A reading life

What to Do About (Reading) Goals

I wasn’t going to write this post because of how banal the topic of goal setting has become and how much resistance many of us now feel toward the pressure to optimize every single moment of our days. That resistance is justified. But every time I find myself circling a reading-related question, I try to write it through here, because if I’ve learned anything from nearly two years of this Substack, it’s that…

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4 months ago · 198 likes · 54 comments

My reading container will be novels about letters or actual epistolary novels. I have long loved writing letters. It’s a practice I continue to this day. An avid lover of beautiful stationary and the written word, letter writing appeals to both loves.

Here is the list:

• The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

• Griffin and Sabine by Nick Bantock

• An American Marriage by Tayari Jones

• The Guernsey Literary and Potato Pie Society by Mary Anne Shaffer

• The Martian by Andy Weir

• The Color Purple by Alice Walker

As you can see my list spans time, genre and subjects.

The Correspondent is a true epistolary novel. Comprising letters, emails and texts. The writer is a feisty, opinionated, intelligent and ambitious female lawyer. A more detailed unpacking of this novel will come in due time but I will mention here that I loved that the writer was unapologetically herself. A law clerk for a well known judge during a time when most women were expected to stay in the domestic sphere. This novel shines a light on a woman who broke the conventional mold and thrived. The novel illustrates the connections we make with those we may never meet in person but who are nonetheless impacted by our words, thoughts, feelings and care through the words we send them. The power of the pen, indeed!

Griffin and Sabine is a wonderful novel that is beautifully illustrated. You take literal letters out of envelopes and read them! Written in 1991 it is the very first epistolary novel I read, long before I knew that’s what they were called. I remember being enthralled by the book as a novel, but even more so as a work of art. I cannot wait to re-read it for this years container.

The Martian is written as a series of scientific logs by astronaut Mark Watney who becomes stranded alone on Mars when his ship leaves him behind during the confusion of a sand storm. I’m sure some of you have seen the film, which I greatly enjoyed as well. I am excited to see how the novel translates in relation to the film. But also how it stands alone.

The same can be said for the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Despite the clunky title the novel is set in London and Guernsey a small British island off the northern coast of France, part of the Channel Islands during WWII. A lovely film, one of my favorites, I confess I did not know it was an epistolary novel. My TBR is starting to really shape up early this year.

I read The Color Purple for an advanced placement English Literature class in High School. It was the first novel that taught me the fundamentals of deep reading. And for me it was like unlocking a puzzle I didn’t know existed. Finding meaning beyond the plot opened a world of discovery. It felt like learning another secret language that only some knew about. It also taught me about nuance, subtly and reading between the lines. Skills that continue to serve me well.

So that’s this year’s reading project. If you start your own I’d love to hear about it.

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Until then, happy reading….

Every once in a while a book comes back across my notice and it’s like rediscovering an old friend. And I started thinking about some books that caused a dynamic shift in my perceptions of the world, both externally and internally.

There were three which rose above the thousands of books I’ve read in my forty seven years:

1. The School of Essential Ingredients; food descriptions

2. The Phonebooth at the End of the World; narrative pacing

3. Quiet: The power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking; enlightenment

I read The School of Essential Ingredients about 15 years ago. It was an absolute revelation. Set up initially as short vignettes describing the backstory of each character. You are drawn in by the warmth and vibrance of each. They are finely drawn and feel like people you’ve already met and loved. The framing story; a cooking class run after hours in a beloved Italian restaurant. Each character comes to the class for different reasons each uniquely their own.

And while the characters are the action which captures your attention for me it is the spectacular descriptions of food and the preparation of food that sustains it. While cozy mysteries written with accompanying recipes are a dime a dozen now, in 2009 that was not the case. The ability to then create in reality some some of the dishes featured in the story creates an additional nuance that truly brings the novel to life, literally.

Each dish is chosen intentionally to continue and deepen the narrative of each character. I had never before read such loving and accurate descriptions of the ingredients of cooking and the preparation of food. It is abundantly clear that food is the author’s love language. The act of feeding someone satisfies two components; the nutrition feeds their body, the love with with you made it feeds their soul.

The description of something as simple as a cinnamon stick becomes something else entirely under Bauermeister’s care:

As the story progresses each character a literary ingredient being lovely mixed and heated to bring together a story that is like no other I’ve read. As the novel reaches it’s conclusion you realize that each vignette, each character, is an ingredient in themselves and it’s not until the end you realize the impact they have, individually, but more importantly, together. Just as an egg alone can be prepared 100 different ways (which is why there are 100 pleats in a chef’s hat) but coupled with a few other ingredients you can make something truly magical.

