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.
Just Do It: On Reading, Writing + Narcissism
I’ve been trying to write a something about this book since we moved in July 2015. That’s over two years ago! (Well, I mean, in spurts. This is not two years’ worth of effort that you’re about to read.) I picked up The Faster I Walk, The Smaller I Am, by Kjersti A. Skomsvold, in April 2015 in Dubray Books in Blackrock Shopping Centre. I love this book – and I’ve actually read it three times – but whenever I sat down to write about it, I struggled with my writing feeling pedantic or non-insightful.
Home: What's the Problem?
Last weekend in the Guardian’s “Family” section, Sarah Leipciger – a self-proclaimed “Canuck living in London” – addressed a topic that people are more apt to discuss with children rather than with adults. Whether on the first day of kindergarten, in the car before a sleepover, or perhaps at the threshold of a college dorm, one can find parents wiping tears (either theirs or those of their offspring) and offering whispered assurance that this feeling – homesickness – will subside. But as Leipciger, who moved from Canada to London with her English husband fifteen years ago, can attest, “the underrated power of nostalgia” can make even the most adaptable person long for “home.” Adult homesickness is a real thing, and although grown-ups have more tools and mental know-how to combat it than children, the magnetic pull of all that is familiar and yes, comfortable, is a hard one to ignore. As a friend who lives with her husband and children in his home country wrote in an email to me, “There is a day care centre for Alzheimer’s patients near where we live. It’s in a lovely setting with a farm, but I remember once driving by there on a pissed off day and thinking, what if I get early Alzheimer’s and I end up there? What if I never get away? It’s not a true reflection of my foundation feeling which is more balanced and upbeat (I’ve worked hard on that) but I do have days like that. And I too harbour hopes of living in my home country again. Indeed I would be devastated if I thought that would never happen.”
Tell Me a Story
My son is nine years old and in the equivalent of fourth grade, an age when pupils have one main classroom (or “form,” as his school calls it) teacher save for specials such as science, PE, and art. We’ve been very pleased with this teacher, and one of her exemplary qualities is that she is attempting to teach her charges how to write well. Yes, they try their hands at “creative writing” and learn about different forms of poetry and prose, but most importantly, she is demonstrating how to – and demanding that the children do so, in the way only a good teacher can – “uplevel” their writing. She’s provided them with their own little booklet of mechanical writing tips and suggestions – much like the one I got from the most influential teacher I’ve ever had, although I didn’t learn any of these tricks of the trade in a formalized fashion until high school. (Nonetheless, thank you, Sr. O’Dea!) However, part of learning how to write well is also learning how to read well, which is why I loved looking in my son’s homework folder earlier this year and seeing his notes about context clues and how to interpret an author’s intent via the structure of his or her writing. And, despite not being a huge fan of fiction, he’s learning what makes a story, well, good. (What I’m waiting for is his chance meeting with a piece of fiction that will enchant him and make him want to curl up with a book and jump inside its pages. But I suppose I have to accept that not everyone enjoys this. Le Sigh!)
With a Little Luck
If you have any social media account or at the very least keep up with that pulse on America – I’m talking about The Ellen Show, of course – you probably know about Humans of New York. And if you haven’t? In my opinion, you’re in for a treat: The project, started by photographer Brandon Stanton in 2010, takes him around New York City’s five boroughs as he photographs and interviews people who catch his eye. The subjects and their mini-interviews range from outlandish (“I legally changed my name to Space…”), to the mundane (“Mom is visiting from Barbados. This is her first time seeing snow.”), to the painfully real (“I’ve lost count of how many foster homes I’ve stayed in…”), to the just plain little (the “Today in microfashion” series, which showcases the sweet and sometimes funny outfits worn by children). Stanton has a knack for asking good questions – or at least pulling out interesting commentary from these people. The success of HONY is based on the premise that everyone has some sort of story to tell and that wisdom or insight can come from seemingly unlikely individuals.
Resolute
A couple of months ago, I started using the Nike running app, and my least favorite part is picking which emoticon to select at the end of my run. I usually select the second- and third-highest “smiley” (just one shy of what is apparently “euphoria,” which is probably an indication that I should be pushing myself more), but I have never once referred back to these to analyze the different conditions that may inch me toward one or the other. It’s too simplistic of a method to chart progress, for although the app syncs with the local weather, it really has no clue how much the whipping wind from the Irish Sea affects my first mile or two. Similarly, although I may enter a relatively happy face because I feel physically good after the run, the little yellow face won’t account for the non-physical issues I’ve been tossing and turning in my mind on a particular day. Mostly, though, I can’t accurately compare my run – the same distance, the same route – to another. This 5-mile route is my only benchmark, and until I stretch out that length or at least huff and puff a little more, I won’t know what any of those frown-y faces on the right of my phone’s screen really mean. Nor will I appreciate the nice and easy little workout I’ve created for myself. (Note to self: It’s never too late to take up New Years resolutions.)
