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.
Tom Lake
I recently read a New Yorker piece titled “Becoming You: Are you the same person you were when you were a child?” In it, writer Joshua Rothman references a study of 1,037 individuals in New Zealand who are interviewed by a psychologist periodically from childhood to midlife in an attempt to understand humans’ connections with their “past selves.” (This kind of thing fascinates me.)
The Rabbit hOle
Today, April 2, is International Children’s Book Day…which I would not have known if I didn’t follow Katie Couric on Instagram. So thank you, Katie. (Btw, she shared that one of her favorite books written for children is Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. If you saw my post from the other day, you may recall that the assumed genesis of this title caused a wee rift between me and my childhood BFF. I am happy to report, though, that 40 years later, all is well and she and I met up for an enjoyable dinner in Seattle a few months ago. I guess it’s true that time heals all wounds, even those caused by a jump-roping know-it-all, i.e. me.)
Erasure
Erasure — named to The Atlantic’s “Great American Novels” list — is a stellar book. Percival Everett was unknown to me until The Trees made the Booker shortlist in 2022. I read it and thought, “This is different. And lol funny. But serious too.” And then I saw American Fiction and realized it was based on Erasure and thought, “I should read that novel.”
Steps to Nowhere
These Steps to Nowhere, spotted on a walk, reminded me of a childhood friend because there was part of her street where a sidewalk just…ended. And she once told me that EXACT SPOT was the inspiration for Where the Sidewalk Ends, and I was like “Shel Silverstein has never been to your street,” and then we got in a spat. Which isn’t that unusual for kids, you know? (That said, I may have been a bit of an instigator because another time I told this friend that Santa wasn’t real after an assembly featuring a jump roping “team” as we were all outside trying to do our own tricks with those beaded ropes. She was so upset, and I probably did deserve one of those things whipped my way…)
We All Want Impossible Things
The late 90s was this golden era of women writers in their 20s/30s who projected a sort of “intellectual but quirky” image. Or maybe I just thought that because I myself was in my 20s in the late 90s. This was before blogging was really a thing; instead, they penned columns and essays for publications like SELF, Harper’s, Salon, Slate. Maybe you know the genre I mean: Meghan Daum, Katie Roiphe, Amanda Beesley. (That last one is perhaps super random but she wrote a column about getting engaged and married amidst her mother’s early Alzheimer’s diagnosis that turned into a book. Anyone?) Reading these women’s prose was like perusing emails from your wittiest & funniest & most insightful friend. (Because, yes, we all used to send and receive lengthy emails providing full life updates and musings.)
The Namesake
For some reason I thought that maybe I had already read The Namesake … until I started it (because I wasn’t 100% sure) and realized that nope, I had just seen the movie.
Connecting With Tommy Orange
I read There There by Tommy Orange soon after it was released in 2018. If you’re not familiar, Orange’s novel about “Urban Indians” in Oakland was a Pulitzer finalist and a National Book Award longlister. The historical Occupation of Alcatraz, a 19-month occupation of Alcatraz by 89 Native Americans from 1969-1971, plays a large role. (This was new history to me.) It’s richly layered, cleverly derivative — the novel’s title comes from the Gertrude Stein line “There is no there there” — and made me want to learn more about urban-based Native populations.
A Little Life
I’m about 10 years late to the party, but now I’ve joined the party, and here’s what’s on my mind…
Do Celeb Book Clubs and Multi-Hyphenates Go Together?
I wanted to roll my eyes at yet another celeb book club but I honestly can’t this time. I read this article in print, and then the online version featuring video interviews with Kaia Gerber, daughter of Cindy Crawford. She sounds smart & interesting and wants to be known as “the internet’s librarian” as she prepares to launch something called Library Science this year. She’s 22 and her favorite book is Just Kids by Patti Smith.
Just the Thing
It might come to pass that you are sitting in the Nordstrom Café in Bellevue Square on a Friday afternoon at 3 pm, eating a Green Goddess salad and reading a novel. You may be there because you just got off a plane but need to buy something before you attend a funeral the next day. It may also come to pass that you can’t focus on your book. At first you wonder if it’s because you feel awkward sitting by yourself in a restaurant, but then you realize that, no, that’s probably not the case because you’ve engaged in some iteration of this ever since grad school, but you had more props — notebooks, textbooks, highlighters. Then again, that probably looked more purposeful and this looks like a random woman sitting by herself at a non-traditional meal hour fumbling with both an overflowing salad and a paperback.
O Caledonia
I read O Caledonia by Elspeth Barker, and, well I think the main thing I need to say about this is that teenage protagonist Janet is maybe, probably, definitely, for sure an Enneagram 4 (but notch it waaaay up to 11 — or more).
Stolen
“Good things come to those who wait” — always true?
Sharing a Book
Did you know that in addition to Valentine’s Day, February 14 is also International Book Giving Day? (Of COURSE it was @bethanyschlegel who tipped me off to this factoid a few years ago. #whoelse)
I Love LA
Recent headline in the NYT: “Why the LA Public Library Acquired a Book Publisher.” The owners of Angel City Press — a small, 32-year-old shop dedicated to LA-specific books that are “drenched in nostalgia but undeniably cool” (yessssss!) — were ready to retire so offered up the whole shebang to the local library system.
Challenge Accepted
From Newsletter Issue No. 17:
I like a new year — I think most people do, yes?
Emergency
The short stories in Kathleen Alcott’s debut collection Emergency are like the sorts of people who seem to exude way too much cool and bravado but then you have a conversation with them and you’re like, “Ok, I guess you’re maybe a normal person with typical self-conscious neuroses too.” But then once in a while their sense of coolness peeks through the whole aw-shucks routine and you wonder if it’s all really a charade after all.
The End of Drum-Time
One day while writing I fell down this massive rabbit hole and came across something called discrete emotion theory, which posits that everyone — regardless of culture or geography — has the same set of basic emotions. There are exceptions and nuances, though…mostly having to do with language, which is how I circled into this whole thing in the first place.
The Queen of Dirt Island
So, the cover art for The Queen of Dirt Island is deceiving. Yes, we all know not to judge a book by its cover, but … what, huh? I’m a huge fan of Donal Ryan, and when I collected this copy from the library I wondered if he had abruptly taken a treacly, romantic, sentimental turn. In fact, his writing — subject matter, prose, narrative style — has not transformed for the “worse”; it’s actually so great (and contemporary, as much of the book takes place in the 90s as opposed to the 40s vibe that the cover boasts) that I couldn’t get Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird out of my head.
Bookshelf Wealth
Here we go again! And here I am eating it all up!
I’m an Alum!
I ran by this guy the other day who was wearing a Tufts shirt. I was wearing a “Bowdoin Mom” shirt. (Yup, I am 100% that dork who wears “Mom” shirts from my kids’ schools.) This is likely meaningless to you if you’re not familiar with a certain subset (or “milieu,” because let’s face it, “milieu” is probably an apt word choice in this case) of small colleges. As I approached this young guy, he smiled really big, pointed at his shirt, and then pointed at mine. I knew exactly what he meant: One way or another, there was a tacit agreement that we A) understood a certain culture and were both part of it, and B) were currently situated outside that culture. Then I made it more confusing because right as we passed each other I took my ear bud out (why?) and pointed more aggressively at his shirt and said, “I’m an alum!” probably way too loud. (Let’s also spend a minute envisioning the other people who may have been around who all of a sudden heard only “I‘m an alum!” punctuating the relative silence.)
