Category Archives: The Folio

The Folio: What I Read Mid-September Through Mid-October 2024

Book Review, Books, Fiction, The Folio

In a word? “Bangarang!”

Ye gods, what excellent books.

This was one of those months when books held fast and made claims on a corner of my inner world. It’s cramped in there and I probably should Marie Kondo the place, but for now, these books are welcome to squat in my brain corners and bring me joy.

This was not just a “hey, nice book” kind of month, but the kind where at least two of these are straight-up shoe-ins for my end-of-year Best Of list.

The silvery thread binding these books together is that they are all about the act of storytelling, how sometimes that’s the only way to get through. Or in. Or out.

I’ve been reshaped by these works.

Which is all just to say these are the books that I enjoyed enough to finish in the last month:

James by Percival Everett

If you’re going to take on Twain, you’d better bring the goods. 

Percival Everett not only brings the goods, the whole goods, and nothing but the goods — he delivers them with such unapologetic brilliance that you’ll find yourself wondering, ‘How has no one done this before?’ And then you realize — no one else could have done this.

I am thunderstruck.

James is not merely a retelling of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, it’s a complete reimagining where Jim — now James — steps into the center of the narrative. He is now a man with his own inner life, vibrant with intellect and grappling with the cruel complexities of his life. Cerebral, flawed, painfully conscious of what it means to exist in his circumstances, James becomes a moral force.

Everett critiques both the historical portrayal of Jim in Twain’s original work and contemporary issues of race. The narrative blends humor, satire, pathos, and sharp commentary, with James often confronting his situation with a deep sense of survival, wit, and profound love for his family. It’s brutal and beautiful and fresh.

I marveled at the fullness of James as a character. He is no longer a sidekick, no longer just a figure for Huck to bounce off. He’s no “Mary Sue,” either. He’s deeply human. If this book isn’t immediately welcomed into the American Canon, I’m not sure what would be.

There’s also a lot of philosophy thrown in there because YEAH, THERE IS. And it works. Some folks have expressed displeasure with how the book’s toe-dips into farce seem abrupt. Welcome to literature. Think of it like a journey. A journey on a river of some sort. Where there are twists and turns and sometimes the river is gentle and sometimes… Do we see where I’m going with this?

This is a genre-bending boundary-pusher for sure, and any liberties it takes with the original story are just and satisfying. To tackle Twain requires a certain audacity, and to succeed requires genius. Everett has both in abundance.

There is no doubt that schools will use this as a parallel text when studying Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

There is also no doubt this will be on my Best Of 2024 list.

Astonishing work.

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin

All towns should have a bookstore, don’t you think?

Island bookstore owner A.J. Fikry is definitely not having the time of his life. Grieving the loss of his wife, struggling to keep his bookstore afloat, self-medicating, bereft of passion and connection. However — hooray! — everything begins changing when a toddler is left in his bookstore. What follows are not thunderous events but a soft, deliberate opening of life.

This is a novel about a community only as flawed and fragile as the people within it, and A.J.’s bookstore becomes the fulcrum for everything: grief, love, indiscretions, second chances. It’s life, piece by tangled piece.

Perhaps by dint of being set in a bookstore, the book celebrates not just the joy of reading but the necessity of it. This sweet novel is a love letter to books, bookstores, and the communities that form around them. It’s well-paced, though it takes a few big leaps in time that might make you a little woozy. Still, the storytelling works beautifully. Zevin is deeply respectful of and never underestimates her audience, a skill also showcased in her Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow. Zevin’s storytelling is tight and purposeful — there’s not a wasted word or superfluous scene. Every moment builds A.J.’s world and relationships, while also pulling the reader into the life of the bookstore and town, stitched together by books. 

The quirky main and secondary characters feel like they’ve stepped out of an exceptionally good sitcom — believable, loveable, and tinged with just enough sorrow to avoid being treacly. Literary references throughout the novel are sweet treats, and A.J.’s book notes are lovely touches. It eventually is made clear who these notes are for and how they tie into the plot, which made me hug the book to my chest. Yes, I’m weird. It’s fine.

