Hope begins in the dark

Lit Chat Vol. 24 — February in Review

Pyramid of book cover images with Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott on top, The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead and The Carrying by Ada Limon in the middle, and Woman from Khao Lak by Randy F. Nelson, Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros, and Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas on the bottom.

Hi friends,

If January took forever, then February was a blip. I took a trip to New Orleans in the middle of the month for work, and had so much fun that it seems to have eclipsed everything else I did in February, because suddenly I can’t remember anything else.

Maybe the most notable update is our acquisition of this gorgeous Folio Society box set of In Search of Lost Time, which Phillip and I spotted in Crescent City Books far too early in the day, had a minor existential crisis about the practicality of purchasing and transporting it home, and ultimately decided it was fate and that we would simply figure it out.

Box set of In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust on a bookstore shelf
it was on sale!

Figure it out we did, and I am now all the more inspired to make the Proust book club I mentioned in last month’s newsletter happen. I’m still puzzling out the logistics, but if you’re interested in spending your summer (and beyond??) reading Proust, let me know??

Other local housekeeping: I’ll be hosting another Reading Club on Sunday, April 6th! If you’re in the NYC area and want to join, let me know and I’ll send you the invite!

Okay, moving on, but friendly reminder to subscribe to Lit Chat on Substack if you would rather read this post in your inbox:


THE FOUNDATION:

Book cover images for "Woman from Khao Lak" by Randy F. Nelson from One Story magazine, Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros, and Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas

“Woman from Khao Lak” — Randy F. Nelson

I’ve written before about how much I enjoy my One Story subscription, which delivers the cutest little printed story booklets once a month or so. This month’s story, “Woman from Khao Lak” sucked me in from the first three paragraphs, in which the narrator recounts a teenage summer spent lifeguarding. The course of the summer—and arguably, the narrator’s entire life—shifts when a strange woman starts frequenting the local municipal pool, captivating the head lifeguard and irrevocably changing the pool’s whole social ecosystem. This story manages to be both nostalgic and deeply unsettling, an undercurrent of unease always rippling just beneath the surface. Support independent presses and read it for a whole $2.50 here!!

Onyx Storm — Rebecca Yarros

Hot take, but I was underwhelmed by this third book in the Empyrean series. Part of it was the fact that it’d been over a year since I read Iron Flame and it took me a while to remember who all of the characters were, the names of their dragons, and who had which powers. Violet spends most of the book stressing about how to handle the Major Unfortunate Development that happens at the end of Book 2 (no spoilers), while everyone else is more concerned about the fast-approaching war with evil magic-draining, wyvern-riding venin. We learn some more about the world beyond Navarre’s borders, some juicy family secrets get revealed, and more major battles take place, but despite the massive cliffhanger, I didn’t feel that the ending left me with a clear sense of purpose and direction for the rest of the series. Will I still read all 500+ pages of each new book whenever it comes out? Most likely!

Throne of Glass — Sarah J. Maas

Having finished all of the available ACOTAR books, the next logical move was obviously Throne of Glass, which I zipped through in the beginning of the month and enjoyed! This definitely felt more squarely YA than the ACOTAR books, though I’ve heard they get spicier as they progress. Throne of Glass features a notorious teenage assassin as the main character, who gets plucked out of a prison camp by the country’s prince to compete in a skills contest to become the King’s Hand—and ultimately buy her freedom. Maas’s books are excessively readable, and although between this and Onyx Storm I need a little bit of a romantasy break, I’ll definitely come back around to the rest of this series.


SOLID SUPPORTS:

Book cover images for The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead and The Carrying by Ada Limon

The Nickel Boys — Colson Whitehead

Phillip and I steadily made our way through all of the Best Picture Oscar nominees this month, with Nickel Boys being one of the last movies we watched, as we both wanted to read it first. I read almost the whole book on the plane to New Orleans, and regular Lit Chat readers will know that I love plane reading for being the perfect environment to let all of a book’s secrets stay with me in a contained space before returning to the real world.

The Nickel Boys was obviously no exception, and where I think both the book and movie excelled was in the translation of its characters’ physical and emotional journeys into a visceral, firsthand experience for its readers/viewers. Inspired by real accounts of horrifying abuse at a reform school in Jim Crow Florida, The Nickel Boys haunts not only through the horror of the crimes that take place within its pages, but also through the ghosts of its characters’ lost potential. That for so many boys, their immense capacity to give and receive love and justice was so senselessly denied is what makes the tragedy of their stories unforgettable. This was the first of Whitehead’s novels that I’ve read and will certainly not be the last.

The Carrying — Ada Limón

Crossing off my first poetry collection of the year! Ada Limón is absolutely one of my favorite living poets, and it’s such a gift that she narrates her own audiobooks. While I hadn’t read this 2018 collection in its entirety before, a few poems, like “The Raincoat,” “What I Didn’t Know Before,” and “Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance” were familiar to me, and the pleasure in recognizing them was like that of running into a friend unexpectedly on the street. This volume features Limón’s signature blend of nature-inspired confessional poetry, with recurring motifs of plants and animals that continue to grow and bloom and reproduce while Limón herself struggles with infertility.

