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.
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.”
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? …
Pearl
I finished Siân Hughes’ Booker long-listed debut novel early this morning after getting about 3 hours of sleep (oy), and the slog sped up and her vision became clear.
Choice
“Make good choices!” is the de facto cry of parents. Which in one way is the same as my parents telling me to have a safe flight … of course we all know I have no choice in the matter. My point being: Telling your child to make a “good choice” really doesn’t actually do anything except make a parent feel better via a false sense of control because navigating “making good choices” is sort of this specter that hangs out in the ether throughout years and years of parenting. You hope that common sense just sort of rubs off on them as you model good choice-making, but it’s not like you can role-play or narrate every single situation that a child might encounter. (But of course we all know the general highlight reel…)
The Women Behind the Door
Sometimes I feel like I grew up as a reader in tandem with Roddy Doyle’s journey as a writer. In college, my parents gave me Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, Doyle’s 1993 Booker-winning novel. I was mesmerized by the cover and even more mesmerized by the dialogue (some of which was hard for me to decipher).
The Safekeep
People will say The Safekeep is a love story, or people will say The Safekeep is about how WWII affected a country, but the magic of Yael van der Wouden’s debut is a house and how a structure’s story changes depending on who occupies it. A structure will always = shelter, but is this shelter fair, just, or healthy? “Bound to this house, he said. As if it was a tether and not a shelter.”
Creation Lake
It’s like when you’re sitting in a window-filled room and the clouds start moving juuust a smidge so that when the sunlight peeks and then recedes you nonetheless feel your entire mood fluctuate with these subtlest of shifts. Quietly provocative.
The Extinction of Irena Rey
Knives Out, but it’s a group of translators trying to figure out where their author — a famous Polish writer named Irena Rey (“Our Author” in their parlance) — has disappeared to after they convene in a forest village between Poland and Belarus to translate her newest novel, Grey Eminence. The Extinction of Irena Rey is written by Jennifer Croft, primarily (until now?) known for her translation work — she won the Booker in 2018 for her English translation of Flights by Olga Tokarczuk. I know of Croft because of her fab work of autofiction, Homesick, which she originally wrote in Spanish. The Extinction of Irena Rey is actually a novel in a novel; Croft has masterminded the story to be “written” by an Argentinian and then “translated” to English by an American. Got that?
The Bee Sting
SPECTACULAR. That’s all I have to say.
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.
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)
Prophet Song
Have you ever had an intensely negative visceral reaction to a book?
I wouldn’t normally say publicly if I did, but Prophet Song by Paul Lynch (which just won the Booker) is my answer.
Old God’s Time
On the back of Old God’s Time, Sebastian Barry’s 11th novel, a blurb by Robert Gottlieb reads, “Barry’s novels give us lives, not plots…Every one of his novels is luminous. Not one of them sounds like anyone else.” Yup, yup on that “lives, not plots” commentary — and actually, I wrote about this very idea many years ago for The Curator after reading my first Barry novel. (It was Annie Dunne, purchased at the Dublin Writers Museum … here’s the piece.) These days, I’m more often than not drawn to “plot-less” books — books that mine emotion and motivation instead of relying on “and here’s what happened next” storytelling. But, as laid bare in that essay, I initially found reading a novel like that kind of jarring.
All We Shall Know
I love Donal Ryan’s work and can’t wait to read his latest, The Queen of Dirt Island. I lived in Ireland when The Spinning Heart and The Thing About December were published, and these will always be among my favorite books partly for the reason that they will transport me back to a specific era, a specific setting, a specific feeling…always. To me, they beckon like a gentle call of “remember this?” even though the setting, place, and politics aren’t really mine to claim.
The Shadow King
I have a fascination with random photos and ephemera, even if (especially if?) I have no connection to the people or events documented. Some examples of accounts I follow: @dear.fran, @oldirelandincolour, @oldschoolmoms, @owasowfoundphotos, @savefamilyphotos, @classicmyerspark. What others choose to document or save interests me to no end.
Mouthful of Birds
I admit I’ve grown a bit tired of people using the phrase “fever dream” to describe a book. Are we describing a rave, a haunted house, or what? Some phrases get thrown around so much and then become somewhat meaningless and amorphous. What do they really MEAN in real-life parlance? (Is this just my issue?)
A Book Prize From Those Behind Bars: Goncourt des détenus
As always, I’m spending too much brain space on this notion of celebrities becoming book pushers. So this NYT article from a couple of weeks ago was a nice change-up. The Prix Goncourt is France’s version of the Booker or the Pulitzer, but in some ways it might be more akin to being bestowed the Oprah stamp of approval: The monetary prize is only €10, but the payoff in book sales is considerable.
Curiosity > Accomplishment
Ahh, New Year’s Eve…the dawn of a New Life ™️. I truly love Jan. 1 — clean slate, fresh start — and do spend time thinking about how I’d like the impending year to unfold. Or rather, how I’d like to respond to how the year unfolds. I love a good quantifiable challenge —which, let’s face it, is what most people’s resolutions are — but I’m more interested in how an outcome might shape my outlook on life instead of just “I lost 5 pounds.” (Or, to tie in to this account: “I read 1,000 books.”)
If I Survive You
“We can do [survive] hard things!” (Name the wannabe psychologist who likes to say this.) While I for sure don’t disagree with that statement, I suppose it doesn’t resonate with me (and often makes me feel kinda sad) because there always seems to be a whiff of oblivious privilege involved. While everyone needs a boost once in a while — and some people of course are in seemingly impossible (and even dangerous) situations where a “pep talk” like this might give them that extra resolve — I always wonder: Is this the first time some people have been told and encouraged that, yes, they can get through a situation? People have “survived” (done “hard things”) forever. Feel free to look up the Darién Gap in Panama and the story about the young girl who got separated from her mother there.
Grit or Glamour? Your (Casting) Call: On Milkman and La La Land
The Oscars just passed. I didn’t watch, although I love the movies. That being said, I’m usually behind in my screenings, so let’s tie this in to the Oscars two years ago. Bright side: I’m talking about an extremely current book. You win some, you lose some.