I read The Phonebooth At The End of the World during COVID. When we as a society were at our most isolated. The world had ground to a halt, and we cowered inside our homes in fear unknowing what was coming next. Baffled by a pandemic where medicine seemed to be powerless against the disease at least initially. Where our friends became the possible route to infection and death.

Ironically, fear can make things feel as if they are happening faster than they are. Our thoughts begin spiraling out of control. Racing towards a vanishing point of the unknown. Perhaps because our physical bodies were required to be still the energy was forced to become mental, almost maniacally so.

This novel slowed me down, gently, thoughtfully, kindly. The novel’s pacing is absolutely masterful. Perhaps because in the East mindfulness is engrained in their culture and daily lives. The gentle unfolding and intertwining of both the healing of great loss and the birth of a new romantic relationship leads the reader on a journey that’s organic and highly relatable.

While I was born in the East, I was raised in the West. At times I wanted to hurry the couple along. Impatient for them to outwardly declare the feelings they are clearly feeling for each other.

But sometimes a slower more meandering pace is exactly right. Time is needed to fully explore the feelings growing in our hearts. Or to gather the courage we need to take a step which will irrevocably change a relationship that has become so important to us.

“Time heals all wounds”. I dislike this saying. I feel it’s reductive and pandering. Grief I found stays with us, always. It just softens. It’s as if we learn to live with it in a way where we can function but differently than before. But it’s always still there. This novel explores the way we cope with grief. When it feels like a wild animal who lives in our chest. It explores the ways we act in our grief that makes sense only to us.

But it also explores the healing that takes place. It’s gentle, patient and almost imperceptible. Each day feels to the griever exactly as the day before. But taken over weeks, months, years, we can see that grief shift to something less raw. To something we can begin to function with. And eventually the veil of grief lifts enough for us to live again.

I stumbled on Quiet: The Power of Introverts In A World That Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain over two decades ago. I still remember to this day the feeling of reading it. Rarely in our lives do we have true moments of epiphany.

For many years I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I did not enjoy parties, large groups of any kind, really. Dealing with that many people left me feeling drained and exhausted. When forced to be in a large group, I was constantly trying to find ways of minimizing my exposure to them, helping wash dishes, frequent trips to get some air, a lot of “bathroom” breaks.

And then I read Susan Cain’s book and my self perception shifted. I started to understand myself in a completely new way. Her work created a self acceptance in me that I lacked for many years.

For once, I didn’t see myself through the lens of “deficiency”. And that shift opened up the possibility of something new, the ability to embrace, wholeheartedly, my natural inclinations.

The difference felt like the change in effort you experience when you’re running with the wind, instead of against it. Not only did it feel effortless, but because you were no longer wasting energy fighting your natural tendencies you had more to tap into.

It was the beginning of a sea change for me. I started making better choices. My time alone felt, unrestricted, I felt less guilty when I chose to stay in, instead of going out. My friends noticed I was more engaged with them when we were out (in small groups, or just the two of us). I slept easier and woke with more vigor.

My sister has mentioned a similar revelation, in reverse. She was always known as outgoing, gregarious even. And then something within her changed. She realized she didn’t need to be what others expected if it wasn’t authentically her. Her internal happiness outweighed others need for their social expectations to be confirmed.

All that, to say this: stop fighting that which is inherent within you. As Steve Job’s famously said “Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice.”

What are your top three books?

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Bauermeister, Erica. The School of Essential Ingredients. G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2009

Messina, Laura Imai. The Phone Booth at the Edge of the World. Translated by Lucy Rand, The Overlook Press, 2021.

Cain, Susan. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. Random House, 2012.

Then her words captured my heart. That day she was reading about body image:

I think it was this poem that really launched her into the public consciousness. Because it resonated with so many of us. I felt like she had seen inside my soul. I think that’s all we ever want, to be truly seen, and understood. Her poetry is like rocking on the front porch, glass of ice cold lemonade in your hand, the buzz of your neighbors lawn mower in your ear, and the scent of fresh cut grass in your nose.

I haven’t read poetry in a while. A close friend of mine said he didn’t like poetry. And I felt compelled to show him that he in fact does, he just hasn’t been reading the right stuff. Good poetry is able to capture the essence, nuance and universality of emotion with an economy of words. Each word is absolutely essential. Writing like this takes time, talent and discipline.

What elevates this poetry to the next level is the relatability of her topics. Whether it’s being self conscious of our bodies in a bathing suit, or heartbreak, or long distance friendship Josie writes about it all with a clear eye and sympathetic heart.

Each poem somehow speaks to my heart. I bet if you picked this up, it would speak to yours too.

