Book-It List, August 2022 Edition

I had a whole post typed up about how, at some point over the heartbreak and trauma of the last two years, I somehow manage to lose my Reading Groove. That is to say, my voracious appetite for books somehow withered away to a skeletal echo of its previous voluptuous self. Thanks, Corona.

But then I thought, who the fuck wants to read about that? Many of us found our concentration shot during the fallout of the last couple of years. Many of us had too much else going on. What-the-fuck-ever. We keep buggering on.

Fortunately, I think my Reading Groove is starting to come back. Books—which are, perhaps, my oldest and truest friends—are starting to appeal to me once more, and I am trying to deliberately cultivate that interest, coax it back into being. What better way to do it than to create a monthly Bucket List of Books? A Book-It List, if you will: 

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I'm not a book blogger--hell, I'm barely a blogger--so I promise I won't be nattering on at great length about all the titles on my bedstand right now; nor will I be doing any sort of formal reviews on here. Instead, I figure I'll just hit a few of the highlights about my reading goals of the month...

First, and obviously most importantly, The Art of the Occult, by S. Elizabeth. 

Full disclosure: I read this book a couple of years back, but the author S. Elizabeth (AKA Eldest Sister) is releasing her second book The Art of Darkness next month, and I figured I should re-read to get me in the mood for her next literary work. Although, I won't be reading The Art of Darkness until we are balls-deep in the middle of Spooky SZN.

Next up! The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny, both by Andrzej Sapowski.

I'm not always a slut for fantasy novels, but when I am, it's usually because there's a delectable bit of man-meat lurking within the pages. And if you've seen The Witcher televisions series, which is based on these books, you'll know the man-meat of which I speak: 

Behold! Geralt of Rivia, at his cleanest. 

Alas and alack! There are only two seasons of The Witcher out as of right now, but happily, there's a whole stinkin' series of books just waiting for me to devour. 

And finally, The Midwest Survival Guide: How We Talk, Love, Work, Drink and Eat...Everything With Ranch, by Charlie Berens.

Look, just because this book is considered "regional humour" doesn't make it untrue. (Especially about the Ranch dressing, AKA "Hoosier Sauce.") The author is Charlie Berens of TikTok and YouTube fame, and his writing is every bit as delightful (and mostly wholesome, which, wtf? Who am I even?) as his video productions. Out-of-towners, if you ever plan to visit me, please read this book first...and be prepared for "A Midwestern Good-Bye." 

Obviously, I've got a bunch of other stuff in my reading pile,  including some youth fiction, as well as the picture books I look over when I'm working the desk, but since there's every chance I won't read my way to the bottom of my August Book-It List, I'm sure as shit not going to blog my way to the bottom, either. 

Happy Reading, Comrades!

 

Keep Calm and Read On. Unless You Can't. That's Okay, Too.

 In 2013, I read 142 books. At one point, I joked that it was because I was at my unhappiest point of my life, and was trying to escape. 

In 2016, the number of books I read plummeted to 76; I joked that it was because I had returned to Indiana, and was at the happiest point of my life.

And then, in 2020... I read 41 books.

That's an astonishingly low number, given how much of the year I spent shut indoors, isolated from everyone. But upon further consideration, I don't think it's so shocking. I know that in March, April, and May of 2020 especially, my concentration was shot. I simply couldn't focus. Many of my friends and colleagues agreed that they were having the same issues. Now, of course, I understand that we all were (and still are) enduring a traumatic situation in real-time, and naturally there will be some impact on us and our minds. 

Fortunately, as the year went on, I was able to shake off some of my mental torpor, and I buckled down to the arduous task of literary escapism, resulting in the aforementioned 41 books read. I logged them all in my Goodreads account, which is rather fortunate--my dear friend Anna recently asked for a rundown on my "pandemic reads", and in reviewing my 2020 Booklist on Goodreads, I am absolutely floored by how many of them I simply do not remember reading. Like, I know I read them. But damned if I remember much about them at all. Trauma, amirite?

So, without further ado, here are the highlights of my "Pandemic Reads"

No one can do narrative nonfiction like Erik Larson. Whether he's recounting the Titanic's last hours, a serial killer in Chicago, or a selfish socialite in Hiter's Berlin, this man can sure as shit tell a story that makes you want to read just one more chapter. Last spring, as the weather grew warmer and the world fell down around us, I made my way through Larson's latest, an account of Winston Churchill and his inner circle during some of the worst days of the London Blitz. Vaguely, I felt as though perhaps there were some parallels between their struggles then and our struggles now, which perhaps accounts for why on occasion I lapse into some war metaphors at work, much to the bemusement and consternation of my colleagues. Anyway! Good book! And spoiler alert: Britain got its ass kicked yet didn't lose. 

Ah, the good ol' days, back when kids killed each other for entertainment...wait, that's still happening? Anyway, remember The Hunger Games? The author released a prequel in the first half of 2020 (I think? why do we bother measuring time anymore, anyway?) and Vox.com promptly called it "your apocalyptic escape from our current apocalypse." They...aren't wrong, really. This is a perfect example of my headspace at that time: I remember the basic plot of the book, but none of the details. But I didn't forget how deliciously escapist it was. 