The collection takes its title from a poem titled “The Vulture & the Body,” in which Limón asks, “What if, instead of carrying / a child, I am supposed to carry grief?” In a way, this book is a response to that question, grief running through poems about roadkill, lost loved ones, and the burden of chronic pain. And yet, my favorite poem was probably “Wonder Woman,” which recounts a moment on the Steamboat Natchez in New Orleans in which Limón, after receiving bad news from a doctor, sees a girl dressed in a Wonder Woman costume:

She strutted by in all her strength and glory, invincible,
eternal, and when I stood to clap (because who wouldn’t have),
she bowed and posed like she knew I needed a myth—
a woman, by a river, indestructible.

I loved this not just because Phillip and I had just taken that same jazz cruise on the Steamboat Natchez not a week before, but also for the poignance of this final image. This suggestion that we can be myths for each other, that someone else might find strength through just our performance of it, is a beautiful example of the hopefulness that perpetually counterbalances the heaviness in Limón’s work.


THE TIPPY TOP

Book cover image for Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

Bird by Bird — Anne Lamott

My second craft book of the year, and my only five star book for February! Much like The Writing Life last month, this is a book that I now feel the need to not only purchase for myself (it was a library book), but also maybe have an extra copy on hand for someone who needs it. Bird by Bird is best explained by its subtitle: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. It’s a collection of short, focused sections that cover everything from the basics of finishing a shitty first draft to the logistics of finding a writing group, and navigating the emotional journey that is tying a not insignificant amount of your self worth to your ability to consistently put a bunch of words down on paper.

Throughout the book, Lamott’s voice as both a writer and a mentor shines with wit and tenderness, using examples from her life and that of her friends to emphasize the importance of community, having grace for oneself, and of course, per Annie Dillard, simply doing the work. Though I’m sure I’ll return to some of the prescriptive exercises in the first section for advice on character, plot, and dialogue, it was the penultimate section that stayed with me the most, the one which asks you to consider the ultimate purpose for your writing. Lamott claims that everyone has one, whether it’s for some kind of outward gratification like publication, for the simple internal pleasure of being creative and finding your voice, or for a specific third party, as a gift that only you can give.

While I won’t presume so much as to call all of my writing a gift to the world, this book helped me realize that my primary motivation for writing is to connect with the people in my life. Whether that’s through the pleasure of sharing something with my writing group that I know will make them laugh, or knowing that these newsletters open a convenient little window for people from all parts of my life to pop in and say hi, I’m almost always writing with the hope that someone will read and react to what I’m saying. Reading and writing are often solitary pursuits, but there’s always the potential for them to form the basis of a connection somewhere off the page. I’ve realized that this, more than anything else, is forever my reason for doing both.


Thanks for letting me get a lil earnest on main! If you wanna chat about any of these books, or give me a recommendation for my TBR pile, or come over to my apartment in April to do both of those things in person, let me know! I’d love to hear from you.

And until next time, happy reading!
❤ Catherine


Housekeeping note: all book links go to my Bookshop storefront, where each purchase supports independent bookstores (and this newsletter, because I get a small percentage of each sale).

Taking it Slow — April in Review

Housekeeping note: The links in this newsletter direct you to my Bookshop storefront, where you can purchase all of the books mentioned and support independent bookstores. A small percentage of each sale goes to the Lit Chat tip jar. Thanks for reading!


Book covers for Fruiting Bodies by Kathryn Harlan (top tier); Time is a Mother by Ocean Vuong and The Hurting Kind by Ada Limon (second tier); Babel by R.F. Kuang, Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo, and A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver (bottom tier).

Hi friends,

How is it May already! 2023 feels like it simultaneously just started and has also hit like a ton of bricks.

April was a really busy month, and when things get busy, I find myself constantly thinking “I should be doing/reading/thinking something else right now.” I become overly aware of the limited free hours I have in my week and whether or not I’m using them well. This month, I considered not finishing a book I’d started for the first time in a long time. I walked out of a three-hour movie two hours in. I compared my nightstand TBR pile against my overbooked planner and quietly despaired.

I have a lot of high hopes for my equally busy May, but the biggest one is to try and slow down the calm moments I do have when I have them, without thinking about whether I should be somewhere else. I’m not totally sure where I’m going to find these moments, but I’ll be looking, and I’ll have a book ready for when I do.

Speaking of books, let’s get to it! Also, if you’d prefer to read this post in newsletter form, make sure you’re subscribed here:


The Foundation:

Book covers for Babel by R.F. Kuang, Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo, and A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver

Babel: An Arcane History — R.F. Kuang

Starting with a hot take, but this was my most disappointing read of the year so far. It had so many of my favorite things: history, magic, etymology, Oxford University. In theory, I should have adored all 500+ pages of this book, but I found it so boring! The premise of this fantastical alternate history is that silver bars engraved with translated words function as magic batteries that are powering the Industrial Revolution. Only those fluent in the languages can create the magic, so the story follows a cohort of translation students at Oxford, mostly people of color who were removed from their home countries at a young age and groomed for a career in service to the British Empire. As a result, much of the book grapples with their fraught identities and the moral question of forced loyalty to their colonizer. These issues are valid and important, and the perspectives of people of color from colonized countries are definitely underrepresented in historical fiction, but ultimately, I was underwhelmed by this book and did not think it lived up to the hype.

