by Hello, friend! It’s been awhile. And I don’t have a very good reason for that, other than I haven’t particularly felt like writing. So I thought I’d dive back into blogging with something easy, a post that practically writes itself: an update to my #52booksin52weeks list.
Books 21–25 in 2019
No. 21: Shrill by Lindy West
One of South by Southwest’s bigger fails came, of all places, in their book store. Shrill, a memoir by author and activist Lindy West, had been on my “must read” list since its publication (2016). On Day 4 of SXSW, I watched Aidy Bryant and Elizabeth Banks discuss their upcoming project for Hulu–six episodes of “Shrill.” Naturally, I rushed to the bookstore to purchase a copy only to find none. When I asked why, the clerk sighed wearily: “Yeah, everybody’s asking. We should definitely have it but we don’t.”
I went elsewhere for a copy and I’m glad I did. West’s memoir has the feel of essays; her chapters address big topics through her life (or her life through big topics, however you want to look at it). How does one smart, funny woman bump up against so many hot-button topics–body image, misogyny, internet trolls, publishing, stand-up comedy, love–and become a word warrior? Reluctantly.
I never wanted to fight virtual trolls. I wanted to fight real ones. With a sword.
Lindy West
No one should have to battle assholes who impersonate dead fathers online to harass a writer. If you can read West’s chapter, “Slaying the Troll,” without your mouth hanging open in shocked disgust, I don’t want to know you. West has my undying admiration for her willingness to voice strong positions so eloquently.
If you consider yourself a feminist (and we all should), Shrill is required reading.
No. 22: Remembering Satan by Lawrence Wright
Well-written true crime is a nonfiction writer’s holy grail. You need all a novelist’s imagery to set the scene as well as the historian’s eye for relevant detail. Then, an editor’s keen hand is required to ensure enough detail is included to inform but not so much to go gross.
Lawrence Wright is certainly up to the task. He’s won a Pulitzer Prize for The Looming Tower: Al Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 (General Nonfiction, 2007) and wrote Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief, which was turned into an Emmy-winning documentary special. Just the guy to properly handle a story with this subheading: “A case of recovered memory and the shattering of an American family.” Right?
Sadly, no.
The case, which began in 1988, was part and parcel of that era’s “Satanic Panic.” The details revolve around concepts of false and recovered memory tied to religious beliefs. Paul Ingram was a deputy sheriff whose two daughters accused him of prolonged ritualistic sexual abuse. Though he originally proclaimed his innocence, Ingram eventually “remembered” events that led to his conviction and a 20-year prison sentence–even though no physical evidence supported the allegations and memories. Later, Ingram recanted his confession.
I have no doubt Wright did a good job with the source material. But the book kept raising “why?” questions. I’d have to read Remembering Satan again to nail down all its dissatisfying aspects but there’s no way I’d ever revisit this book. The Ingram case and Wright’s retelling left me physically repulsed; every time I picked it up, I felt like I needed a cleansing bath afterward. No wonder I’ve buried those memories.
No. 23: Upstream: Selected Essays by Mary Oliver
Which book to read next is directly influenced by its predecessor. After the disgusting peek into insanity of Remembering Satan, I turned to poet Mary Oliver’s beautiful slim volume of essays. One hundred and seventy-five small pages of relatively large and expansively spaced text covers inspiration and creativity, the beauty of nature, admired writers, and joys of long walks, among other things.
And I search in the deeper woods, past fire roads and the bike trail, among the black oaks and the taller pines, in the silent blue afternoons, when the sand is still frozen and the snow falls slowly and aimlessly, and the whole world smells like water in an iron cup. And I see, on my way to the owl’s nest, many marvelous things. . . .
Mary Oliver
If I needed a bath after the previous read, Oliver’s essays provided me with a clear mountain stream full of meandering and sweetly flowing water to cleanse and nourish my soul. Aaaaahhh.
No. 24: Messalina by Jack Oleck
As a kid, the top shelf of my parents’ library was off limits. These were “adult” books, often paperbacks, and naturally, their lurid titles drew me like candy. Pretty sure I read my way right through all of them.
One evening, I was chatting with my folks about my Little Free Library and mentioned I’d happily take any unwanted books off their hands. My dad perked up. “Paperbacks?” Yes, I assured him. “Any kind?” Sure, I said. Dad had an entire box of books at the ready, so I collected those unwanted books with thanks.
At home, my husband looked askance as I dug into the box. “You’re just going to put all those out in the library, right?” he said. Uh, no–especially when, with a laugh, I discovered those old “top shelf” books. One of them, with its cover of a toga-clad, whip-toting femme fatale, I remembered vividly. Wouldn’t you read it again? Of course I did!
For a, oh, 10-year-old, Messalina‘s “sexy stuff” is eye-popping. Forty+ years later, I rolled my eyes a lot at fairly typical 1950s confusion over women and power. Messalina begins with rape presented as “kinda” consensual sexual discovery and gets on its merry way with quickly sketched Roman history and some anti-Semitism and patriarchal subtext thrown in. As a character, Messalina’s very two-dimensional; as a novel, all of the characters are bereft of any real humanity. It’s pretty terrible.
As one 2009 reviewer wrote, “They just don’t write like this anymore.” Indeed. And thank you.
No. 25 Everything Here is Beautiful by Mira T. Lee
I hate it when I can’t find a book. Though my shelves are organized logically, the system gets thrown by books I’ve purchased for the Little Free Library. I keep these in two baskets, one for “I’ll read these”; the other for “straight to LFL.” Mix in an Austin Public Library checkout and sometimes, I have no idea just where a book went.
After digging around desperately, I realized that Everything Here is Beautiful had been returned to APL. The novel was a book club pick and did not disappoint. While we were somewhat divided on thoughts about the plot, our discussion was lively and interesting. And that’s what I look for in a book club pick. In hindsight, I wish I’d bought this one.
The novel spans years, following a family as one member is diagnosed and lives with mental illness. Different chapters focus on different people: sisters Miranda (the eldest) and Lucia (whose schizophrenia diagnosis and symptoms drive the plot), their husbands and lovers. In addition, Lee has layered concepts of cultural identity and what constitutes home like a lovely icing over a cake. The kind of icing that’s not too sweet or too heavy but adds a delicious flavor to the underlying tiers. Nicely done.
This novel was a wonderful addition to my reading. Difficult to put down and very moving, Everything is Beautiful Here was at once more literary and much more accessible and relatable than any of the other five books listed here. Take it to the beach; read it on a rainy summer day. Curl up in the shade on a hot afternoon and dive in. You won’t regret it.
Wanna Know More?
“The History of Satanic Panic in the US” by Aja Romano (Vox)
Books No.1–10 for #52books2019
Books No.11–20 for #52books2019
Books No. 26–30 are coming next week–I promise. And here’s a tease. The list includes creative cats, vampire hunters, a haunted farmhouse, and one sad genius of a little girl.
