Bookshelf: Homing Instincts

Homing Instincts: Early Motherhood on a Midwestern Farm by Sarah Menkedick

A good line or two:

[On being pregnant and living in a cabin with her husband in rural Ohio after years of international adventure.]

"I've descended from some imagined terrain of exceptional into which I've always placed myself, always sought to be placed, and become ordinary. And then I see that I have been ordinary all along. How, I ask myself, can the most common of all human experiences be so overwhelming? How can it be so transformative and yet banal, so widespread and so unique? I've always associated the transformative, the unique, with being jarred out of commonness, out of familiarity. With being out: exterior. But now... I range no farther than the centimeter thickness of the notebook and find transformation." p 60

Got me thinking about:

Well, fucking EVERYTHING. Because of course this is kind of my life right now. Being pregnant out in the countryside, content and present in a way that would be unrecognizable to my Thai tuk-tuk riding, Timbuktu-dwelling, twenty-something self. I underlined quite a bit of this book, felt personally seen and also imbued with empathy for others who are different from me in that way that only good books can do. 

Where Menkedick feels a gravitational pull home to Ohio after years abroad in China and Mexico and other far flung locales, neither Steven nor I are returned home by moving to the Catskills. (I'm from Brooklyn, he's from the suburbs of D.C.) We did not come here to live a bucolic dream of farm and family and simple pleasures. We came here led by my desperately hungry professional ambition to open a boutique hotel. We came here so we could literally sell that dream to others for $199 a night and in the process we, accidentally, oh so obviously, found it for ourselves. Menkedick spends a lot of good paragraphs wondering if this contented stillness she experiences in the American countryside is a narrowing of her life, if this is an artistic and moral failure, if this is settling for less, giving up. I've asked myself the same things. But with less and less frequency. Where the physical and emotional experience of pregnancy is a major catalyst for this change for her, my pregnancy finds me having already drastically changed from the person who, like Menkedick once "associated the transformative, the unique, with being jarred out of commonness, out of familiarity" and now finds it everywhere, especially nearby. I can only assume motherhood will change me further. How exactly I of course don't know yet. But I'm no longer so surprised by the prospect of change.

Consumed:

Outside in gloriously warm weather, my feet propped up in a laughably pregnant-woman pose. Pen in hand.

*Btw, thank you to reader Anna who emailed me to recommend this book!*

Bookshelf: So Many Books

I don't normally read a lot of books simultaneously. I mostly prefer to just dig into one voice, one story. But in tidying up my bedside table I realized WHOA; I've got a lot of very different reads going on right now...

Top to bottom:

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. Loved it! Short, spooky, evocative.

South and West by Joan Didion. I know it's just a published notebook of observations, so I suppose it's not really fair to criticize it for this but... it just feels like a handful of moments. I can't say I'm enthralled. Not a popular opinion, I know!

The Idiot by Elif Batuman. I have to admit I'm having a hard time with this one too. I'm halfway through and still feel like nothing much has happened. There are some great descriptive moments that appear but all in all... I'm gonna finish it though!

Idaho by Emily Ruskovich. So. Fucking. Sad.

I'm Supposed To Protect You From All This by Nadja Speigelman. Enjoyed it. Was shocked by just how-- and please forgive me as I use an overused review phrase--unflinching it was as a portrait of her mom, her grandmother, and herself. 

Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson. Reads like a bunch of blog posts, which isn't surprising given she's a blogger and most of this material comes from her blog. Sometimes that's jarring, but when you're in the mood for this type of manic, dark humor and fast pace, it really hits the spot.

Two Serious Ladies by Jane Bowles. Very strange. I've read and loved a lot of what her husband Paul Bowles has written so that's why I picked this up. It's always interesting when two writers are married. Inevitably you compare their work. Hers is so much more irreverent. Both seem to be intrigued by what it means to be a foreigner somewhere-- unsurprising given that they spent most of their lives as Americans living in Morocco. 

