The Kong women are in crisis.  A disastrous visit to her "home" orphanage in China has plunged eighteen-year-old Ari into a self-destructive spiral.  Her adoptive mother, Charlie, a lawyer with a great heart, is desperate to keep her daughter safe.  Meanwhile, Charlie must endure the prickly scrutiny of her beautiful, Bryn Mawr-educated mother, Gran—who, as the daughter of a cultured Chinese doctor, came to the United States to survive Mao's revolution—and her sister, Les, a brilliant judge with a penchant to rule over everyone's lives.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         As they cope with Ari's journey of discovery and its aftermath, the Kong women will come face-to-face with the truths of their lives—four powerful intertwining stories of accomplishment, tenacity, secrets, loneliness, and love.  Beautifully illuminating the bonds of family and blood, The Year She Left Us explores the promise and pain of adoption, the price of assimilation and achievement, the debt we owe to others, and what we owe ourselves.  Full of pathos and humor, featuring a quartet of unforgettable characters drawn from real life, it marks the debut of an important new voice in American fiction.    

As you can probably tell, plot is not something this novel has in abundance.  The story relies on the strength of its characters—not just their individual conflicts, but also the vibrancy of their separate and distinct voices. While the Kong women offer this, to some extent, the fact is, none of them are very likable.  Interesting, yes; engaging enough to want to know better?  Not so much.  This, combined with the novel's weak plotting; caustic tone; and disjointed storytelling made for a disappointing read.  Truth is, I put The Year She Left Us down several times, with no intention of finishing the book.  I did complete it, but, in the end, I found it dull and depressing.  I'm not saying Ma can't write.  She can.  It's just that this particular story needed something more—like a plot—to pull it all together.

(Readalikes:  Reminded me a little of The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan and Lucky Girl by Mei-Ling Hopgood)

Grade:

I know, I know.  You don't hear from me for days and, suddenly, I post four times within a 24-hour period.  What's up with that?  Um, yeah.  Apparently, the long, lazy days of summer have zapped my blogging energy—I've read lots of books, I just haven't gotten around to reviewing them.  Now that I'm back from a week of vacation in Utah, I'm trying my hardest to catch up.  So, I really shouldn't "waste" time on Top Ten Tuesday, but you guys, I just can't help myself!  This is my favorite bookish meme, especially when our lovely hosts over at The Broke and the Bookish give us fun topics like this one—Top Ten Blogging Confessions.  Without further ado, here are mine:

1.  UPS/USPS deliveries still make me squeal—After eight years of book blogging (eight years!), the thrill of getting free books in the mail should probably be gone.  It's not.  Not at all.  I still get excited when I find packages on my doorstep or in my mailbox from Harper Collins, Scholastic, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, etc.  If my reaction to that ever sours, I guess I'll know it's time to start drafting a goodbye post.

2.  I still can't be trusted in a bookstore—Because I've been doing this book blogging thing for almost a decade, I've accumulated a lot of books.  Thousands.  They're stacked on my desk, crammed into bookshelves, packed into boxes that fill the closet in my guest room ... I've got more books than any person could possibly read in two lifetimes and yet, I can't resist buying more.  Seriously, I think I need an intervention.

3.  Someone needs to cut me off.  Like now—Closely related to the above two confessions is this one:  I need another review book like I need a hole in the head.  I have so many, I literally do not know what to do with them all.  Over the years, I've become much more selective in what I choose to accept for review, but I still have no control at all when presented with new books from my favorite publishers.  My greedy little book bloggin' heart wants to read them all.

4.  It's all about the numbers—Okay, it's not.  It's really not.  But Megan's confession #2 reminded me of how hard I always try to reach my reading goal of 200 books a year.  I've yet to accomplish it, but I still find myself avoiding chunky books and embracing quick, children's reads—especially toward the end of the year when I'm racing to get as many books read as I can.  How neurotic is that?  The only person who cares about my numbers is me.  Major head slap.

