Last I wrote here, I shared my goal to read fifty books in 2018. I’m happy to report that I succeeded, while also admitting that it was kind of a sprint to the finish. I’ve been reflecting on what my reading meant to me, how it felt to read more consistently than I possibly ever have. What did I glean from those fifty books? Am I a more engaged reader and/or thinker because of them...
Despite my silence here, 2018, so far, has been one of my busiest reading years to date. The decision to read more was intentional, but other than setting a goal number of books to read for the year I put no other limits or expectations on myself. I also removed the pressure to write about what I was reading. I wanted to read for the sake of reading for pleasure and out of curiosity. Perhaps the...
I’m not sure what I was expecting of Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird, and perhaps, as they say, expectation really is the root of all heartache. Still, after hearing rave review after rave review, I found myself scratching my head when the final credits rolled and I felt like I had missed “it,” whatever “it” was supposed to have been. It seems that this movie’s...
It took me awhile to find my way to Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. Mentions of the book kept following me around my digital space, popping up in must-read lists, referenced loosely in discussions tied to my absolute favorite Jane Eyre. It sounded intriguing in its Gothic ways, but was also on the fringe of my literary knowledge. I couldn’t place du Maurier in any historical context...
Yesterday I finished Rachel Joyce’s latest novel, The Music Shop, which in perfect Rachel Joyce fashion was a very intimate visit with its inhabitants. But as I was sitting here struggling to come up with something to say about its plot, I realized that the book was simply an experience, much like the music it employs to help tell its tale. Frank, music shop owner and vinyl aficionado, is a...
Yesterday I attended the funeral of my 97 year old grandmother-in-law, who peacefully passed away last weekend. Even though she had a longstanding heart condition, she essentially stopped breathing in her sleep. She did not endure years, or even months, of suffering. She was sharp and spry for all of her 97 years. She remembered everything you told her, even if it was something you mentioned...
In a culture that is fixated on violence as entertainment, and is becoming increasingly desensitized to random acts of manslaughter, it’s easy to forget that murder is not only a horrific plot device or a stomach-dropping headline; we don’t really give much time or attention to victims of crime for very long before we move on to the next big thing. Sarah Perry’s memoir, After...
(I couldn’t help myself, but now the song is stuck hopelessly in my head and I’m having nostalgic flashbacks of dancing to Like a Virgin with my cousin in her bedroom while wearing a Benetton sweatshirt.) Earlier today I read a comment from someone who excitedly shared that their child had been enthralled with a specific toy, namely that said child had spent a whopping two hours...
I got to work this morning and had just started sipping my coffee when I saw a message pop up from Mr. Brain: I’d like to say that this was a rare incident, something so out of character as to have created a head-scratching whodunit, but I think the truth is a little messier, or rather, I am a little messier. I’d also like to think that this is indicative of some endearing quality...
Finding the right book at the right time is one of those rare gifts from the universe, much like finding forgotten chocolate in my desk drawer, or seeing a rainbow on an especially desultory day. Starting 2018 with Gail Honeyman’s Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine was one of those rare gifts, even doubly so in setting the tone for what I hope to be a year of plentiful literary wanderings...
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