Ultimately, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry is a love story. I’ve said before that all stories are love stories. This one isn’t sappy, disappointing, or cynical. Neither are real jaw-dropping twists here; instead, the story unfolds in small, quiet ways. This book may not cause you to bolt upright, but little moments you enjoyed will stay with you long after you’ve finished.

Zevin’s writing is self-assured, and she trusts the reader to keep up and fill in the gaps. It’s zippy. It’s wackadoo. And it’s a reminder that sometimes, a good book — and a good life — are about those quiet, small moments that happen when you crack things open.

It’s hygge at its finest.

All stories should come with a bookstore, don’t you think? After all, “a place ain’t a place without a bookstore.”

Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson

In Michigan earlier this year, I picked up a bag of Limited Edition Cherry Barbecue potato chips. (Stay with me.) They were…peculiar. Sweet, spicy, not quite balanced, all in a way that made me go, “What is happening?” I wasn’t even sure if I liked them. But two sittings later? Gone. Gone like yesterday’s regrets. And here’s the kicker: I’d eat those weird-a$$ chips again fistful by fistful in a heartbeat.

This was not unlike reading Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson. At first, it’s strange. This cannot hold up. But it does. You keep reading. You’re hooked. And suddenly you’ve finished the book, wondering what just happened and, more importantly, HOW DID THAT WORK AND WHERE CAN YOU GET MORE? 

And by “you” I mean “me.”

I’d read this weird-a$$ book again in a heartbeat.

(*extreme Stefon voice*) Nothing to See Here has (almost) everything — friendship, responsibility, and spontaneous human combustion. It’s strange, dark, and hilarious. Wilson somehow makes these fire children funny and tragic all at once. They’re weird, the narrator is weird. It’s all weird and it works.

After reading a string of heavy, intense novels, Nothing to See Here gave me literary whiplash. Let me tell you, though, I love a funny book that writes its own rules, that’s wholly original, and doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard to be ultra-cool or different. It just is. Wilson pulls this off.

Our narrator, Lillian, is sharp-tongued, jaded, and just messed up enough to carry a story. She may be even a little much…her vocal fry practically buzzes off the page. And I couldn’t get enough of her.

If I have one complaint, it’s that I wanted just a bit more at the end. A glimmer of what’s next, a sense of where these characters might land after the final page. But then again, that’s life, right? Stories don’t always wrap up neatly.

And that’s the thing — the story Lillian believes about herself is one of failure — she’s convinced that a mistake in high school sealed her fate as a woman with no prospects. Caring for these kids forces her to rewrite that story, imagining herself as someone capable of love and responsibility. Madison, the children’s mother and Lillian’s high school friend, on the other hand, has crafted a flawless public image. Both women’s stories are their emotional shields until they’re forced to confront the truth.

The children’s story is different — they’ve been treated like secrets, their combustive condition dismissed or explained away by crackpot theories. Wilson handles all this with great humor and pathos. It’s crackers and I felt like it shouldn’t work, but good grief, I devoured the book in two sittings. 

Sans chips.

The Testaments (The Handmaid’s Tale #2) by Margaret Atwood

Survival. Complicity. Resistance. Power.
It’s BACK, baby. (Kind of.)

Can outrageously great writing elevate an otherwise good book? Yes, it can. Exhibits A and B: Yes, it can. Exhibits A and B:

  • “You don’t believe the sky is falling until a chunk of it falls on you.”
  • “You’d be surprised how quickly the mind goes soggy in the absence of other people. One person alone is not a full person: we exist in relation to others. I was one person: I risked becoming no person.”

Atwood’s writing remains as sharp as ever, resulting in The Testaments punching above its weight. Did I love it as much as The Handmaid’s Tale? No. The Testaments feels a little like a victory lap, more epilogue than continuation, an attempt to close open loops.

The story picks up 15 years after The Handmaid’s Tale, with three narrators: Aunt Lydia (yes, the one we know and loathe), plus two new characters — Agnes, a Gilead-born girl, and Daisy, a Canadian teenager. Credit where it’s due — Atwood gifts each with a voice that feels real.