Balka, Josie. I Hope You Remember: Poems on Loving, Longing, and Living. S&S/Simon Element, 2025.

I was definitely behind the curve on this one. My mom mentioned that she had added it to her Libby and I immediately ran out to buy a copy. (Yes, mom you can read it after me. And please no comments about how much money I spend on books.)

I have long been a fan of Kristen Kish. One, I have height envy, she is 5’ 9”, I am 5’ 1”. Two, she is articulate and kind and ambitious. She has a dry sense of humor which I share. She’s honest about the mistakes she’s made yet she embodies a hard won confidence and presence I find absolutely irresistible. Three, she is adopted, as am I.

I have never seen Top Chef, I first came to know her from a series on Nat Geo called Restaurants At The End of the World. Where she traveled to destinations that were as beautiful as they were difficult to get to. It featuring local ingredients and challenging preparations while showcasing the talents of the local chefs she worked with. It’s a kind of an elevated “Dirty Job’s w/ Mike Rowe” but with cooking.

I don’t post about all the books I read. One, I really don’t like the pressure. Two, some of them I just don’t vibe with. But the ones I do. The ones that transport you to a place within yourself you didn’t know existed. Those books. Those are the ones I post about because really how can I not.

Now admittedly this usually happens with fiction. Because well, it’s fiction. The scope is unlimited. The author has literally the entire world and more if it’s sci-fi or fantasy to work with. Autobiographies are very restricting in subject matter because they can only write about what’s happened in their life. So when this happens with a non-fiction autobiography you know it’s something very special.

What made this read one of my top ten this year so far is Kristen’s narrative voice. It comes through her writing loud and clear. It’s like she’s standing right there telling us her story in her unique voice. Full of brash honesty and heartfelt wisdom with funny anecdotes about the crazy restaurant industry. The characters feel so familiar. It’s a wild and crazy ride that somehow doesn’t feel as frenetic as the fast paced restaurant world can be. Mostly because it’s grounded in good old midwestern common sense and decency.

If you’re looking for a quick read that is as satisfying as a three course meal look no further.

Kish, Kristen. Accidentally on Purpose. Little, Brown and Company, 2025

I have read many different re-imaginings of classic novels. This is the first one that spoke to me like an old friend. It didn’t hurt that of all the Bennett girls, the serious, bookish, Mary, was the character with whom I identified with the most.

I am not as ethereally beautiful as Jane, or as cuttingly witty as Elizabeth. Hopefully I am not as vapid and silly as Kitty or as easily lead as Lydia.

This retelling feels like a daydream, weaving the possibilities for Mary’s life within the framework of the established story. It feels like sitting in the dappled sunshine, warm and comfortable, and letting your mind unwind an extension of the story from your own heart.

What I love the most of this retelling is the complexity of Mary’s character. Often Jane and Elizabeth get the most screen time. And Mary has been left to become this one dimensional character made less attractive by her glasses and bookish nature. In this imagining Mary’s choices are shaped by her silly mother, the cruelty of her younger sisters, and the disinterest of her older ones.

We have all been there. Especially those of us from large families. There’s just not attention to go around and unfortunately the loudest, or the worst behaved get the most attention.

The inflection point in Mary’s life is the kindness of her aunt. In a household of acceptance and understanding Mary finally has the time and emotional space to stop reacting to others shallowness and cruelty and find out who she is as an individual.

We spend so much time and energy reacting to who others want us to be. Your parents want one thing, your friends another, your spouse and children yet another. We are constantly reacting. Who would we be if it were just up to us. I’m taking the time this year to find out. I think you should too. Because who we are at our core, are exactly who all of those in our lives need us to be.

Janice Hadlow, The Other Bennet Sister: A Novel. Henry Holt and Co, 2020.

What a gem of a story. In an interview Sarah Beth Durst said when she started writing this novel she wanted a story that felt like the hot chocolate that she was drinking on a cold winter day. I have to say that she succeeded. Today’s news is filled with hate, bigotry and misogyny this novel was a balm to my soul.

In all honesty the cover and the purple edges caught my eye. I am such a sucker for beautiful book art. And then after perusing the inside flap only to find the secondary character was a sentient spider plant, I was all in.

The story revolves around Kaela a librarian at The Great Library of Alyssium and Caz, a sentient houseplant that is her trusty assistant. When a revolution begins they must flee with all the spellbooks they can to a remote island, her childhood home. Officially in hiding Kaela must find a way to both stay hidden and help the people and creatures of the island who have stolen her heart.

The magic weaves effortless in and out of the story and for those who don’t like magic in their stories this is a great way to sample this. It never feels forced or ironically, unrealistic.