5.  I really, really want to be nice—Over the past eight years, I've earned a reputation as the Simon Cowell of book bloggers.  People describe my reviews with words like honest, brutal, scathing, pulls-no-punches, etc.  And those are compliments (if not entirely accurate ones)!  But, here's the thing, I'm really a very nice person.  I hate conflict.  I go out of my way to avoid offending people.  The truth is, I wish I could review every single book I'm offered and do so with raving, gushing excitement.  I wish I could make every author happy.  As a veteran book blogger, I've learned something:  it just doesn't work that way.  The only way I can do this "job" is to tell it like it is.  And you know what?  I'm not going to apologize for that.

6.  I spend a lot less time in the library than I used to—Maybe this has nothing to do with book blogging at all, but I find myself spending very little time in the library these days.  I used to love to roam the stacks, spending long hours browsing and spine-gazing.  Nowadays, I'm much more efficient—if I see a glowing review of a book that looks interesting, I reserve it online, then go grab it from the library, and proceed on my merry way.  Most of my visits to the library take less than 5 minutes (ironic, since I make a point of driving to the county library that's about a 15-minute drive from my house because I like it better than the city library, which is a whole lot closer).  This turn-of-events makes me sad because I truly love libraries.

7.  Long waits don't bother me none—Most people complain about having to spend hours and hours in waiting rooms and airport lobbies.  Not me.  I embrace the uninterrupted reading time.

8.  I'm a reading vs. socializing hypocrite—I love that my preteen adores reading, but watching her choose books over interacting with friends, family and classmates sometimes gives me pause.  While I completely understand, I find myself lecturing her a lot about putting her book down and engaging in the world around her—all the while, ignoring my own advice.  I'm an adult, so that's okay, right?  Right?

9.  I'm getting choose-y in my old age—As I mentioned before, I'm a nice person.  So, I felt terrible when I had to pare down my list of book blogs on Bloglovin'.  Well, I didn't get rid of any, I just shifted my favorites into their own section.  While I still read tons of book blogs, usually they are only the ones on this exclusive list.  I know, I'm an awful person!  The guilt is killing me (but I feel a whole lot less overwhelmed by my list of blog posts to be read).

10.  Uh ...—Okay, I can't think of any other scandalous secrets to spill, so I'll just end my confession here.  What do you think?  Do I have some repenting to do?  A Hail Mary or two?  How about you?  What are your deepest, darkest blogging confessions?  I promise I won't tell.  I'm a book blogger, so I'm totally trustworthy ...          

A.J. has never changed a diaper in his life, though he is a modestly skilled gift wrapper ... he figures diaper changing and gift-wrapping must be related proficiencies ... The whole thing takes about twenty minutes.  Babies move more than books and aren't as conveniently shaped (50).  

If Jenny were a book, she would be a paperback just out of the box—no dog ears, no waterlogging, no creases in her spine.  A.J. would prefer a social worker with some obvious wear.  He imagines the synopsis on the back of the Jenny story:  when plucky Jenny from Fairfield, Connecticut, took a job as a social worker in the big city, she had no idea what she was getting into (64-65).

How can you not love a voice as rich and droll as this one?  It captivated me.  Fikry's story, though not all that original, is also compelling.  As are those of the other characters.  In fact, the only thing that kept me from not outright adoring The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry was its R-rated elements (F-bombs, sexual content, etc.), which seemed out of place in a tale that otherwise brims with an old-fashioned, classic type of charm.  If it weren't for these "aberrations," I would be gushing about this book right and left, pushing it on every bibliophile I know.  As is, I can only recommend it with reservations.  The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry has such appeal, I just wish Zevin had stripped out all the "mature" elements and kept it clean enough for book lovers of all ages to enjoy this homage to reading—and to life.

(Readalikes:  Hm, I can't think of anything.  Can you?)

Grade:

(Book image is from Barnes & Noble; missionary photos are from the LDS Media Library)