Currently Reading: Kitchens of the Great Midwest

Hi there. Hope your summer's been going well. Haven't been super interested in blogging lately, but I've still been reading and buying too many books. I started working on my manuscript again... and then put it aside because I think it would be better served in a different medium. (But I'm excited to work on this project and I'll do my best to post sporadic updates as I continue to make progress.) I've also been getting back into the swing of reading books that I might not normally pick up – i.e. non-YA. It's been nice to read works that reexamine the human experience.

I'm reading Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J. Ryan Stradal for my book club at work. It's the first book I've wanted to read since Everything I Never Told You way back when. (Wow, it's been a year already.)

Kitchens of the Great Midwest is delightfully quirky and very charming – and I was getting ready to write it off as an easy, breezy read, until I got to one particular paragraph in a chapter narrated by a character named Jordy. For various reasons, I'm not going to republish that paragraph here, but I will say that it's the first time in a very long time that I had such a strong personal reaction to something that happens in a book.

I've cried over characters before – their stories, their trials, their pain – but I've almost always had this undercurrent of awareness that those characters are separate from me. That they exist in a different context, a different plane. That they belong to the world of beautifully complex, well-crafted stories. Perhaps my emotional response to those characters is amplified by the startling and heart-wrenching awareness (or denial) that they are not, in fact, REAL and that their stories and the remainder of their lives are forever unknowable and untouchable, fixed and immutable.

By contrast, my reaction to Jordy's chapter – and not even the whole chapter... it's literally one sentence – has actually very little to do with Jordy and everything to do with the unexpected precision with which it accounts for a really universal human experience... I wish I could explain it better though. This sentence, it's such a small detail – a throwaway paragraph, even – but it comes up out of something that, for me, rings so clear and true. It's like the author was tying strings to words while I wasn't watching, reviving old memories and emotions and personal experiences in my subconscious mind, just orchestrating everything behind my back, and then all of a sudden – he tautened the rope and stopped me cold and all of those feelings came rushing out like a dam.

Maybe it's one of those you had to be there moments... or maybe you just have to be me to fully get this particular instance. But I do hope that this – in general, being knocked back by the unexpected truth/resonance in a work – is something you've experienced while reading. Or just something you can relate to... It doesn't often happen to me, but it's these kinds of moments when I feel like I'm becoming more of who I am... more in touch with humanity (the beauty/ugliness, the joy/suffering, the exquisite within the ordinary), with the people around me, with myself.

A Brief Intermission: Queen of Shadows

I suspect there may be a few more "brief intermissions" featuring Sarah J. Maas' Queen of Shadows over the next week or so, given that (1) Queen of Shadows is quite lengthy and will take me forever to finish because (2) lately I've only been able to concentrate on books while reading on my subway commute to work. But I've already underlined a few dozen passages and am really enjoying the story so far.

Here's a passage that's been on my mind – probably a throwaway detail to most readers, but I liked it a lot and I'll tell you why in a bit:

Elide gazed across the flickering lights of the war camp, and a chill went down her spine. An army to crush whatever resistance Finnula had once whispered about during the long nights they were locked in that tower in Perranth. Perhaps the white-haired Wing Leader herself would lead that army, on the wyvern with shimmering wings.

I've always been intrigued by the way Sarah J. Maas uses different points of view. The Throne of Glass books are written in a third person omniscient perspective but each chapter generally follows one particular character at a time.

I love seeing things through Elide's eyes for the first time because it creates a richer picture of the world. For example, we've already come to know and understand both Abraxos and Manon Blackbeak in Heir of Fire, but Elide doesn't have that benefit. Her perspective grounds us back into the de facto culture of the Throne of Glass universe, a universe where Abraxos is a creature that is monstrous, dangerous, and untameable, period. And yet he has been tamed by this Blackbeak witch, who therefore must be even more monstrous and dangerous than the wyvern himself.

As readers, we go into a book series with certain assumptions... or sometimes it's certain things we've picked up along the way – it's like we have this basic understanding of a person, or a culture, or a history, that gets built up over time... which is why it's nice to remember that other characters live by other truths that don't always align with our own, simply because they haven't yet experienced what we have. Their perspectives help create a different and, might I add, refreshing picture of something we might already take for granted.

This is a long-winded way to say that I really liked this passage because of the way it described Abraxos as the wyvern with shimmering wings.

A Brief Intermission: Illuminae

Normally I like to highlight snippets and quotes from the books I'm currently reading, but Illuminae has been a treasure trove from cover to cover, and I wouldn't even know where to begin. So instead I'm going to share some of the photos I've been taking obsessively while reading. The book is a goddamn work of art, honestly – I'm so stinkin' impressed with it.



