In January of this year, eight months before its release date, the buzz was already starting to build for Bill Clegg's Did You Ever Have a Family. Bookseller colleagues were passing around the few advanced reader copies we could get a hold of and telling each other, "You have to read this!" Four major review [...]
There's a funny thing that happens when you stop writing your own books—when you cool the fever, when you walk the garden, when you do not rise at 3 AM, determined. Other people's books become your obsession. Their stories, their words, their worlds. You grow responsible for understanding. You yield your empathy, devote your time. The days are long and hot and languid, and
New Orleans wafts by courtesy of Ruta Sepetys, and
Haiti, thanks to Edwidge Danticat, and the humor of
Haven Kimmel, the confessions of
Caroline Knapp,
the daughter of a salt god (Ilie Ruby),
Cambodia at war (Vaddey Ratner), the
very secret life of objects (Dawn Raffel).
Over the course of the last month, I have bought nearly 100 books and others, due out soon, have made their way to me, courtesy of publishing houses and authors. My triple-stacked shelves in every book-devoted room are officially overtaxed. Book piles approximate architecture. Most women get up and ask, What will I wear? I wonder, upon rising, what to read.
My mind is clear; it is at peace; it is satiated. I sleep better than I did. I want less. I am comforted by books, comfortable around them, and the words I do write these days are reviews and essays, opinion pieces, suggestions. Short pieces, perhaps 1,000 words a day, that help me put into context those things that I'm learning about language and how it works for others.
It seems enough, for summer.
There are humorists whose words are assaults—funny, perhaps, but mostly acidic, pointed, seething. Anger lies at the core of such humor. A hint of retaliation. A hope, perhaps, that by glossing a story with the ha-ha funnies no one will notice what the tale is
really about, or how deep the damage runs.
There are humorists, conversely, whose jests come at the expense, mostly, of themselves. Childhood was funny to them; childhood was a boon. They grew up awkward or they grew up confused, and anyone who happens to stand in their wit's way has (it's clear) been tenderly assessed. They will be getting ice cream later.
I prefer Humorist Type 2, and Haven Kimmel is a star among them. Consistently funny, highly literary, surprisingly facile in her rhythms and subject matters. For those looking for something to do on this hot-across-the-country day, I recommend her deservedly famous memoir,
A Girl Named Zippy. You'll forget that you are sitting alone by the window fan, your lemonade glass empty. You'll stop praying for a breeze.
A passage to get you started lies below. Before I get to that, though, I feel that I must say this: I love the little girl above, whom I snapped one day at an event. The only thing she has in common with Haven's description below is that she is, obviously, a dear, dear thing.
We tried a variety of hairstyles in those early years. The really short haircut (the Pixie, as it was then called) was my favorite, and coincidentally, the most hideous. Many large predatory birds believed I was asking for a date. I especially liked that style because I imagined it excused me from any form of personal hygiene, which I detested. I was so opposed to bathing that I used to have a little laughing reaction every time a certain man in town walked by and said hello to me and I had to respond with "Hi, Gene."
After a year as a Pixie, my sister decided what my hair needed was "weight." Melinda executed all the haircutting ideas in our house and, in fact, cut off the tip of my earlobe one summer afternoon because she was distracted by As the World Turns.
The weight we added to my hair made me look like a fuzzy bush, a bush gone vague.....
By: Shawn Donley,
on 8/31/2015
By: Beth Kephart ,
on 7/8/2012
Love that line, "I wonder, upon rising, what I will read." That's what summer's for!
What to read is always an extremely important question, and most especially in these sweltering days when any clothing at all is an encumbrance!
Oh no. The more you read and review here the bigger my list grows!
Ah, the sweet and simple joy of words, of reading.
I love finding that I have a free week in review obligations so I can pick what I want to read blindly.
I just ambled into your weblog from the tangled paths of the internet and am captivated - I've seldom read an ordinary, everyday kind of post like this one written so poetically. I shall enjoy reading more here.