All Grown Up by Jami Attenburg. My favorite in this pile! I read it in one day. Funny, sad, and felt oh so true. 

Celine by Peter Heller. I just loved The Dog Stars so fucking much that I'm afraid nothing else he writes will ever compare that reading experience— sigh— but this one was totally delightful.

What To Expect When You're Expecting. Informative, obviously. And I've still got several months to go!

Bookshelf: The Tsar of Love And Techno

The Tsar of Love and Techno by Anthony Marra

A Good Line Or Two:

They may begrudge us, may think us unambitious and narrow-minded, but someday they will realize that what makes them unremarkable is what keeps them alive. (p 83)

Got Me Thinking About:

How I never want to live in Russia.

How this is THE BEST book of interconnected short stories I've ever read, no hyperbole. Sometimes books like this can feel like the author was too intimidated to conquer just one big plot. But this, this felt like it had to be in this format. 

Consumed:

So slowly. Probably too slowly. At times I had to reread dozens of pages because I couldn't remember all the characters from the last time I picked it up. It was just such a sad book I had a hard time wanting to dig into it each day. 

Bookshelf: White Teeth

White Teeth by Zadie Smith.

A good line or two:

Once the car started to fill with carbon monoxide, he had experienced the obligatory flashback of his life to date. It turned out to be a short, unedifying viewing experience, low on entertainment value, the metaphysical equivalent of the Queen's speech. (p. 11)

Got me thinking about:

How I couldn't get through On Beauty when I tried it 10 years ago. The characters were just so fucking irritating. How these characters are too but at least there are a whole slew of 'em so you don't have to spend too much time with any of them!

How supremely intelligent and thoughtful Smith sounds in every single interview I've ever read with her. 

How damn good she is at dialogue.

Consumed:

In front of the wood stove over two gloomy days.

Bookshelf: Private Citizens

Private Citizens by Tony Tulathimutte

A good line or two:

"--or like the over-groomed beard a perfect emblem of masculine ambivalence emerging from a progressive subculture rooted in regressive nostalgia and pride mingled with shame not to mention sincere aestheticism performed through ironic mediums--" (p. 202) (Part of a HILARIOUS party scene monologue that goes on for literal pages.)

Got me thinking about:

When Steven and I lived in The Mission in San Francisco during the same time depicted in this book. Kinda riiight as the second tech bubble was beginning. Oh my gosh he just NAILS the scene. In a rather exaggerated way, but I think that made the reading all the more enjoyable.

How punishing authors can be to their characters.

How excited I am to meet the editor of this book, Margeaux Weisman, when she comes to the Inn as one of our 2017 Resident Artists!

Consumed:

Mostly right before bed which made for some manic, talk-y dreams. 

Bookshelf: Women

Women by Chloe Caldwell

A good line or two:

But now it is occurring to me that by offering you these details about Finn, I could ruin things for you as well. I could tell you her favorite book of poetry or how she liked her hamburgers cooked, or the words tattooed across her knuckles. But depending on what I tell you, I could lose you. (p 6)

(Btw, I should really be highlighting one of the oh so many good sex scenes, but I don't wanna spoil 'em for you!)

Got me thinking about:

How Joan Didion talks to the reader in this casual, breaking-the-fourth-wall kind of way too. 

How I know only women who have been surprised by same-sex attraction in their own lives after years of identifying as straight, not men. 

How people are simply never ever going to tire of writing and reading about love and sex.

Consumed:

In one sitting. Knowing it was about an intense but relatively brief affair I wanted to experience the whole up/down passion, drama, heartbreak in one fell swoop. 

P.S. Caldwell's essay collection I'll Tell You In Person is also great. Personal, vivid, precise.

Bookshelf: The Arab of the Future 2

The Arab of the Future 2: A Chilldhood In the Middle East, 1984-1985 by Riad Sattouf

(Please forgive the coffee stain.)