So this last book that I'm going to mention is not technically one that I read in 2020, but it is one that I read during the apocalypse. I actually picked up this book last month, after galloping my way through the Amazon Prime show, The Expanse, which might be the single best show I've binged during the pandemic. And is based on an entire series of novels! George R.R. Martin calls the first one, Leviathan Wakes, a "kickass space epic", and while generally I think Martin is a useless lout who should fuck off into the sun...he's not exactly wrong. This series is set a few (or several; it's really not important) hundred years in the future; Earth is grossly overcrowded and has long since colonized Mars and various asteroid belts; and there is all sorts of conflicts and internecine strife and warmongering and faction building and class warfare, so...everything is basically same as it ever was. And that's before you introduce the element of extraterrestrial life, which is about to fuck everything to the sun and back, perhaps literally. 

So, there you go. A small overview of some of the books I read during a rather lackluster period of bookwhoring in my life. Feel free to pop over to my GoodReads account and see what else I've read in past, happier days and years! 

A Brilliance of Books, Late June 2018 Edition

The year marches on, and here we are, almost halfway through. I'm behind in my reading goals for the year--the first few months, being the chaotic, delightful adventure that they were, didn't leave me much spare time for literary ...

I can't say that life has settled down much--that's not really what life does, after all--but I have been going about one of my favorite pasttimes with a bit more purpose. Some of the goals I tackled in May and June were:

The Cafe By the Sea-Chicklit isn't really chicklit anymore. The Great Recession put the finals nails in the coffin of that sub-genre, at least in its early form. Or perhaps chicklit has just been sucked back into the "mothership" of women's fiction. Or perhaps it's just matured into something that's a little more substantive and sensible. Either way, Cafe by the Sea is a combination of chicklit and women's fiction, with just a tiny dash of cozy. Jenny Colgan's books (fortunately) lack the glitz and glamour of New York City, and are real in their exploration of messy, realistic family dynamics...and they include lovely rural UK villages and delicious-sounding foods.

Perception-As I'm a rather nerdy, pompous bookworm who has known from a very early age that my face would not be my fortune, I've always had a wee bit of a soft spot for Mary Bennet, the plain middle sister of Pride and Prejudice who hid her shortcomings behind a bookish disdain for society and pretensions to intellectualism. And with that bias in my heart, I always gravitate towards Pride and Prejudice spin-offs in the hope of reading more about this intriguing changeling and seeing her come into her own. Perception is the one of the latest offerings, and while it was a little on the fluffy./historical romance side, I still enjoyed it. There's another possibility though, Mary B, due out later this summer, and I have rather high hopes for that one. It looks like it might less..floofy.

(I tend to consume a lot of floof. I need to counter that consumption whenever I can.)

The Silence of Ghosts--I don't often say this about a book, but I regret reading this one--at least, I regret reading it when I did. This delicious ghost story deserves to be read in darkest October, close to midnight, as the shadows of the year are closing in, and the icy fingers of seasonal death tighten their grip on the world. It's certainly a book I will happily read again.

Mrs. Osmond-Ever read Portrait of a Lady? I haven't. Saw the movie once, but I recall very little about it other than John Malcovich's overweening smarm. But I'm familiar enough with Isabel Archer, her wonderful prospects, and her very, very poor choice of husband, to enjoy this literary offering from John Banville, who explores the "what next?" after the end of Portrait. While it's technically a historical novel, it isn't primarily a historical novel--it's literary through and through. It's also a book that I will need to re-read...I devoured it for its plot, but unfortunately, this is not a book to devour. This is a book to savor. 

The Monsters of Templeton-Eldest Sister told me about this book as she was reading it...a freakin' decade ago. (It's a little disturbing that I can now break my life down into decades.) I still remember how excited her voice was as she described this book, filled with ghosts and family secrets and lake monsters and quirky characters who make all sorts of questionable life choices. Why did it take me ten years to read this?

Welp. The year marches on, and here we are--day by day, the sand in the hourglass trickles down, and there is ever-less time to read all the books that I want to. All I can do is go about it with a purpose and a plan.

A Brilliance of Books, Mid-May 2018

There were a few years there in my life where I was reading an insane amount--upwards of 125, 150 books per year.

These were also some of the unhappiest years of my life. Coincidence? Nope. Not even a little bit. Books were my escape, of course, but they were also a way for me to mark progress through something. Stagnated as I was in my career, trapped and immobile as I felt in my life, there was (I thought) little room to move forward, to progress in life projects. So, page after page, I moved through stories, moved through piles of books. In hindsight, I wonder if there was something a bit...compulsive about it?

And now, here I am, in 2018.So far this year, I've not even managed 30 books. Sure, we could chalk it up to me juggling all the jobs in Bloomington, and moving households, but also, I think it's got something to do with the fact that I am just...happy. I'm occupied with pursuits and people and projects, and while I still love to read, I feel like maybe it's become a bit more proportional to the other facets of my life.  

