READ ALL ABOUT IT
Since 2012, I’ve been writing about books. And the act of reading. And the importance of story and narrative. But, mostly, the underlying theme of all I write is how taking a moment to stop and digest some longform text — instead of scrolling, instead of watching a video, instead of multitasking — can be one of the most grounding things we can do for ourselves. Here’s the one-stop online home for all this writing.
You can read more about me and my work by moseying over here. Want to peruse periodic “essay drops” — excerpts from my work-in-progress essay collection about Homesickness? Here ya go.
Motherlands
The Turkish-born novelist Elif Shafak wrote this in October 2020: “Motherlands are castles made of glass…”
So Far Gone
We saw The Head and the Heart last week. (Awesome show!) They didn’t play one of my favorites, and I can see it being a bit maudlin for a concert at an outdoor amphitheater anyway. It’s called “One Big Mystery” and is marked with “life’s one big mystery” as a repeated line. Simple stuff, but a true statement nonetheless.
Twist
My first job at a magazine included tasks like fact checking, proofing, as well as administrative minutiae such as taping an assortment of an editor’s handwritten taxi receipts to paper so that I could photocopy this collated masterpiece and then FAX it to someone in “corporate.” (🎶 It was the 90s. 🎶)
Sleepless Nights
Just this morning, I explained to someone my “geographic trajectory” (let’s abbreviate it to “GT” to be cozy about it, although to be clear, I’m not referring to a cozy G&T), and it kind of blew her mind. Not because my GT — the “I’ve lived here” version of push-pins on a map — is so amazing or unique, but because she just had no idea. Basically: “How’d you end up here?” And further, “I’ve never been remotely near where you’re from.”
I Have a New Website
From Newsletter Issue No. 21:
About seven months ago, I was sitting in my parents’ living room and pounded out the following statement on my laptop…
Special Books
What makes a book (meaning, the object itself) special?
The Expert of Subtle Revisions
Do you *exist* if no one knows about you? Well, of course you do; this “tree falls in the woods” thought experiment doesn’t really hold up because — at minimum — the vast majority of us are “known” to the government or whatever else powers-that-be by virtue of having an ID, property record/lease, an internet connection, etc. But of course “knowing about you” the way that I mean isn’t about facts necessarily. It’s about feeling. And I just finished The Good Life, the book that outlines and gives insight into the Harvard Study of Adult Development, i.e. “the world’s longest scientific study of happiness.”
Banana Yoshimoto and E.B. White Are in Our Heads
In 2014, I wrote a blog post while on holiday in Portugal with my family. It was about a novel called The Lake by Japanese author Banana Yoshimoto, and I used it to explore the idea of “place” and how we both shed and attract certain elements of places where we live. It was my first time in the Algarve, yet I recall being so struck by this jumbled, yet vivid, fusion of places that I had already experienced: The fishing boats reminded me of the Pacific Northwest, the dry pine needles of central Oregon, the unique red rocks on the Algarve beaches of landlocked Sedona (that one was surprising), and the overall European seaside vibe of an Italian vacation when I was a teenager. And, really, doesn’t the smell of sunblock provide intense recollection for pretty much everyone?
The Life of the Mind
While I’m not necessarily convinced of the benefits [for me] of reading a novel that stars a thoughtful protagonist who has a hard time shaking her neuroses because she possesses the kind of mind that seeks “deep” over “simple” and therefore forces her to analyze situations to an agonizingly detailed degree … I know that I sincerely can’t quit ‘em.
Real Americans
A question after reading Real Americans by Rachel Khong: How often do you suspend disbelief while reading fiction? I don’t mean like “this guy is driving around with his zombie ex-girlfriend” (yes, I’m referring to I Am Homeless if This is Not My Home by Lorrie Moore) or “these sea creatures are talking” (Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt, which I have not read yet, but would like to). Those novels are considered literary fiction — not sci-fi — so readers accept the impossible as sort of an artistic method (maybe akin to Picasso’s portraits?) instead of world-building fantasy. No, I guess I mean more like a novel that is trying to be realistic, but instead feels a tiny bit like a sitcom when it comes to the neatly tied-together details.