Filled with unique characters you’d want to meet in real life as well as fantastical creatures you’d also want to meet in real life. This book walks that fine line between reality and fantasy perfectly. Blending the two in a finely nuanced yet completely accessible read.

In a time when the world seems filled with political unrest, wildfires and devastation and just general uncertainty a little escapist literature doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

This book fits the bill perfectly. I invite you to grab your favorite hot beverage, coziest blanket and dive right in.

Hurst, Sarah Beth. What Makes Fantasy So Cozy. The Fantasy Hive. 2024, Sept 18.

Hurst, Sarah Beth. “The Spellshop”. Tor Publishing Group. 2024.

TW : Domestic abuse and violence. If this subject is not for you please feel free to skip this weeks post.

A few months ago I saw the movie of this novel starring Blake Lively and Justin Baldoni. I thought the film was really well done really highlighting the fact that incidents of domestic abuse are often hidden in many good times, really good times. That sometimes at the beginning you’re not even sure if it was intentional or just an accident.

Too often in the film industry the abuser is painted in a one dimensional light. Depicted as mean, ignorant, hateful, with no redeeming qualities.

But in my experience the person who is abusing you often is charismatic, kind at most times, thoughtful, fun and intelligent. Now add in the fact that you deeply love them. You feel you see who they truly are when the rage is not taking over. And you feel that you can help them find their way out. You feel essential to their lives to who they want to be but sometimes can’t. But it is a lie. And it was many years before I could see that.

I resisted reading the novel because to be honest it was too aggressively marketed at Barnes and Noble. I felt like it was being force fed down shoppers throats. Plus I found the cover off putting. Pink flowers. Gross. (Not the movie tie in cover which I also dislike, but that’s another post). I realize that all of my reasons are shallow and knee jerk. But there you have it. I didn’t even know what the story was about.

After seeing the film; seeing the sensitive and realistic depiction of what often happens. Or at least what happened to me. I changed my mind. It kicked me right in the gut and it took me back to a time I wished I could forget, but never can.

If the film was so compelling what would the novel be like. I bought it the next day. And then didn’t read it for a month. I was afraid of what feelings it would bring up. I was afraid I’d see myself in it’s pages. That girl so many years ago trying so hard to make something work that was doomed from the start.

But healing cannot happen without confronting the past again and again and again. As many times as it takes. Because your future depends on it. So I started it. And read it straight through. And sobbed the entire time.

This novel captures what my experience was like. The confusion, the desire to want to believe their pleas when their sobs sound like broken glass as they beg you to stay. The myriad of emotions that you feel when you look at them: love, compassion, pity, anger, shame.

It is so easy to judge from the outside. But inside looking out is so much more complicated.

And just when I thought I had come to terms with my past I stumbled on something new. I was struck by the passages of Lily as a child witnessing the abuse of her mother by her father. The depiction of her helplessness, her rage, her hatred of her father. And I realized that my family probably have felt this way when I was enduring the situation. That they must have been in a different kind of hell than the one I was living in. And I am just so sorry they had to go through that.

We are all still recovering. From him. From the aftermath of him. And we probably always will be.

I hope that this novel helps others understand a little better the absolute courage it takes to move forward from a situation of domestic abuse. I hope that it changes the dialogue from “why didn’t she just leave?”, to “what horrible person would do that to someone they claim to love”?

It’s been more than 15 years since I was in that marriage. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago, and others just yesterday. Today it feels a little closer than I’d like. And that’s okay because I know I will get through today and keep on moving towards tomorrow.

If you are in an abusive situation and need help the resources below are available:

• The National Domestic Abuse Hotline 1-800-799-7233

• National Deaf Hotline Videophone 9am-5pm M-F 1-855-812-1001 or deafhelp@thehotline.org

Hoover, Colleen. It Ends With Us. New York, Atria Publications, 2016.

It Ends With Us. Directed by, Justin Baldoni. Sony Pictures, 2024.

My love of this novel started young. It’s a story of 4 girls; Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy each with their own personalities. It’s a story of how these four young women forge their way in a world that was often inhospitable to their gender.

As I have grown from girlhood to womanhood I have seen myself in each of these characters. How often have we chafed under societies conservative notions of “femininity” as Jo does. Or dreamed of meeting that tall, dark, handsome man as Amy does. Or longed for comfort and home as Beth does.

Little Women is a perfect microcosm of all the possibilities of the roles we may play. The people we may become. The people we are to others.

Life is so often filled with conflicting priorities. Everyone wants our attention. Each day can bring increasing levels of stress. Escaping with a good book is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Re-reading a beloved novel is like coming home to a friend, one who is comfortable and warm.

