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.
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.”
They Came Like Swallows
The blurb for or any quick synopsis of They Came Like Swallows — a tender book (almost, maybe, perhaps a novella?) by William Maxwell and first published in 1937 — will focus on Elizabeth (or Bess to her sister) as mother and wife and how her two sons, husband, and other family members and neighbors view her as “goodness” personified. That is true, and it’s a beautifully executed portrait of the nuances found in each of these relationships. The 1918 influenza informs the context. (So that feels kind of close, particularly when a character gripes about closed schools and churches.) …
Past the Present
I keep a 65-pages-and-counting Word doc where I jot down notable quotes from books I’m reading. It’s only for library books — otherwise, I’m a write (right?)-in-the-book annotator. (Sorry, not interested in apps that claim to make this process easier, esp if there’s a “social”/sharing component.)
Becoming a Peach
While I’m not so sure about this transitive peach logic, I adore the rest of this sentiment by Natalie Goldberg. (I love her books about writing so very much. I think it was a teacher who first introduced me to the classic Writing Down the Bones — and I’ve never looked back. This excerpt’s from Old Friend from Far Away.)
A Beautifully Furnished House
Two days wandering New Orleans, and I think this is my favorite picture? (Ok, that’s not totally true…so many bright, beautiful, and interesting things to see!)
But 2 days wandering New Orleans = 3 bookshops visited. I try really hard to not buy new (meaning new releases) books these days. (This is why I currently have 20 books out from the library. OMG.) But I do like to support independent bookstores, so my new book-buying philosophy =
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.
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).
The Premonition
If you know me in person, have followed me for a bit, or know what I’ve been spending time writing about (homesickness), it will be no surprise why I adored The Premonition by Banana Yoshimoto, published in 1988 in Japan and recently translated to English.
Machine Dreams
I’ve muddled through this novel — Machine Dreams, by Jayne Anne Phillips — for the past three or four weeks. It’s not the book’s fault; it’s just been a really busy three or four weeks what with moving our children back to school and then moving ourselves about 850 miles away. This is Phillips’ debut novel, and although I had never heard of Phillips until about two months ago, she was apparently once associated with “the girls of Knopf” or a female version of the “literary brat pack” which included excellent company: Lorrie Moore, Louise Erdrich, Mona Simpson.
The Sheltering Sky
This was a fascinating book. Paul Bowles was unknown to me until a couple of months ago, but as you can see from this cover image of his novel The Sheltering Sky, this is a 65th anniversary edition with “a new introduction by Tobias Wolff” as well as a blurb from Dave Eggers. The Sheltering Sky was initially published in 1949, but to me if felt very Hemingway-esque — probably because the plot centers around an affluent and aimless American couple that finds itself wandering Northern Africa after WWII.
The Autobiography of My Mother
What I kept thinking about while reading The Autobiography of My Mother by Jamaica Kincaid was Sinéad O’Connor’s blockbuster album I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got. It’s a long and convoluted album name — I once had a dubbed tape of the album and I wish I remembered if the friend who gave it to me was even able to fit the whole title on the cassette cover’s spine. But I feel like it sums up this novel.
Lucy
I am not really a fan of the “Bloom Where You’re Planted” adage. Do I think that one should “find the silver lining” when they end up in a place that doesn’t quite feel right? Yes, of course. (Been there, done that.) Do I think you can just slot a person into different environments and expect them to simply thrive to their fullest extent no matter what the environment? 100% no. This is the flip side of “homesick” — people often refer to this phrase in a gauzy, nostalgic way, but it also can be experienced as a byproduct of ending up somewhere that just doesn’t click.
A Small Place
My brother recently sent me an article that Noam Chomsky contributed to regarding ChatGPT. Chomsky is technically a professor of linguistics, but really, he’s a “public intellectual” or “social critic.” It landed in my inbox around the same time I was organizing my old grad school materials. I re-discovered the book Is There a Text in this Class? by Stanley Fish, who was influential in the rise of reader-response criticism. (Something interesting that I’ll explore another day!) Anyway, all this sudden immersion in the idea of “criticism” is very appropriate given that I’d been reading A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid for #ReadingJamaicaKincaid w @ifthisisparadise
Annie John
When you’re a child, “school” and “family” are the countries you travel between, each offering up a seemingly impenetrable border. I attended four different schools for K-12 (if you count a trimester I spent at a “sister school” across the country), and because none of them were a part of a natural progression (i.e. the elementary that feeds into the middle, etc.), each transfer felt like an initiation into a new nation where the students — even if residents of the same region — were different. Adults don’t necessarily notice these nuances, but kids sure do. School is their LIFE. I’ll always laugh at the line “She doesn’t even go here!” from Mean Girls because it totally encapsulates the “in” or “out” situation of being a part of an institution. (And also because if you ever met someone in a different context, you automatically knew what they meant when they asked, “Where do you go?” No need to finish that prepositional phrase.)
Growing Up Rich
“But isn’t all art derivative?” = a short topic of discussion this weekend with a friend.
Happy All the Time
Like a classic New Yorker cartoon. Or an older Woody Allen film, à la Hannah and Her Sisters or Annie Hall. Throw a Wendy Wasserstein play in there too. If that's your thing!
At the Bottom of the River
I cannot stand winter in the Northeast US. I don’t mind the cold (rather like it, actually), don’t mind the snow (love, it actually), it’s not like I have seasonal affective disorder and need to move to Florida (no) or get a special lamp. Rather, I just really, really dislike the grey-ness and I really, really, really dislike the barren trees that all look dead. “Look at that marsh over there,” says Matt with an admiring tone on our drive. “You mean the one with what looks like toothpicks sticking out of it?” I think. Pass! Sorry to offend any diehard NE’ers here, but well...
Salka Valka
For those who haven’t seen my Instagram stories in the past month: I have finished Salka Valka by the late Icelandic novelist Halldór Laxness, and it is Annie Proulx’s “favorite Halldór Laxness book” according to a back blurb on this new translation by Philip Roughton and published by Archipelago Books. I don’t think many people outside of certain literary circles even know who Halldór Laxness is (I was in this camp, for sure), so I got a chuckle about how the heck had Annie Proulx (Barkskins, Brokeback Mountain, etc.) read enough Halldór Laxness books so that she could say Salka Valka was her “favorite”??
Fact or Fiction: On The Stone Diaries, The Body Papers & Investigating a Life
I just Googled “fiction versus memoir,” even though I know the difference – and I suspect that you do too. My search results yielded the following top result: “Memoir or Novel? How to Decide.” It’s from a random literary agency that hosts an accompanying blog full of tips for would-be authors, and this was one of its posts. I admit to being a little baffled because I always assume that writers sort of know what genre they want to tackle. Do you want to make up a story or not? Ok, ok, I’ll concede that maybe at the beginning of one’s writing days, a little waffling may present itself. Writer: “I have a message I want to convey, but I’m not sure how.” But otherwise, “fake news” notwithstanding, we have FACT and we have FICTION. They’re different, right?