Aunt Lydia’s chapters were my favorites. We learn more about Gilead’s power structures and Lydia’s own twisted brand of resistance. Meanwhile, Agnes and Daisy get tangled up in a plot to take down the regime. The stakes are high…or should be. Lydia is fascinating — a judge turned ruthless enforcer turned murkily-motivated saboteur — but I wanted more of the internal fallout as she took on those roles. I WANT MORE RECKONING, please and thank you.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe Atwood is telling us that authoritarianism rots you from the inside — and that Lydia, like the rest of us, is susceptible and sometimes their fates aren’t satisfying. But oof, I wanted to see more of that rot unfold on the page.

The two teens’ intertwined stories had some moments — like hearing about young brides-to-be inside Gilead — but the stakes didn’t quite hit the way they did in The Handmaid’s Tale. The glimpses of life outside Gilead didn’t pack quite the punch I was hoping for.

Am I unfairly holding The Testaments up to an impossible standard? MAYBE. I wanted more machinations, more urgency, more visceral danger, more fire. The story felt pale next to the original, and the big “reveal” at the end didn’t quite land. 

Or maybe I’m numbed because *mumbles something about 2024.*

Honestly, I’d have loved this to be only Aunt Lydia’s story from start to finish (bring in the teens, sure, but through her eyes.)

That being said, there were enough satisfying moments to answer a few lingering questions left over from The Handmaid’s Tale and for me to finish the book (and I’m quite brilliant at not finishing books.)

A worthwhile read for Atwood fans — fanatical and casual.

The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien

My boys and I read this at the same time. Them for class, me for connection. This is not a book one reads for pleasure, but it is a reminder that sometimes a great book stops being a story and becomes a reflection.

The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien is a collection of twenty-two interconnected short stories revolving around a platoon of American soldiers during the Vietnam War and the literal and emotional burdens each soldier carries, if only to remember they are human.

This is a demanding read — not because it’s obtuse or buried in authorial swoops and swirls, but because O’Brien splays himself open, unblinkingly and with an honesty that begs for his precise language.

O’Brien uses a blend of autobiographical details and fictionalization to share stories of the haunting complexities of war and its aftermath.

One of the central themes is storytelling — how stories help people cope, give meaning to their experiences, and preserve memory. O’Brien uses his characters to explore the meaning of truth in both war and writing, especially during and after times of extreme conflict. Against this backdrop, we witness (sometimes unwillingly) the worst and best of human nature. It is deep and disturbing, and hoo boy, did it earn its status as a finalist for the Pulitzer.

Read this when you are in a place to do so, if only because the writing and structure are elegant and majestic. But also, read it when you can stomach the violence and sorrow. The title story may be one of the best-crafted pieces I’ve ever read. The non-linear organization of the book is a lot like memory itself — asynchronous, spiraling, sometimes perseverating, sometimes rushing ahead because that’s the only speed one can self-preserve and still tell the truth. But ultimately, even that rushing is just procrastination from confronting the inevitable.

This is also most definitely going on my Best Of 2024 list.

What books have you been enjoying?

The Folio: What I Read Mid-August Through Mid-September

Book Review, Books, Reading, Recommendations, The Folio

Oliver Twist, Still Writing, Stein on Writing, Uncommon Type, Signal Fires

Books were patient companions this month as I clawed for guilt-free time and focus like some sort of book-hungry long-clawed, guilt-riddled thing.

And then, in a continuing pattern of completely unhelpful thoughts, sometimes all I do is read and wonder what would happen if someone did a vampire modern “take” of them.

Some ideas are best left unexplored.

Trust me. Then I often drift into casting a Muppet version of the books.

Some ideas are worthy of exploration.

Which is all to say these are the books that I enjoyed enough to finish in the last month:

Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

Like most people you know, Oliver was born. Unlike most people these days, he was born in a Victorian London workhouse. The kid eventually runs — of course, he runs — from the empty promises of that workhouse straight into the grime and grind of London. There he meets others who see him as Opportunity and still others who see him as Sweet Innocent. There is escape, reckoning, and eventually, identity in a world riddled with scarcity.