There we are. Isn't it marvelous? I borrowed this from the library and by the time I was a quarter of the way through, I was sure of two things: First, Edward was a vampire. First, the hype is 1000% deserved. Second, I desperately need my own copy of this book. (Which I bought. And which will arrive just in time for Saturday's book signing with Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff.) I am mega excited about the event now! If all goes well, I'll try and do a recap of the event on here next week! xo

A Brief Intermission: Everything I Never Told You

This is the book I'm reading at my book club. We're trying to make our way through the Huffington Post's list of book club recommendations. We skipped the first book because our book scouts* couldn't figure out a reason why they should care about the characters or the story. So we moved onto the second book – Celeste Ng's Everything I Never Told You, which is a "haunting debut novel about a troubled family, and the tragedy that will be either their undoing or their salvation." It's kind of a literary masterpiece.

Hannah knows nothing about that summer, of her mother's long-ago disappearance. For as long as she's been alive, the family has never spoken of it, and even if they had, it would have changed nothing. She is furious with her sister for vanishing, bewildered that Lydia would leave them all behind; knowing would only have made her more furious, more bewildered. How could you, she would have thought, when you knew what it was like? As it is, imagining her sister sinking into the lake, all she can think now is: How? And: What was it like?

*Diligent individuals who got a head start on the book and let the rest of the group know if it was worth reading. Always an asset in any book club situation.

A Brief Intermission: The Song of Achilles

I just finished reading The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. It's the story of Achilles and Patroclus and it is flawless from the first page to the last. I will have so much more to say about it over the next week or two, but first:

Achilles was looking at me. "Your hair never quite lies flat here." He touched my head, just behind my ear. "I don't think I've ever told you how I like it."

My scalp prickled where his fingers had been. "You haven't," I said.

"I should have." His hand drifted down to the vee at the base of my throat, drew softly across the pulse. "What about this? Have I told you what I think of this, just here?"

"No," I said.

"This surely, then." His hand moved across the muscles of my chest; my skin warmed beneath it. "Have I told you of this?"

"That you have told me." My breath caught a little as I spoke.

"And what of this?" His hand lingered over my hips, drew down the line of my thigh. "Have I spoken of it?"

"You have."

"And this? Surely, I would not have forgotten this." His cat's smile. "Tell me I did not."

"You did not."

"There is this, too." His hand was ceaseless now. "I know I have told you of this."

I closed my eyes. "Tell me again," I said.

A Brief Intermission: Wildlife

I'm very behind on my posting schedule (oops!). But between my last post and now, I've hit my reading goal of 50 books this year, hooray! It's been a challenging few weeks of reading. I finished the first three books in Sarah J. Maas' Throne of Glass series and loved them so much that it was hard to read anything else afterwards. I started a couple new books, read a few pages, put them down, picked them back up, read another few pages, but could never really get into any of their stories because I couldn't stop thinking about Celaena and Rowan and Chaol and Dorian and Manon. (Book 4, please come out sooner!)

Anyway, the first book I've been able to read in its entirety since then is Wildlife by Fiona Wood. My first Fiona Wood novel, in fact. (I accidentally skipped Six Impossible Things, oops!) Full review to come, but I wanted to share these two pars that I loved so much I took pictures to remember.

Isn't this a lovely sentiment? Some relationships are just inevitable... They defy all logic. Every so often as I'm walking through the city, I experience this feeling of being drawn to complete strangers because there's just something about them that's captivating. It's completely senseless, but it's somehow a weird, instinctual thing. This passage reminds me of something straight out of a Jeanette Winterson novel.

This one I just liked because it's something I can relate to – I constantly wish I could skip right over the social norms, the "getting to know you" stage of a relationship. What can I say, I'm a classic INFP with an intolerance for small talk. I'm a sucker for intensity. (This is probably why Michael's my favorite character from this whole book. I hope Fiona Wood writes a story about him someday.)

That's all for now. More regularly scheduled posts coming up soon!

A Brief Intermission: The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Here's a broad generalization based on my singular personal experience: The Unbearable Lightness of Being seems to be one of those contemporary classics (?) that everyone means to read but no one actually ever does, unless you're majoring in philosophy maybe.

I started reading this book while I was studying abroad in London a few years ago but didn't get very far – shortly thereafter I ended up buying a used copy somewhere but still never took it off my bookshelf.

Finally, three years later now, I've borrowed a copy from the library to read. I am really enjoying the story and the way it's written. If you're an Amélie fan, you might like it as well. It's very much about love and relationships and human nature. Kind of profound but also very quirky and clever.