The More We Read Together, Together, Together
Reading: It’s the quintessential “hobby” to add a little pizazz to your bio. Somewhere along the line, it became de rigueur for companies (particularly of the hip start-up variety) to have their employees include whimsical and totally-unrelated-to-their-job tidbits in their bios in an effort, I suppose, to humanize and personalize the faces behind a (hopefully) profit-making enterprise. This is a completely unscientific and totally anecdotal conclusion, but I believe this to be the most common line in a professional bio: “Outside of work, Employee X can be found with a book in hand, enjoying [insert craft beer or designer coffee].” Now, to be fair, the beverage can sometimes be replaced with sporting hobbies (kayaking/climbing/skiing, most likely) or the ever-generic “travel,” but you know what the constant will be the majority of the time? Reading. “You like to read? Hey, I like to read too! I just knew I wanted to do business with this company!”
The ABCs of Changing the Topic
About two years ago, when the Affordable Care Act (aka “Obamacare”) started making waves in America, there was one thing that scared the living daylights out of scores of folks: Socialism. And you know what was even scarier? A place that seemed to encapsulate everything that was wrong with the ACA: Sweden. It sent shivers up people’s spines and became a rallying cry for everything that was going to hell in a handbasket in the United States. #eeeeekpleasenotsweden had the potential to be the hashtag heard around the world. “Sweden” became a synonym for “Socialism” (never mind that, strictly speaking, Sweden is not a Socialist country) and some people’s obsession with the country nearly overshadowed the fact that some people just wanted to talk more about healthcare on a broader level without going into policy or making assertions about what works or what doesn’t.
Let’s call it the Art of Making Something Seem Like It’s About Something Else, or Missing the Point Entirely. In other words, “I’m not talking about A nor B (even though everyone else is discussing A and B)—I want to discuss something entirely different: C.”
Measuring Up
About a year ago, my brother-in-law posed a question on Facebook: “Comedians judge each other by The Aristocrats joke. My dad judges chefs by their chicken parm. What unique yardsticks do you have?” In other words, by what metric do you judge something specific? I responded that despite the cliché, I do, in fact, judge a book by its cover. Incidentally, that’s how I ended up purchasing Ghana Must Go by Taiye Selasi. I’ll readily admit that if a book’s cover doesn’t register aesthetically for me, I’ll have to be convinced about its content. The converse, of course, is that I’ve been burned a time or two by books whose innards don’t match their eye-catching exteriors. By the way, I’m not alone in this fascination: Here’s a piece from The New Yorker about the ins and outs of cover design.
Home, Where My Thought's Escaping
Does one need to leave home in order to truly understand what that word means to him or her?
With migration inching its way to “top headline” status in news media around the world, the notion of “home” bubbles into my mind repeatedly. I don’t mean just “immigration,” because one can merely mention that word to someone (particularly an American) and know that a forceful stream of opinion will begin to gush forward. Yes, “migration” is in the news because of debate about immigration to America and Western Europe, but migration also refers to refugees, a general spirit of “multi-culturalism” (when you’re married to someone of a different nationality, you’ve obviously got to choose someplace to live and make roots), the globalization of the world’s economy and where multinational companies are sending their employees, and simple but gradual population shifts. The Wittengenstein Centre for Demography and Global Human Capital recently released an interactive map showing major migration pathways from 1990 to 2010. Take a look because it is fascinating: The Global Flow of People
It's Like This... On Anne Enright and What Are You Like?
1961 brought something amazing into the lives of every young girl who has ever attended a slumber party. The advent of games such as “Truth or Dare” and “Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board”? A guide to prank calling? No, sorry, what I’m talking about here is Disney’s smash hit The Parent Trap (in Technicolor), starring Hayley Mills as twins separated at birth: snooty Sharon McKendrick from Boston and freewheeling Californian Susan Evers. The underlying romantic story, which essentially declares “opposites attract,” brings the girls’ long-estranged mother and father back together in an all-too-perfect fashion. The film, marketed as a comedy full of high jinks, was nominated for two Academy Awards, netted $25,000 at the box office, and provided a springboard for three television sequels, a theatrical re-release in 1968, a popular remake more than 35 years later, and the remarkable ability for “Let’s Get Together, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” to get stuck in every viewer’s head. This is compelling stuff, and I have seen this movie at least ten times, mostly at sleepovers.