Hell Bent — Leigh Bardugo

I have a theory that if anyone is going to write another epic fantasy series that has a cultural impact on par with Harry Potter/Game of Thrones, it’s going to be Leigh Bardugo. She’s exceptionally talented, has a track record of appealing to both YA and adult audiences, and is now contractually obligated to churn out a bunch more books. This series, though, is not necessarily going to be it. Hell Bent is the sequel to Ninth House, in which Alex Stern, a girl with the power to see ghosts, is brought to Yale to join a magical secret society. During her freshman year, her mentor gets trapped in Hell during a ritual gone wrong, and most of Hell Bent is spent trying to bring him back. While Alex’s Yale felt more richly three-dimensional than Babel’s Oxford, I didn’t love how much of this already long book felt like a dragging wild goose chase. 0 for 2 on dark academia books this month, sadly.

A Poetry Handbook — Mary Oliver

What did we do to deserve Mary Oliver! If you didn’t know, April was National Poetry Month, and a few friends and I challenged each other to write a poem every day in celebration. Those poems will not be seeing the light of day anytime soon, but I had fun and I especially enjoyed learning about poetry through Mary Oliver’s eyes: pulling famous poems apart line by line, sound by sound, and examining their inner workings to see how and why they are so effective. I came away with a deep respect (and more than a little intimidation) for the craft of poetry, and I would highly recommend this handbook to writers of all kinds.


Solid Supports:

Book covers for Time is a Mother by Ocean Vuong and The Hurting Kind by Ada Limon

Time Is a Mother — Ocean Vuong

This was a poetry collection that I read on paper (Kindle) instead of listening to, which is such a different experience. I do still want to return to this collection on audio because I love hearing poets read their own poems, but seeing them on the page gives one a deeper appreciation for form that gets lost when you’re just listening. Vuong plays with form often in his poems, using their shape as a way to balance and explore the shifting shape of his own identity: as a queer man, a war refugee, a partner, a poet, and in the wake of his mother’s death, a son. His grief is the driving force of this collection—one of my favorite poems is merely a list of everything his mother ordered from Amazon in the last year of her life—and it completely colors the way Vuong approaches memory and the present moment, and how love connects the two. If you liked Vuong’s novel On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, you’ll love this collection (and vice versa).

The Hurting Kind — Ada Limón

This is the most recent collection from national treasure/Poet Laureate, Ada Limón, which I listened to while doing laundry and getting pooped on by a bird. Many of the poems are grounded in a sense of wonder and connection with the natural world, but they also examine her childhood and her family history and offer touching tributes to her late grandparents. The collection is also underscored by the universal feelings of loss and loneliness which have come to characterize so much of the art created during the pandemic. In the titular poem, a sweeping generational rumination on family and the small details of lives past that are remembered by loved ones, Limón writes, “I have always been too sensitive, a weeper / from a long line of weepers. / I am the hurting kind.” This confession is woven throughout the collection; Limón’s pain comes from feeling too much: deeply, openly, and without reservation. May we all be so brave as to wear our hearts on our leaves.


THE TIPPY TOP:

Book cover for Fruiting Bodies by Kathryn Harlan

Fruiting Bodies — Kathryn Harlan

This story collection finally pulled me out of the slump that reading two 500+ pagers back to back with little enthusiasm had put me in. I needed a story collection because I needed worlds that I could dip in and out of with minimal effort and maximum satisfaction, and Fruiting Bodies certainly delivered. The stories defy clear-cut genres, blurring the lines between the expected and the fantastical, where even the ones that feel firmly grounded in reality are tinged with a sense of otherworldliness. In the titular story, a woman cooks with mushrooms clipped from her lover’s body. In another, a woman is subjected to visitations from different versions of her past self. In my favorite, a woman plays a high-stakes card game with the fair folk for research purposes, gambling everything from memories to body parts.

You may have noticed a pattern here, which is that all of the stories center women, most of them queer. The few male characters often feel like an imposition at worst and a nuisance at best, an inconvenience to solve and move on from. In their absence, women of all ages and desires are able to explore their identities and their relationships inside increasingly unstable worlds. The presence of magic—or at least a suspension of disbelief—throughout this collection aligns these stories with a rich tradition of mythology and folklore transposed for the present day, infused with temptation, intrigue, and divine femininity. I have not been able to stop thinking about these stories.


That’s April wrapped! If you’d like to chat some more about any of these books, my inbox/comments/DMs etc. are always open. Here’s hoping for less chaos and more quiet in May (a girl can dream).

Until next time, happy reading!
❤ Catherine