Greetings and thank you for wading through that title.
Let me summarize the last month by assaulting your eyeballs:
You’re welcome. I’m certain I am the only one who has used “March Madness” in a non-basketball-related way.
Continue reading Gutterballs, Keanu Reeves, and Other Spicy Things: March 2024Behold my October reads: each compelling enough to see through to the end. Three of them great enough to share with you here, and other places where reviews are welcome. Like Goodreads. And Amazon. And various aisles in Target.
Apologies to the stranger who didn’t sign up for my spontaneous bookish enthusiasm while browsing olive-leaf-and-oud-scented candles.
Can two trailblazing sisters seamlessly transition from American scandal to aristocratic allure in Britain, trading notoriety for nobility, and redefine themselves amidst Victorian intrigue?
WELL, HELL, I DON’T KNOW.
At least I didn’t until I read Carrie Hayes’ gorgeous new historical novel Well Dressed Lies. And if you have any interest in historical fiction and/or brilliant writing, do dive headfirst into this book.
Well Dressed Lies is a stylish imagining of the lives of occasionally conflicted women caught between trappings and liberation.
The progressive views and bold public stances of sisters Victoria Woodhull and Tennessee Claflin were considered controversial, if not radical, in the late 19th century. We join the sisters in this encore to Naked Truth: Or Equality, The Forbidden Fruit: A Novel as they head to England after enduring public outrage and formidable obstacles in the United States. Can they just traipse from America to Britain’s posh parlors without catching their crinoline on some hook or another? OF COURSE NOT, THAT WOULD BE A VERY BORING BOOK.
(You may want to read the first book, but it’s not necessary if you are patient and/or you have some knowledge of the Claflin sisters. But do read it — it’s delightful for its own sake and replete with Hayes’s dazzling bravura.)
Hayes is careful in her treatment of the sisters and other historical figures in the novel, fully imagining them without sentimentality. The sisters’ relationship pulsates at the core of the story, empowering them to defy society’s disapproval and withstand the relentless scrutiny of casual onlookers.
Hayes has talent to spare and a story to tell. Her greatest gifts, among many, are her wordsmithing and her world-building. We are enrobed in the language and details of the time, which gently pinwheel us in time and place without airs or affectations, and we swing along with the moods of the era. Hayes never underestimates her readers’ intelligence. She plays to our highest intelligence, but never once is arrogant or exclusive. Her prose flows like calligraphy, exuding beauty, elegance, and astonishing flourish. Hayes knows when and how much to withhold or reveal, adroitly keeping the book from veering into melodrama.
For anyone who’s ever tried to find love, who’s tried to reinvent themselves, who’s tried to be more than who the world wants them to be, this book is for you.
This is a necessary book, and possibly a survival guide for the nation.
Democracy Awakening was written by Professor Heather Cox Richardson, author of the insanely popular substack/Facebook posts “Letters From An American.” This book clearly and terrifyingly traces our current teetering-on-the-edge-of-something-terrible back to specific points in American history. Some historical factors for our country’s issues are more inimical than others, but in concert, they are at odds with the nation’s ideals.
Here’s the kicker: Democracy Awakening is not bleak. It is a firm, hopeful call to action for a future that better aligns with the nation’s promises (and its principles and its political legacies). Richardson reminds us that America is not going down without a fight.
I’d Rather Be Reading: The Delights and Dilemmas of the Reading Life is a scrumptious and rollicking little collection of reading-related essays for those of us whose end tables (and chairs, and desks, and floorboards) creak under the weight of our books, whose veins flow with the ink of a thousand stories, whose personal taxonomy includes a subsection for “books to read before I die,” and whose favorite kind of storm is a plot twist thunderclap.
(The Egg was hit or miss, but where it hit, it hit so good.)
Did you love any of your October reads?
Do you know the difference between a dork, a nerd, and a geek?
If you answered an emphatic “yes,” you are a nerd (for your studious, eager nature) and a geek (for your deep knowledge of a specific area).
But I asked the question, ergo, je suis une dork.
Long, romantic beach walks with craft and philosophy are my nerdy indulgence. I get geeky about drawing connections between art, responsibility, and meaning, and I’m endlessly curious about the dance of words in the grand theater of thought.
And because I’m here blarping about it with absolutely no chill? Je suis toujours une dork.
Labels can be fun, especially with fuzzy ones like those.
But for Dr. Charles Johnson, a polymath who believes in the sanctity and precision of language, terms like “nerd” and “geek” fall short. He deserves better: Genius. Writer. Teacher. Artist. Peerless storyteller.
And generous, because he shares a lot of his genius and years of experience in The Way of the Writer.
In this collection of essays, Johnson explores sticky, beautiful webs of life and art, the responsibility of the author to the greater culture, the nature of storytelling and the discipline it demands, and how these together can, when lightning strikes hard work, transform writer and reader.
I always snort when people in films finish a book and clutch it to their chest. I tend to dismiss that as over-the-top and kind of icky.
But I…I think I get it now. This is a book I want to hold to my heart, to wrap my muscles and bones around. I want to somehow physically intertwine with this book. At the very least, to hold my work up to his expectations and find it worthy.
We all hit those quiet crisis moments in life. What am I doing? Where am I going? I get those a lot, mostly when I’m brain-farting in aisle 9 of the grocery store. But also in a larger sense these days, and regarding many things, including my writing. The bliss of self-awareness and aging, amiright?
I want there to be an *aboutness* to not only my work but my process. My lifestyle. My life, I suppose, if I’m going to be sloppy about the whole thing. Purpose in outcome, though, means purposeful input.
These are not conversations that come up in my life often, especially in aisle 9 of the grocery store. So, in lieu of having a mentor – or at least a chatty package of erudite ramen – at the moment, I scour the world and bookshelves for wisdom.
Here it abounds.
In The Way of the Writer, Johnson fuses his philosophical background with insights on the craft, emphasizing discipline, the societal responsibility of writers, and the symbiosis of art and life. He underscores the importance of mentorship, drawing from his personal experiences, and presents writing as both a dedicated vocation and a reflection of life itself.
It’s a soulful work chock full of anecdotes and classical references alike.
Some readers have commented that Johnson’s work is self-focused. I disagree. His thinking (his writing) draws from deep wells of his world, his careers, and his studies, as we can and should draw from ours. His reflections on the cycle of artist – apprentice, journeyman, mentor, public intellectual, artist (with an eye towards cultural impact) — pull from his own life and allow for richly detailed and invaluable insights.
Reading The Way of the Writer is like auditing a masterclass, yes, but also engaging in a deep tête-à-tête with a gifted storyteller. Johnson would be both a life-changing professor and a charming dinner companion.
Not only has this work secured a place in my personal pantheon of craft books, but I will squeeze this book tightly to my chest. Literally. Metaphorically. Perhaps in aisle 9.
Because that’s the kind of dork I am.
Jackie Pick 