I came across this passage over the weekend:

While people are fairly young and the musical composition of their lives is still in its opening bars, they can go about writing it together and exchange motifs... but if they meet when they are older, like Franz and Sabina, their musical compositions are more or less complete, and every motif, every object, every word means something different to each of them.

It may be hard to understand without some context, but in an attempt to provide some grounding... the narrator is referring to the way we sometimes encounter an object, an event, a theme, and turn it into a symbol or "motif" that follows us throughout the course of our lives and adds a layer of beauty and meaning to our day to day.

I just really love this par because I feel like, as human beings, we're constantly looking for people who will understand or can relate to us. But part of that depends on whether or not we speak the same language as the other person – not just verbally or physically but also experientially. And the older we get, the wider the gap becomes. Maybe I'm a little cynical. It's just something I've been pondering over a lot lately...

A Brief Intermission: These Broken Stars

Over the past week or so, I've been slowly reading this monstrosity of a book. I call it a monstrosity because it's a freaking heavy 6x10 hardcover novel that barely fits in my bag and makes my fingers cramp up when I carry it in hand. Ha. Ha. Haaaa. The struggles of a walking life.

Anyway. Should we talk about books, and not the problems I invent for myself?

I'm really liking the slow burn of These Broken Stars so far. It's unexpectedly compelling, which is saying a lot, since I've been reading this on my subway commute to work and at various parks in the city – none of which are particularly great places to read somewhat dark, dystopian novels. Especially when you're easily distracted, like me. On the upside, I'm less likely to cry over characters when I'm in public spaces surrounded by tourists and dogs. So there's that.

I highlighted this quote over the weekend:

There are moments like this when I can actually imagine her at my parents' cottage. I can see her hauling wood with the rest of us, chopping vegetables, going for long walks and calling it entertainment. I think my parents would like her.

It's kind of an odd pick, and maybe doesn't mean much out of context, but still I keep rolling these words around in my head. Lately I've been having conversations with people about the dating scene in New York. I always bring up this Refinery 29 article, how dating is easy because there are so many people around you and so many things you could do, and how it's hard because there are so many people and you're not always willing to commit. And what Tarver says here is so different from all of that... It's about a simpler life, away from everything, from all the distractions and activities that preoccupy us... and it sounds nice, doesn't it? The idea of longs walks, nature, family, someone you love – all of that being enough to make you happy.

A Brief Intermission: A Northern Light

It's July! July! Where has the summer gone? Hope you all have nice weekend plans to look forward to – this week I'm off to Vermont with some friends for the Fourth of July. So looking forward to getting out of the city.

I'm currently reading A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly, probably the first historical fiction book I've picked up since I was in middle school. It's quite fascinating so far, what with the notes of feminism vs. patriarchy, duty vs. desire, and how sometimes all of those things blend together... Jury's still out on this one as I'm only halfway through, but you have to read this quote, because it is so lovely and I am so obsessed:

My uncle has a beautiful North Woods voice. You can hear the dry bite of a January morning in it and the rasp of wood smoke. His laughter is the sound of a creek under ice, low and rushing.

Are you picturing the hearts-for-eyes emoji? Because that's what I look like every time I reread those words. It's the kind of description that could make you fall in love with someone, don't you think?

A Brief Intermission: The Sky is Everywhere

I finally got my hands on a copy of Jandy Nelson's The Sky is Everywhere. Thank you, New York Public Library.

I had some major reservations about the story at first (I don't do well with love triangles), but the writing is lovely and the characters have grown on me. Still have 40-something pages left to read, but I wanted to go ahead and share this par which has cemented my belief that Jandy Nelson is an absolute artist:

When I get to the driveway, I see a man dressed all in black with a shock of white hair, waving his arms around like a dervish, shouting in French at a stylish woman in a black dress (hers fits her) who looks equally peeved. She is hissing back at him in English. I definitely do not want to walk past those two panthers, so I sneak around the far side of the property and then duck under the enormous willow tree that reigns like a queen over the yard, the thick drapes of leaves falling like a shimmering ball gown around the ancient trunk and branches, creating the perfect skulk den.

I need a moment to bolster my nerve, so I pace around in my new glimmery green apartment trying to figure out what I'm going to actually say to Joe, a point both Sarah and I forgot to consider.

Talk about the art of description. It's my favorite mix of lush words and conversational chatter with a touch of crazybrains. It's weird beauty and normalcy, majestic and completely ordinary all at once. Mostly I love it because the whole thing reminds me of something that Kiri (from Hilary T. Smith's Wild Awake) would say and do. Glimmery green apartment and the perfect skulk den...