As I begin my re-read this year during a particularly stressful time I am filled anew with gratitude for the well loved, well known, pages of a familiar book.

This is a story of incredible suffering and eventual triumph. This is a story of the love of a mother for her children. It the United States we love to crow that, “we love all of our children the same”. But how can that be true. While agree we can all love our children with the same amount of love, I think that each love is different.

In China, or at least traditional China, they take that notion even farther. It is not a secret that traditional Chinese value girl children less. They are seen as a burden, another mouth to feed when there is often not enough to go around, while male children are considered valuable. They are celebrated, at the very least they are fed.

While I knew this I never really understood what that would be like. Living in a household like that. How that would make the female children feel. What kind of choices would they make if they thought from the first moment of awareness that they were already less. This novel really hits home.

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As the protagonist in this story, the mother is a more complicated character that I was prepared for. Often mother characters are reduced to one-dimensional people. Either paragons of motherhood, sacrificing for their children. Or drug addicted, neglectful and abusive. Nothing in between.

This mother was fully a part of the world she was brought up in. She deeply loved her children. But she also believed that male children were inherently better. I was shocked and disappointed. I was ready for a reductive story where the mother realized the error of centuries of women before her and crusaded for the rights of female children everywhere.

Now naive.

It takes generations to make changes like that. But this book proves that it is possible. While it is a work of fiction. It is also based on the story of the author’s grandmother.

I was deeply moved by her story and all the women in it. It reminded me that problems like this are often more complicated than one realizes. But it also showed me the great courage these women possessed as they did the work to break free. Over and over.

I just finished reading this wonderful novel, Pachinko by Min Jin Lee. A historical novel following a Korean family through several generations. What makes this novel so special, are the female main characters. The male characters while colorfully drawn and important are somewhat ancillary to the main arc of the story.

The novel follows the family through several centuries starting in the early 1900's and ending in present day. It essentially is a celebration of hardworking, mostly very poor women overcoming incredible odds in a time period where their stories are usually silent.

When asked why she wrote this novel, Ms Lee said:
"Conventional beauty takes time, money and effort, and is expensive for all women, but it is cruelly so for women without resources. I wanted to write about the women on the subway or waiting for the bus in the winter wearing a threadbare winter coat, or the woman who works as a cashier at an H-Mart who are too heavy, or too wrinkled or grey-haired or improperly dressed by the standards of television or movies...I am interested in the physicality of women who live their daily struggles with integrity; their beauty captivates those who know them." (Pachinko, 1249)

In a society where there's filters for every selfie and Instagram influencers cultivate their feeds to appeal to a certain demographic we are in danger of becoming inundated and eventually inured to the influence such things wield over our perception of beauty. Perfection is not beauty. Perfection is either a myth or a lie. Either way it's not something to strive for as it is ever elusive and always a hollow false victory.

This past week I was introduced, as was much of the country I suspect, to an accomplished and unique young woman. She is Amanda Gorman, the Youth Poet Laureate of the United States and she was selected to both write and recite the Inaugural Poem at President Biden's Inauguration. I was so moved by her performance, and her words. Was the performance perfect, no, but she was powerful and true, standing up there, giving her heart to us though her words.

We should make every effort to see the beauty in the imperfection of moments, things, people. It's what makes us different, it's what makes us stronger and that's definitely worth celebrating.  

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I am only 1/3 of the way through it but honestly I cannot wait to get home after work to read more.

Martha Ballard was a midwife practicing in rural Maine in the late 1700’s. She attended over 800 births during her 27 years as a midwife.

The diary itself is spare. A day book with entries such as:

What the author, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, gleans from such sparse information is nothing short of astonishing. With impeccable research into the lives of the town members, their own diaries (mostly men unfortunately), and the rich history of both place and culture we can practically see their lives come to life before us.

What I found absolutely fascinating were the intricacies of the daily lives of the men and women who lived then. The constant creating and trading. The economy was rich and vibrant in a way that ours today is not. More often than not trade of goods was the norm. The flax Martha and her daughters spun one day would be traded the next month to be woven into a textile. And later made into a dress.

Martha’s home included a bake oven which many could not afford. Often her neighbors would come and bake off their bread, chatting while it baked with a cup of tea if Martha was home and not at a lying in.

The community life of these women was strong.

Being of service to your neighbors was both expected and considered godly. In today’s world of social media I think that we have sadly gotten away from this wonderful practice.

Do you know your neighbors? When is the last time you have checked in on the elderly bachelor down the street?

This read so far has awakened in me the recognition that while I prize my solitude it may come at a price. I need to reach out and reconnect with those who live close to me, both in physical distance and in my heart.