What I've Read This Month, So Far:

Ann Rinaldi, Brooklyn Rose
Have any of you ever read anything by Ms. Rinaldi? I know I did, a very long time ago, and of course she came up in my children's literature class back in library school. This prolific author produces a lot of historical fiction, focusing on momentous events told through the mouths of fictional characters--indentured servants of Abigail Adams, or wards of the haberdasher to Queen Victoria, or some such. It's a bit of a cliched literary device, to be sure, but it certainly is one way to get young folks reading about history. Early this month, I stumbled across Rinadli's name somehow, and got it into my head that I should read something of hers. So, I checked out the title that I found the least ridiculous  that sounded the most appealing, and spent an evening reading about Rose, a Southern gal who marries into a wealthy Northern family and must test her mettle against her overbearing mother-in-law. Verdict: Entertaining enough, but by no means earth-shattering.

Mariah Fredericks, A Death of No Importance
Now this--this book was one of those that it was a true pleasure to read, that I hated to put down, and hated, too, when it was finished. A murder mystery, this was, set in 1910 New York City, and told through the voice of Jane Prescott, a ladies maid to the Benchleys, a nouveau riche family learning to navigate high society. Throw in a gruesome murder, some violent anarchists, and suspicious characters with no end of motives, and you gain a good read, and lose a night to its consumption.

Anne Easter Smith, Daughter of York
Originally, this book caught my notice out in California, when one of my colleagues nominated it for a staff pick. It looked vaguely interesting, so I threw it on my GoodReads list...where it proceeded to languish for the next eight years. I took up this doorstopper this month more to get it off my damned list than for any other reason. It tells the story of the War of the Roses in the voice of Margaret of York, Duchess Consort of Burgundy, who was sister to two Kings of England. I plowed through this a little bit at a time during my lunch breaks the last two weeks, and it was one of those that held my attention enough as I was reading it, but didn't stick very long in my memory otherwise.

Kerry Greenwood, Murder and Mendelssohn
The twentieth (and latest) installment in the Miss Fisher mystery series, this books is now four years old, and I've heard nary a peep about further books illustrating the intrepid antics of Australia's most fabulous flapper. So I read this book as slowly as I could, but there are only so many ways that one conductor can possibly be killed (my personal favorite was him choking to death on a choral score), and finally, I turned the last page. I miss Phryne already.

What I'm Reading Now (Not pictured):

Kintsugi Wellness and Harvard Business Review's 10 Must Reads for New Managers

Extrapolate from that what you will.




Now excuse me while I go on to my next book, which is...a historical novel.

A Brilliance of Books: March 2018

Fare thee well, March. We'll not see the likes of you again! As months go, this was a rather... ooooof kind of month. In addition to the usual work and life stuff, I was rather focused on getting The Haggery settled, as well as pursuing a couple of substantial professional undertakings. As a result, my recreational reading time was a bit limited, and my ability to really devote attention to what I was reading was, too. What's a Book Bitch to do?

Decimate the local library's collection of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, that's what. 

Now, my mother-in-law turned me onto the television series back in 2015, on a lazy weekend that I spent with her down in San Diego. I was--and am--addicted to that sumptuous, gorgeous show, but there are plenty of differences between the books and the tv series, so I can enjoy each on their own merits.

And so, whenever I had a spare moment this month, I'd hunker down on the couch, under a blanket, and immerse myself in the world of 1928 Australia and the society of the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, a rags-to-riches socialite with a knack for accumulating waifs, making wise investments, and alternately seducing, charming, and buying her way to the bottom of the crimes she solves as a "lady investigator. 

There is so much to enjoy in these books--Splendid secondary characters, including her Communist muscle men Bert and Cec, her devout companion Dot, and the long-suffering Detective Inspector Jack "Call me Jack, everyone does" Robinson. Beguiling descriptions of food, 1920s society, and haute fashion. And truly amusing dialogue...for example: "The night would degenerate into the usual problems of an orgy: where to put what and where and when, and how to find room for one's elbows", or, with reference to some hotel's housemaids, Bert knew "that some of the Sailor's Rest young women had professions which might involve beds but did not involve making them." 

The plots sometimes seem to rely heavily on coincidences, and Miss Fisher--beautiful, wealthy, generous, clever, very sexually accomplished, remarkably open-minded for her time period, and quite skilled in exotic dancing, nude modeling, art investing, race car driving, aeroplane flying, and god only knows what else--from time to time comes perilously close to Mary Sue territory. But as she is a fearless explorer, that's not much of a surprise. 

I'm up to book 15 in the series, and there are only 20 at this point. I'm going to be quite adrift--gutted, really--when I'm caught up, and I'll have to return to more high-minded reading. Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries is like a rather pleasant, not entirely but still slightly frivolous vacation from the literary world, and it was definitely one that I needed this month.