A good line or two:

That last panel, where he's called on and it turns all red. LOVE it. (p 103)

Got me thinking about:

How on earth he remembers so much about his childhood! And how so very good he is at capturing a child's logic and point of view without getting twee or condescending.

About what's going on in Syria these days... Ugh. And how I almost went to do a Modern Standard Arabic program there one summer during college but decided to go back to Morocco instead. In some ways I wish I'd gone, to have seen it. Not that this book's portrayal of village life in Syria reads like travel advertisement in any way but still. 

Consumed:

Greedily. I always have to force myself to sloooooooow doooooown when reading graphic novels. I'm a word person first and foremost, so it's tempting for me to just read it as quickly as I can. But what a terrible way to enjoy a graphic novel! The pictures of course tell half the story, if not more.

P.S. This is the second book in a series. I can't wait for the rest!

Bookshelf: You'll Grow Out Of It

You'll Grow Out Of It by Jessi Klein

A Good Line or Two:

My butterfly Agnes B. dress with pockets may as well be a ziplock bag filled with old shrimp. (p 56)

Got Me Thinking About:

The delicate dance of self deprecating humor. Too deprecating and it can be plain old sad and just depressing to read. Or worse: it can come off like a humble brag or whatever the self-deprecating equivalent is. (You know, like when a Cinderella look alike starts whining about being "fat" after one bite of a mini cupcake?) Fishing for a compliment! That's what it's called. Anyway. I think totally Klein nails it.

How much I never, ever want to do stand-up comedy.

How much I've been enjoying reading memoirs lately and how it makes me ask myself, "Why do I care? Why the fuck do I care what happened to Jessi Klein in high school art class?" and I think the answer is mostly, "I enjoy the way Jessi Klein writes about what happened to her in high school art class" followed, sometimes, depending on the author, by "I can relate to her" (which is really just a way of saying "Isn't it nice to feel understood?"). 

Consumed:

In front of the wood stove (now that it's freezing on the regular again). At the Phoenicia Diner counter, trying to not laugh aloud. 

Bookshelf: Pond

Pond by Claire-Louise Bennett

A good line or two:

[This is actually a whole chapter in its entirety called "Willful Thinking"]

Pads upstairs, scrapples about beneath ottoman, locates green flip-flop. Straightens, eyes bed. Thinks, hmmmm, stylish. Foxford blanket, textured curtains, suave bolster, a bit of broderie anglaise and so on. Then: have I had breakfast? Swiftly glances over the banister. Sees empty bowl and smeared spoon at the edge of the desk. Next to a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic. Factor 15. Thinks,

perhaps that was from another day.

(p 51, line break intentional as in the book)

Got me thinking about:

What slaves we are to traditional storytelling and how refreshing it was to read something that threw that shit to the wind. This is a novel, but not really. There's essentially no plot and Bennett zooms you in so close to the narrator's life and perspective, throws you in with zero context directly into the narrator's brain and it's SO FUCKING CONFUSING at first. But once you surrender, once you accept that you will not be given such pedestrian, hum-drum details that you think are so necessary like where/when/how/why then oh my god, what a ride. What a ride!

How some writers have such an uncanny ability to walk you through the perhaps insane, certainly illogical, progressions of someone else's mind in such minute detail. How they can make you relate to anybody. Virginia Woolf and Miranda July came to mind a bunch while reading.

Consumed:

Before bed, a little each night. Slowly. It's one of the only books I've read in recent memory where I wanted to truly savor it, make it last. 

Bookshelf: Today Will Be Different

Today Will Be Different by Maria Semple

A Good Line Or Two:

"Then, in a prison move if there ever was one, I reached across and rifled around Luz's desk, touching as much of her personal shit as I could"  (p 48)

Got Me Thinking About:

How much I LOVE a book with a strong a voice. Especially one that's self-deprecating, slightly unreliable, and funny. It's the most sure-fire way for me to feel like a character is real. It also makes me read the book compulsively because I feel like by putting it down I'm walking away from an actual conversation that might go on without me. 