Me and Jeff Bezos
The guttural cries shot into my heart via my clenched intestines like a squishy and hard-won fist. All I can think of is my mom taking a can of Whole Peeled Tomatoes (while thinking how weird it is that this is the official name of this product) and squeezing them into the sauce, like a water balloon that bursts stains instead of refreshing water. Convulse, cry. Convulse, cry. I don’t mean to be dramatic — but it felt dramatic.
Jane and Prudence
I checked out this novel — Jane and Prudence by Barbara Pym — after reading about the late British novelist somewhere. It was entertaining — I think Pym is maybe regarded as a 20th-century Jane Austen, i.e. an author who liked to pierce uptight social norms? Jane and Prudence follows two friends as one (Jane) embarks on a new life after her husband, a clergyman, moves to a country congregation, and the other (Prudence) relishes in her mantle as city career gal. It was published in 1953. Busybody-ness reigns supreme, and it was an easy, delightful read.
All Fours
All Fours by Miranda July: I met with 4 friends to talk about this one the other week. Was it a book club? I guess — we were meeting to discuss a book. There did happen to be wine + cheese (+ Amelie’s macarons thanks to @librarian.in.the.woods). We were all women. But somehow it felt different than what popular culture thinks of as a book club. This open group — not everyone knew each other — was an outgrowth of the trio that met at my place a couple of months ago with History of the Rain (Niall Williams) as our catalyst.
The House Shelters Daydreaming
Here’s a text I received from my dad the other day. My parents are in the middle of a road trip to Northern California — a bit of a John Steinbeck pilgrimage. But they first travelled due west and stopped in Los Angeles, they city they moved to after they were married and also the city where I was born. They lived in a few rentals here and there before purchasing their first home, pictured. Yet I imagine each of the homes leading up to this house on stilts held daydreams…because daydreams don’t require ownership, just an imagination.
A Parlor Read
Have you noticed publications (Atlantic, NYT) touting the benefits of reading aloud? I’ve enjoyed seeing these headlines because the first community literary event I produced in 2019 was just that: a read-aloud. It was called Book Covers (like a cover band, but “cover readers”), and there was a theme and a panel discussion following the readings — which were done by prominent community members and authors — + a run sheet + a sound system + press releases etcetcetc.
Moon Tiger
Once in a while, I’ll come across a video of an over-the-top church service. The latest is a pastor making his “stage entrance” via makeshift rollercoaster. Okaaay! Welcome to the commodification of something sacred. “Commodifying” something is maybe just another way of saying “treating as a finite good” or perhaps “cheapening something into a more digestible state.”
Beautiful Ruins
I read a lot of Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter while in Italy — and even had it in my backpack during our day in Cinque Terre, where a lot of the novel takes place. (Why I didn’t pull it out and take some cool meta pic with the book in the foreground is beyond me…) I think a lot about buildings and structures that endure — maybe especially when they’re perched on a tenuous-looking precipice? — and I love ruminating on the repurposing of spaces. Case in point: Giunti Odeon, a former Renaissance palace in Florence that now houses a café/bookstore/cinema. …
Stone Yard Devotional
“Human beings need recognition as much as they need food and water. No crueler punishment can be devised than to not see someone, to render them unimportant or invisible. ‘The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them,’ George Bernard Shaw wrote, ‘but to be indifferent to them: that’s the essence of inhumanity.’ To do that is to say: You don’t matter. You don’t exist.” This is from David Brooks’ book How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen. Whether or not you like Brooks, it’s fair to say he can address a topic with ease and clarity; I found this one — which zeros in on something I think about quite often — an excellent read.
But what happens when someone seems to be actively eschewing being known? Or, how about this: What if by hiding oneself away a person may actually be more known? Does visibility = being “known”? Or is it something more? …
The Secret Apartments Hidden Above Carnegie Libraries
What does it mean to live in a library? There’s sort of a cachet to co-habitating with so much art, culture, and knowledge, á la From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, isn’t there? In the 21-st century this would take the form of a quick-edit video posted to social media: “Come with me as I tour a library-turned-apartment!” Or “POV: You live in an old library.” (And then cue all the book-lovers responding with 😍😍😍 [🙄])
The Fell
There’s a difference between isolation, “alone time,” and loneliness. Maybe they intersect a bit, but the distinct ways that we experience — and perhaps sometimes crave — solitude don’t really share qualities, beyond the obvious granular one, with each other.