Shake It: A Break from Regularly Scheduled Programming
Last night, my husband and I and our two kids huddled around a laptop watching old videos. One of my favorites? A front-toothless version of my now-10-year-old daughter singing “Summertime” from Porgy and Bess. Summertime, and the livin’ is easy… School has been out for a week, we’ve had some uncharacteristic 70-degree days, and the 10:30 pm light is making bedtime later and later. Summer: It always shakes things up a bit. So, I will too. (Shake things up, that is. Much like how Debbie Gibson sang “Shake Your Love” in 1987. Oh, to have a video of me singing that.)
It's Not You, It's Me
I love my son so much. Obviously. And I really love the earnest way he expresses bewilderment over some of his contemporaries’ preferences. Although he just turned 9, an age where “toys” sort of lose favor, it’s actually been several years since he’s enjoyed a toy: A fanatical obsession with Thomas the Tank Engine would have been the last one. He’d rather be outside with a ball or composing meticulous lists and charts—ranging from alphabetizing his school’s entire student body to transcribing World Cup rankings. So a year or two ago, when a few of his friends were into Skylanders (I don’t know what they are either. Little figurines, I guess, with elaborate backstories to go with them?), he just wasn’t sure how to engage with these pals. I picked him up from school one day and he said, “I don’t get it. All they do is…” And then he proceeded to demonstrate with lots of hand motions and puppetry how his friends would manipulate these figurines to battle and do cool stunts. Similarly, he tried the Lego after-school program for a few terms and just couldn’t get into it. (Just goes to show how kids will repeatedly surprise their parents; six years ago, I would have absolutely pinned him as a future “Lego Kid.” Guess not!) Simply put, he likes what he likes—some things you just can’t force. The great thing, though, is that he takes great care in picking out birthday presents suitable for these friends and truly desires to get these guys what they want even when he doesn’t have the foggiest idea what they actually “do” with them.
A Real Education: On Tan Twan Eng's The Garden of Evening Mists & What We Read in School
I’m about to sound either really clueless or really curious.
Here’s a sampling of some of the questions I asked myself as I read The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng. Why is everyone referring to Malaya, and not Malaysia? Pearl Harbor was not Japan’s “official entrance” into World War II? Why is there a South African living in Cameron Highlands? And the Boer War: What was that again? Perhaps I should be a little embarrassed to admit my ignorance about the Eastern World despite, I think, being reasonably informed about general global history and geography. But my reading of Tan’s lushly and quietly beautiful novel about the Japanese Occupation and its lasting effects on protagonist Yun Ling took me constantly to Google; the result of my reading was not just another wonderful story embedded in my heart, but also a small step forward in understanding a greater world.
Just the Facts
“Good fiction creates empathy. A novel takes you somewhere and asks you to look through the eyes of another person, to live another life.” – Barbara Kingsolver
Barbara Kingsolver is one of my tried-and-true, go-to authors. From the first time I picked up a copy of The Bean Trees in the 1950s-bowling-alley-turned-Barnes-and-Noble in downtown Bellevue, I knew I would like it. Originally, it was the cover art and fluorescent orange spine that made me pick up the book, but after I bought it and actually read it, I knew I was under the spell of this author. Although the eccentricity of a blind babysitter named Edna Poppy and a shop called Jesus is Lord Used Tires stood out to this 17-year-old, what I really enjoyed was Kingsolver’s ability to show me other sides to issues and situations that I didn’t know much about, such as underground railroads for immigrants and rural Appalachian towns. It was all very eye opening, yet in a quirky-character-driven sort of way. But as much as I love to read Barbara Kingsolver, I’d also argue that her novels sometimes lean toward the pedantic and heavy-handed side; she may write sympathetic characters for both sides of an issue, but at times, they turn into caricatures of themselves.
