though, is a biography of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, president of Liberia from 2006 to 2018 and the first democratically elected female head of state in Africa. It’s a good biography, readable and engaging as all the best journalistic work is, and certainly informative though it lacks the humor and personal touch of Cooper’s memoir.

About the first quarter of this relatively short biography (290 pages) covers the first approximately 50 years of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf’s life, spending a few pages on her childhood before moving on to her marriage, higher education, subsequent divorce from her abusive husband (even though it meant no longer being able to raise most of their children), and her career as a financial bureaucrat. The second quarter focuses more on Liberia’s civil war and the years of coups and atrocities. Johnson Sirleaf was absent from Liberia for much of this time working for financial institutions abroad, but the reader needs to understand something of what was happening in the country to put her presidency in context. Finally, the last half covers her elections and presidency, though the book ends in 2015 and was published in 2017, before she actually left office.

The book is highly readable and offers a lot of explanation to readers who may not know anything about Liberia; Cooper is clearly adept at bridging two cultures. It is an admiring biography, and as far as I can tell an authorized one—Johnson Sirleaf allowed Cooper to follow her around and was interviewed for the book, though Cooper didn’t share her drafts—but Cooper also highlights areas where Johnson Sirleaf made poor or questionable choices. I wasn’t quite sure what to think about all her female supporters who stole their adult sons’ voter IDs to prevent them from voting for her clearly unqualified male opponent, for instance—interestingly to me, Liberian women seemed far more likely to vote for a candidate because of her gender than their American counterparts. But I was glad to see Cooper really dig into Johnson Sirleaf’s achievements in office: the chapter about how she managed to persuade other governments, multinational institutions and private companies to forgive Liberia’s $4.7 billion debt is fantastic and highlights a huge accomplishment that few others could possibly have achieved.

Meanwhile, other reviewers have mentioned that the book deals with some dark subject matter around Liberia’s civil war, and this is true though it isn’t the primary focus of the book. The last 35 pages mostly focus on the Ebola pandemic, which was interesting to read during another pandemic: there was a lot of initial denial around Ebola too, though once people accepted that it was real they seemed to do a good job of taking necessary precautions to wipe it out.

Ultimately, there’s a lot of good information in this book, but there’s more distance from its subject than I would have expected in a semi-authorized biography of someone who’s still alive: I didn’t get much sense of Johnson Sirleaf’s personality, what makes her tick, how the people close to her view her, etc. Maybe she didn’t want her personal life in a book, her family didn’t want to share, and Cooper decided to respect their wishes—hard to say. But while I still blew through the book in just a few days, I think I would have liked it even better with more personality. Cooper credits several people in the acknowledgments with making her ditch her “flip tone” and I wound up wishing she’d kept it. There are a few humorous bits, which were welcome.

But I’d certainly recommend this book to anyone interested in the subject, and Johnson Sirleaf is without doubt a tough and impressive woman, though (like everybody else) imperfect. Those who would like a more personal, in-depth and at times humorous story (with some overlapping subject matter) should check out the author’s memoir.

Only time will tell how to interpret events after the end of this book: Johnson Sirleaf stepped down in 2018, allowing for Liberia’s first peaceful transition of power in decades, but then the winner of that election was George Weah (the soccer player), whose vice president is Jewel Taylor (ex-wife of Charles Taylor, the war criminal). Hmm. I hope Cooper will keep on writing books about Liberia; I for one will be happy to keep reading them.