Speaking of scarcity, “Say it again, you vile, owdacious fellow!” is not as easy to work into polite daily conversation as you might think, but I’m giving it a go.

I have never seen the musical Oliver! But I can say with some authority that this novel, upon which the show is based, is no toe-tapper.

Oliver Twist, a bildungsroman with more gruel than most, is not a lovely book, but there’s a harsh beauty to it.

Hello, Dickens. Privation and agony, sadness and secrets, misery and humor. Whiskers abound!

Young Oliver’s innocence holds up for a while, giving readers a sense of protectiveness over and investment in the lad. However, in modern times, it can seem a bit…much. He had to be fundamentally good and hopeful for the story to work. That said, Oliver is probably the least interesting character in the book. The real genius is in how the disconnected characters, unresolved parentage storyline, and the dark portrayal of London all work together.

Read this very-much-of-its-time book through whatever lens you like — New Criticism, Critical Theory, heck, throw in some Game Theory while you’re at it. You do you, Boss.

Though a short work by Dickensian standards, it’s fairly hefty by modern ones. That said, the long descriptive passages are artful, surprisingly fun, and do not negatively affect the brisk pace of the work.

There’s irony, sinisterness, and chilling characterizations — problematic by today’s standards (e.g., “The Jew,”). Dickens’ wit helps ease any strained credulity. There’s crying, swooning, and urban underbellies — necessary steps toward his better child characters like Pip and David Copperfield.

Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life by Dani Shapiro

Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life by Dani Shapiro is an acknowledgement that writing can be a brawl between Self and Work. Shapiro is open about the writing process. It is not clean. It is not certain. One minute you’re queen of the keyboard, the next you’re face-planting into your coffee. It’s untidy, but good lord, when it clicks, it’s glorious.

Shapiro speaks to those of us who have walked that line between art and fear. This is not a manual for the pragmatist. It is a book for those who understand that the emotional life is as much a part of creation as the practical.

You will fall. You will get up. You are a writer.

In that simple rhythm lies everything.

This is a book written by and for the artistic temperament and is as much about the emotional aspect of creating as it is the practical.

A little digging around revealed that Dani Shapiro and I went to the same high school, although at different times, and there are many parallels between her upbringing and mine, at least based on little gems she drops in Still Writing. Similar upbringing, similar terrible ways of coping with difficulties as a teenager. Uncanny. I felt…seen? Heard? Acknowledged?

Kinship. That’s the word.

I have a massive document of “writing advice” carefully copied from great craft books or articles or blog posts.

With this, I was highlighting every page, and most of every page at that. Can I enter an entire book into my file? No.

Ok, yes.

I will type and keep them like the preciousssss they are. This helps me internalize them, to communicate and converse with the author. And, oh, it will be worth it to experience this book that way a second time.

I mean, please. Just look at these quotes from this gem of a book:

“Everything I know about life, I learned from the daily practice of sitting down to write.”

“The writer’s life requires courage, patience, empathy, openness. It requires the ability to be alone with oneself.”

“The page is your mirror. What happens inside you is reflected back. All of it.”

“The only reason to be a writer is because you have to. Because it gnaws away at your insides if you try to do anything else.”

It takes a great deal of courage to remain vulnerable. It takes a great deal of strength to remain soft.

Still Writing is a steaming hot bowl of chicken noodle soup — comforting, helpful, a little salty. Perfect. You want to rush through it? Wrong move. This is a slow-simmer kind of book. It’s the kind of thing you read and pause, read and pause. You mellow with it. That’s where the magic is.

Shapiro combines the clinical and the tender as she looks at writing. She has taken the time to consider what we do and how weird and wonderful it is. How complicated and simple. How important and futile. How wretched and worthy. And still — and STILL — she understands the infectious joy of it all, and we are better writers for her having shared it.

This one’s going on the “Easy-to-Reach Craft Book” pile, no question.

