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.
Recreating
I’m enjoying a Thai rice and tofu salad by myself. I think Matt would probably like it, but he is traveling so I see this as an opportunity to experiment with recipes from The Happy Pear, a pint-sized vegan restaurant in Greystones, Co Wicklow where I would often stop with my “hill walking” friends. “A lifetime ago,” we like to say. Meanwhile, Spotify’s Natalie Merchant playlist streams through the speaker. From recalling my “discovery” of 10,000 Maniacs in middle school to easing into the softer melodies of her solo career, my mind’s eye looks through a make-believe pinhole and sees a different me. But still the same…you know what I mean. It’s hard to hold hands with a 10- or 20- (or, yikes, 30-)-years-earlier version of oneself, much less give her a high five. But I’ll always try!
James / So Much Blue
After finishing my third and fourth Percival Everett novels — prior to James and So Much Blue, pictured, I had read The Trees and Erasure — I am convinced that this author of 34 books (!) should be considered one of America’s greatest novelists and also that his work should be taught in high schools. (Not everyone would like that last take, I am absolutely certain…) I’m repeatedly surprised at how successfully he can make a very readable book (so much more “readable” than I think people might suspect) completely erudite and subversive at the same time. Not to mention super funny.
The Old-School Library at OpenAI
A prevailing sentiment among “book people” is that ChatGPT should cause consternation and hand-wringing. I get that. But while technology and automation may be replacing some jobs, I still don’t think it can replace the job of a novelist. Well, let me rephrase: There are some sorts of books that, yes, could likely be written using AI. Mostly, the dubious part in my eyes is copyright infringement. (And also that you can’t cut-and-paste emotion!)
I Cheerfully Refuse
I generally don’t like an apocalyptic novel, it’s true. Just see my post about last year’s Booker winner, Prophet Song by Paul Lynch…
Get ‘Er Done
I posted this picture — taken almost 19 years ago — on my personal Instagram on Sunday, Mother’s Day in the US. I love being a mom for the reasons that everyone always talks about, but I also love it because being a parent really requires you to dig within to uncover some sort of super strength that feels otherworldly. Like, I have no idea why I look so chipper sitting this way with a 21-month-old and a newborn, but there I am, reading a A Fly Went By to my two loves. Truly, how did I muster the wherewithal?! I write that not to conjure any sort of accolades (like omg look at meeeeee!!!), but to document that it happened because it’s a good reminder (mostly to myself) that there’s always a way, somehow, to get the job done.
Memory Piece
I checked out Memory Piece by Lisa Ko because I have an interest in collective memory and nostalgia — particularly about places. In fact, I am currently trying to refine one of my essays that uses those early-days “Remember when?” or “You know you’re from…” Facebook groups as a framework. The novel is fine — not my favorite, but of course that can’t be the standard for every book — but what I’m particularly intrigued by is Ko’s exploration of how technology mediates our memories and what changes more…a person or the place. In other words, when people like to bemoan “the way things were” especially in light of the structural development of a location, has the place truly changed demonstrably? Or as we age are we more apt to feel out of sync with our memories? (Just some light thoughts to start off your day…)
A Ghost in the Throat
I am obsessed with this book.
A Book Recommendation Party
We were so happy to have a handful of people over last night. It was mostly just a way to rev up entertaining again, but as I try to suss out the hows and whats of possibly starting up some literary/book events in Charlotte after doing so in MetroWest Boston, it also served as an easy way to start dipping my toe in that world. I mean, I’m talking in a verrrrry minor way because the only book-ish thing about the evening was that it was requested that everyone bring a book recommendation to share.
What Phones are Doing to Reading
Here’s an article that popped up in my inbox: “What Phones are Doing to Reading.” For much of the piece, writer Jay Caspian Kang reiterates what we already know. We are too used to scrolling and too used to seeking the “knowledge” of an algorithm, and in general, these qualities make us abandon books more readily if we’re not engaged straight away and they also cause us to want to skim and tap — “a quick calcification of muscle memory,” he writes.
Unstuck
A question from a couple of people IRL lately: “How’s the writing going?”
“I’m at a point where I can’t get my arms around what I’ve got” has been the reply. (Often accompanied by me gesticulating as if I am literally trying to get my arms around something and then me feeling inwardly frustrated because yes, this is a different and bigger project that other things I’ve undertaken, but I feel like I shouldn’t be as stuck as I am.)
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.