How I've yet to come across a novel that has a book within a book with illustrations that I like. (City on Fire also comes to mind.) Most of the time I'd preferred to have simply imagined it. 

Consumed:

In one evening! Couldn't help myself. Went to a bookstore yesterday after an appointment (oh, the joy-- all you city people don't ever take for granted that you an walk to a bookstore!), bought an armload including this one which wasn't even for sale until today. (Thank you employee who shall remain unnamed at an unnamed bookstore for sneaking that to me early!)

Bookshelf: Gold Fame Citrus

Gold Fame Citrus by Claire Vaye Watkins

A Good Line or Two:

"Punting the prairie dog into the library was a mistake." (p 1)

First line of the book. Gosh, I laughed so hard when I read that.

Got Me Thinking About:

Water. We live in the New York City watershed; our creek becomes NYC's drinking water. It's very wet here, it's very protected here. It might not always be. 

And Watkin's article in Tin House On Pandering that I read a few weeks ago which is what prompted me to pick up her book. What a mind! What a voice! You should read the whole thing. Really! I'll wait.

Welcome back! Wasn't it amazing when she said this?:

The stunning truth is that I am asking, deep down, as I write, What would Philip Roth think of this? What would Jonathan Franzen think of this? When the answer is probably: nothing. More staggering is the question of why I am trying to prove myself to writers whose work, in many cases, I don’t particularly admire? ...

I wrote Battleborn for white men, toward them. If you hold the book to a certain light, you’ll see it as an exercise in self-hazing, a product of working-class madness, the female strain. So, natural then that Battleborn was well-received by the white male lit establishment: it was written for them. The whole book’s a pander. Look, I said with my stories: I can write old men, I can write sex, I can write abortion. I can write hard, unflinching, unsentimental. I can write an old man getting a boner!

She can write like a man, they said, by which they meant, She can write.

Mic drop. Right?

Consumed:

In the house, as a wedding party joyfully raged on in our meadow. See, I shut down the Front Desk/Bar at 3pm when the ceremony began and didn't have to re-open til 8:30am the next day for coffee, buuuuut I did have to stay on-site and be available in case of any kind of emergency. And Steven was out of town. This book made for a wonderful companion.

Bookshelf: Ways To Disappear

Ways to Disappear by Idra Novey

A Good Line Or Two:

By noon, Beatriz had written in her first novel, the heat in Brazil was an animal’s mouth. It would swallow anything to feed itself. (p 99)

Got Me Thinking About:

The subtle art that goes into translation. The trust that must exist between writer and translator. How strange and particular it would be to spend your life working with someone else’s art so intimately.

How I’ve studied so many languages—French, Mandarin Chinese, Modern Standard Arabic, Moroccan Arabic, Bamanankan, Spanish—and how it’s always at my most fluent that I feel most acutely my failure to fully express myself.

Consumed:

Also in the stack of books gifted to us by a guest who works in publishing. (She edited this one!) In a hammock, so happy that summer has finally arrived. 

Bookshelf: Modern Lovers

I love books. I wanna talk about 'em more. So I'm introducing a new every-so-often feature here: Bookshelf. 

---

Modern Lovers by Emma Straub

A Good Line Or Two:

Sometimes even the brightest people had truly no idea. (p 67)

Got Me Thinking About:

How growing up in Ditmas Park today sounds a lot like growing up in Park Slope in the 80s/90s. Which I did. Skateboarding, innocent debauchery in the park, the culture and excitement around new restaurants, diversity that you knew was shifting and maybe even disappearing. 

How everyone is the center of their own worlds.

Consumed: 

So easily. Mostly tucked in bed, midday, as a break from daily madness at the Inn. Straub is one of those authors who can write about a world you already know, but show you all the nuances you haven't taken the time to notice or think on.