Stein on Writing by Sol Stein

TWO CRAFT BOOKS IN ONE MONTH? What am I, some sort of literary addict, jonesing for another hit of structure and plot?

MAYBE.

Stein on Writing does not mess around. It is a technical manual, craft-oriented, and if you so choose to metaphorically strap it on your back and hike through the wilds of your words, does it ever deliver. Stein offers actionable advice on key elements of effective writing, including structure, dialogue, pacing, and character development. Whether you’re writing fiction or nonfiction, his insights are spot-on, particularly when it comes to clarity and engagement — cornerstones for holding a reader’s attention.

Stein emphasizes “particularity,” (my new favorite word), and guides writers on crafting and revising prose. This is not a book of vague inspiration, abstract advice, or “fix the commas” or “cut adverbs” suggestions. The method is clear and pragmatic: shape your writing, tighten, refine, repeat, until you’ve produced polished, professional work.

Make no mistake, this is no dry tome. Stein practices what he preaches, often with great wit, as evidenced by gems like:

“Thou shalt not saw the air with abstractions.”

“One plus one equals a half.”

Too often, advice at this point in my career feels mushy, repetitive, or feasibly addressed by a simple search-and-replace. Stein’s book demands more of us as architects of meaning. This is about our responsibility for the reader’s experience, forcing us to organize our thoughts clearly on the page.

This one also earned a place on my “Easy to Reach Craft Book Pile”

It is a standout.

Uncommon Type by Tom Hanks

Short stories, perhaps more than any other form, demand perfection, an economy of words that leaves no room to hide. With a collection like Uncommon Type, comparisons are inevitable from one story to the next. Releasing a book of short stories is a courageous act in the base case.

And Tom Hanks? Well, he surprises. His authorial voice — fun, warm, with more depth than expected — makes this a sweet debut collection.

Fame, particularly when you’re an actor, can be a tether when you venture out into anything else requiring your voice. It’s also hard to be a novice when the world knows your name. The expectations may be unfair, but Hanks embraces his authorial voice and explores quite a range of topics including the adventures of a group of friends navigating space travel, a World War II veteran adjusting to post-war life, and a teenage surfer’s experiences.

That breadth is seen in the first two stories: the first is brash, cocky, filled with quips — vintage on-screen Hanks from the 80s and 90s. (Shout out to his guest role on Family Ties) The second story is tender, gentle, free of artifice, and unblinking in its look at permanent scars of war.

Some characters reappear throughout the collection, to varying effect, while others come and go. Yes, the book is uneven at times, but that’s part of its charm, like when a typewriter has its own signature quirks.

Every one of the seventeen stories in Uncommon Type is, in some way, a love story. A love of connection, of history, of place. The typewriter, in all its clunky glory, is the common thread (or ribbon, should I say?). Sometimes the presence of the typewriter feels a bit forced, but all things considered, this collection delighted me. I particularly liked “The Past is Important to Us,” “Three Exhausting Weeks,” and “Christmas Eve 1953.” These are the kinds of stories you imagine reading by a fireside in winter, or on a porch in summer, glancing up occasionally to watch the fireflies.

It’s the literary equivalent of a warm cup of cocoa. It’s not Red Bull.

Signal Fires by Dani Shapiro

Signal Fires by Dani Shapiro is a mighty novel about family, memory, and the not-so-invisible threads that connect us. The story begins in 1985 when tragedy strikes the Wilf family. The ripple effects of this unfold over time, with the narrative moving between the past and the present. Shapiro weaves a tale that examines how seemingly small choices or happenstances can lead to events with far-reaching consequences. The novel explores connection, unpredictability, the power of forgiveness, and the impact of personal histories.

Unlike many novels that jump between timelines, Signal Fires does so with purpose, reflecting the fluidity of time as a central theme. This revelation unfolds patiently, beautifully.

My kids have had several assignments in school where they are asked to write about a moment of beauty or frustration or failure or success in their life. I always tell them to go small. Signal Fires is a brilliant example of an author doing this. It’s a novel that looks at intricate, tender moments — the small, personal choices that ultimately shape our lives.

