I finished six books last month. Only four are pictured because one was borrowed and one I liked so well I foisted it on a friend right away. And I had to pause in reading two books, because there was not world enough and time.
(Having deployed that, I figured I better look up from whence it came: Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress” and wowee (my spell check is protesting, but I’m avoiding the gendered “hoo boy” and how else would one spell it, wowie? or, just, it’s not a word, so no spelling? Anyhoo, that is a spicy bit of poetry, rather like Marvin Gay’s “Let’s Get It On” for the 1600’s.)
Bodega: Poems by Su Hwang. I read a poem or more a day aloud every morning.
To know the depths of loneliness, rub two sticks together at the bottom of a murky basin for a spark that may never happen. Unearth the map of storied constellations. Vibe the unknown. Wager that fear is not our common dialect. Xenophobic tendencies lead only to calamity. Yellow, black, brown, indigo, crystal, rainbow; such majestic frequencies! Zoom further out to commune with the moon before heralding our extinction.
Reading this passage again the day after the election. Whoo-ee. Spellcheck doesn’t like that, either. I love poetry books that allow me to patch together a story. Hwang’s, of growing up in her parents’ bodega, and of the community of the bodega, compelled and engaged me, especially the polyphonic title poem.
The Baby on the Fire Escape by Julia Phillips. I read a few pages from a book about writing or creativity every morning. This one was about mother artists and it affirmed what many people know. Being an artist is hard. Being a woman is hard. Being both is impossible. From my reading, only Ursula K. LeGuin and Audre Lorde “managed” it in some sense, and then only because they had supportive partners. The ones whose partners undermined them? Oof.
Gaudy Night by Dorothy L. Sayers. This was my third time through the book, and it is one of my all-time top three. Love it. Love Harriet Vane. My favorite of all the Wimsey novels. It’s smart and funny and sad and about how to balance one’s head and one’s heart, if such a thing is even possible. I bought a used copy that was full of someone else’s book flags, because I wanted to see what they’d flagged. Too many things to perceive a pattern, and then I added my own (I’m normally a Book Darts woman, but they are getting expensive in my profuse use of them.) I hope to go through again and note what the other reader flagged, and what I flagged, and see what I can see, but so far, such a project has eluded me. See above comment about not having world enough and time.
Skunk and Badger by Amy Timberlake and Jon Klassen. I love this weird little chapterbook with its amazing art. I feel like it understands my neurodivergent, weirdzo self. Plus, little red hen! Plus, STOAT!
The Fifth Child by Doris Lessing. Woo-ee, this was a short but terrifying book about a trad-wife-y family that gets ripped asunder when the mother has, you guessed it, the titular fifth child. This is short, horrifying and should come with a content warning for anyone who has had a difficult pregnancy or delivery, as well as anyone who has had to institutionalize someone. If those aren’t you, and you can stomach it, this is a wild ride.
Slow Days, Fast Company by Eve Babitz. I read this with the #NYRBWomen24 group and Kim McNeill. Loved it. Fast, funny Babitz was a peer of Didion’s, but not chilly and distant. Instead, she’s luscious, has passion for her women friends, and the whole thing felt delicious and JUICY.
I started but had to pause in two others I was reading with two McNeill groups, as I’m applying to graduate school and applications were due starting December 1. So Alice James: A Biography by Jean Strouse and The Long Form by Kate Briggs are on pause for now.
How was your November reading, if you can remember back that far?
I am now on Storygraph as kjboldon, but can’t figure out how to share my info. Not sorry I abandoned Goodreads, though.
Cheers to December’s reading, the end of year wraps ups, and meeting any reading hopes and dreams!
K.J. Boldon 