The Better Way
As soon as we have our first experiences with the stage—waiting to go on for a piano recital or a nerve-wracking regional spelling bee—we learn the backstage rule of thumb that teachers and other official adults-in-charge have screeched for years: If you can see people in the audience, they can see you too. With little children, however, keeping away from the glow of those footlights is a tricky proposition; they all want to see, and although they may not be aware of it, their main goal is often to be seen themselves. As for the adults in the audience? Although they may be glad that their children are obeying, it is that lone excited child waving frantically to Mom and Dad whom they’ll all remember. And for those children too meek or too compliant to make their faces known? Well, the audience won’t see what they’re doing until they come on at the appointed time, in the appointed fashion.
Motherly Love
I have an awkward admission to make: I read what are fondly known as Mommy Blogs. I’m embarrassed that I actually spend precious downtime reading these often narcissistic and sentimental odes to a Pottery Barn catalog version of life so I won’t even stoop to the level of sharing the ones that I skim—even if just once a month—because many of them embody so much navel gazing and consumerism. Let’s just chalk it up to the thirty-something-mother version of watching Saved by the Bell reruns after school. (Don’t deny it unless you’re going to admit to watching Charles in Charge instead.) Why don’t I like these online chronicles of motherhood? Let me count the ways: They commodify children. (Can you imagine having tens of thousands of people looking at your child’s mug every day?) They often take a sarcastic and demeaning tone. (Listen, I completely understand the trials of preparing meals for picky toddlers, but pulling out the big sarcasm and provocative-language guns and essentially poking fun at your offspring in a very public forum to generate sympathetic and commiserating laughs is just juvenile—and I can be a very sarcastic person. #soblessed) And lastly, these online snippets of “real life” are often viewed by their authors as tools to catapult to their fifteen minutes of fame. (Just hop on over to the Huffington Post and read the posts by mothers who are faux angry for this, that, and another reason and then watch all these posts go viral.) In short, many seem to me to be one-dimensional “soft” versions of what mothering truly encompasses; many mommy blogs present an ambience or a general feeling. So why, then, do I still read them? These blogs give me a peek into what makes my American contemporaries tick, sometimes they provide a good chuckle when I see how stylized every facet of bloggers’ children’s lives can be (even in attempts to “keep it real”), but often, it’s just fluff entertainment.
On Doyle’s Dialogue
The Curator
An exploration of Irish author Roddy Doyle’s work, in-group communication styles, and now-ubiquitous emojis.
Read Here or at CuratorMagazine.com
Lost in Translation
Sometimes as I’m browsing in an Irish bookstore, or perhaps as I’m eyeing what other people on the DART are reading, I wonder if an “all-American” title, such as To Kill a Mockingbird, Go Tell It on the Mountain, or The Grapes of Wrath, translates well; do these books affect non-Americans the way they do Americans? It’s a one-half-simplistic, and one-half-sensible sentiment. Simplistic: Is the “American experience” really so incomprehensible? (No, because global media make sure it’s plastered over every continent.) Sensible: I’d argue that you can’t really feel intertwined with a particular culture if you haven’t spent a substantial bit of time there. (Eating at Letzte Bratwurst vor Amerika/“Last Hotdog until America” in Sagres, Portugal does not count toward familiarizing oneself with America.)
To Otto
“And most important, it was our duty to give love to those who needed our affection.” — Grace Roby, in Empire Falls, by Richard Russo
I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I have been, on rare occasions, enthralled by the Duggar family. [ed note: This was written in 2014!] If you’re not American—or if you avoid People and US Weekly—the Duggars are an extremely religious family comprised of 19 children. One of the family’s mottos is J.O.Y., the acronyms standing for the order in which they believe respect should be bestowed: Jesus, Others, and (finally) Yourself. It’s an interesting concept, one that can be taken too far, particularly in a rigid and patriarchical environment. But wipe out the religious overtones, and it’s probably an attitude that most people—especially parents—embody. And subconsciously or not, we do it often: Full car and one child has to ride up front (air bags turned off, of course!)? I’d rather put one of my own in the hot seat than someone else’s child.
The Economics of Moving
There’s an economic principle called Pareto Efficiency that essentially states that you cannot add to one individual’s set of resources without taking away from another’s set of resources. I’m not an economist; although I studied enough economics in college to qualify for a minor, I’m really a humanities person, so leave it to me to think about how this principle applies in emotional, rather than financial, scenarios. As a result, I’ve seen each place I’ve lived—a collection of different environments—as experiences meant to be kept separate. I’ve always seen it this way: If I pour my energies into life in Dublin, all the previously exerted energies in New York, for instance, drizzle down some sort of drain, as if they’re needed elsewhere.