The Folio: What I Read Mid-July Through Mid-August 2024

Book Review, Books, Inspiration, Reading, Recommendations, The Folio

* Runs in to the blog page, breathless* 

Sorry I’m late. Vacation, then back to school, illness, busy-ness and WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE I’M A FEW DAYS LATE WITH THIS POST?

Fine. I won’t pay the late fee then.

Let’s start with some good news, because I believe in having dessert first: I’m now writing book reviews for Reedsy, and I’m beyond excited!. Fret not, my reviews will also still appear in the usual places: Here. Over there. Yonder. Maybe even scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper, locked in a dusty museum chamber, to be discovered centuries from now.

Which is all just to say that those of you who wanted MORE places to read my brain blarps? Wish granted.

I am coming to terms with the fact that summer as an adult is nothing at all like summer for children or teens or even college students. It’s not months of freedom and relaxing and doing what we want. There’s no time for me to go running around after the ice cream truck (neighbors, you’re welcome!) And, in a plot twist as horrible as and then I woke up, there’s less time for me to read than during the school year. My inner Veruca Salt is stomping around, demanding TIME, SPACE, QUIET, COZY UNHUMID NOOKS, AND TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES ICE CREAM BAR, but that’s not how this summer panned out.

 (photo credit: https://www.reddit.com/r/TMNT/comments/p508mk/i_miss_the_tmnt_ice_cream_bars_on_a_hot_summer_day/)

And that’s ok. I finished five books I can talk about now, and multiple (*bats eyelashes coquettishly*) ARCs (Advanced Reader Copies) and alpha- and beta-reads that I will be able to share with you soon enough. Trust me when I say that there are some really excellent books to be released in the next year or so and I can’t wait to talk about them with you.

These are the books that I enjoyed enough to finish in the last month:

Fallen Spirits by Diane Hatz

Fallen Spirits, the second installment in the Mind Monsters series by Diane Hatz, is a gloriously offbeat fusion of satire and sci-fi, perfect for those who enjoy sharp humor and gleeful absurdity. (Also space-time disruptions! Beings from other realms! And possibly the end of the world!)

We reunite with the beleaguered and somewhat bewildered Alex as her life implodes then intersects with that of the lost and endangered Crystal, a woman who seems to be at the mercy of some metaphysical shenanigans. Alex embarks on a cross-country journey for answers and a chance to find anything that might help her crawl out of the wreckage that is her life.

Along the way, she encounters unforgettable characters, like JT, a power-hungry mogul whose craven need for omnipotence imperils pretty much everyone. I’d also like to give a friendly wave to Dr. Max, one of Hatz’s many delightful secondary characters into whom she breathes life with a few keystrokes.

At its heart, Fallen Spirits is about hitting rock bottom, scrambling up again (and again), and just maybe believing in something — whether it’s oneself, community, or unseen guiding forces.

Hatz incorporates these deeper themes into a fast-paced story that is as thought-provoking as it is entertaining. She skewers the moral vacuity of the uber-wealthy elite in scathing commentary on capitalism gone awry. Hatz’s narrative voice is incisive, sarcastic, and a lot of fun. She is also gifted in what I believe to be an underrated skill: ending chapters well. Each “button” works, and putting the book down is a struggle because we just want to see what could possibly happen next.

Word of warning: if bodily functions — even when used satirically — are not your cup of tea, you will want to approach this with extreme caution.

If you’re looking for a full-speed-ahead slipstream novel that cheekily challenges conventions while exploring the power of belief, Fallen Spirits is the book for you.

The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon

This novel is a fever dream set afire with a postmodern match.

Oedipa Maas, ordinary California housewife, becomes the executor of her ex-lover’s estate, a task that quickly thrusts her into a bizarre labyrinth of centuries-old conspiracies, and reality soon seems to slip through her fingers.

Pynchon’s novel is dense, surreal, and mind-bending. It’s quite a trip and you may need a DIY conspiracy board to make sense of it all.

The Crying of Lot 49 intentionally doesn’t aim to fully develop its characters. Pynchon is here to play with form rather than character development, twisting narrative to near disorientation. His prose is playful, almost entirely brilliant, and underscored with pain. It’s a nutrient-dense cocktail of words that’ll mess you up in the best possible way.

Pynchon taps into not only a wobbly paranoia, but also a sense of how lost we can feel in a stubborn country of lonely souls pointing fingers at each other.

The novel is also about the greater dread that nothing is connected, that everything is random and meaningless. And Pynchon takes not a few shots at 1960s counterculture. Even rebels can trap themselves in their own belief systems.

Reality. Just sound and fury, signifying nothing — or perhaps, everything.

How to Stop Time by Matt Haig

Tom Hazard, a man who appears to be in his 40s, has rather inconveniently been alive for over 400 years due to a rare condition that slows his aging. While everyone he knows bustles about living and dying, Tom just…doesn’t. While the world spins on, Tom lives a life of history and solitude. He’s hobnobbed with some historical greats, sure, but immortality-ishness comes with its own set of problems — chief among them being found out, but also the agony of loving and losing and living with for centuries. This isn’t a novel about history so much as a look at time — how it moves, how we cling to it, and how hard and how necessary it is to live in the present.

This book is like a slow, deliberate sip of whiskey — smooth, then burn. The timeline jumps the author makes put us in Tom’s shoes as he increasingly “slips” back and forth in memory. You feel his disorientation as time plays tricks on him, causing him memory headaches. This novel does not shy away from THE BIG STUFF: resilience, fear, regret, mortality, the urgency and blessing of a lifespan. And in the end, it’s the stubborn optimism of it all. It’s a gentle nudge toward living our best lives in this very moment. (It’s also eminently quotable and a lot of fun.)

Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple

A quirky, sharp novel about what happens when modern life pushes a creative soul to the edge. Semple critiques absurdities of modern life, particularly suburban conformity, tech culture, and the pressures of social status. The story follows Bernadette Fox, a brilliant but eccentric architect who doesn’t quite fit into the neat little boxes that society — and suburban Seattle — tries to place her in. Bernadette disappears just before her family is to take a trip to Antarctica. Narrated through a series of emails, letters, and documents pieced together by her 15-year-old daughter, Bee, the novel painfully and hilariously pokes at creativity, family, and the lengths people go to maintain appearances or reject them altogether.

The satire hits HARD from the get-go. Bernadette’s reluctance to engage with her community is relatable for anyone who’s ever felt like there was some fun partying going on in a private breakout room during a Zoom. The struggle against absurd norms is the heartbeat of the novel, emphasizing how fricking exhausting it can be to keep up with the Joneses when you don’t even want to be anywhere near that racetrack. But Semple lets us know there’s always a different (hilarious! charming!) path.

A quick side-eye to how some characters — ELGIN — get handed one too many Get Out of Jail Free cards, but that’s a minor quibble in an otherwise deeply resonant, offbeat, well-balanced novel that may make you reconsider wild trips to the end of the earth or lawn warfare.

The Accidental Creative by Todd Henry

A thoughtful guidebook/kick in the pants for anyone trying to be creative while the world tells you to go faster, do more, and SMILE while putting nose to grindstone. Despite sounding like something an overenthusiastic AI model would suggest, concepts like “Creative Rhythm” and “Idea Management” are actually quite brilliant, even for non-business creatives like me. He emphasizes balancing focus, relationships, energy, and time to help you generate ideas without burning out or losing quality. It’s something to keep close by and a good reminder that slow, steady, and deliberate make those big moments of creative inspiration possible. Make your creativity bulletproof. I’ll let you know as I buckle down to work on my own book if these ideas are more than inspiration.

I’m off to go figure out my new Reedsy stuff now. Wish me luck. I, a Luddite, stopped keeping up with tech once my iPod Gen 2 gave up the ghost (to the tune of Bubbles by ARTIST). Maybe I’ll reward myself with a quick jog behind the Good Humor truck, should those bells toll for me.

What did you love reading this month?