Monday Miscellany: A pair of fat raccoons trundling through the yard
Notes from January 20 - 26
Hello and happy Monday from the almost-end of a month that has somehow seemed both logistically short and emotionally eternal. I hope you’re hanging in there!
Currently reading
This year I’ve renewed my goal of working through our backlog of McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern by picking out an issue from our shelf each month. A new one recently came in the mail, so that was my selection for January—McSweeney’s 76: Aftershocks, a themed collection of Syrian prose. All but one of these stories and novel excerpts are in translation, which is something I’m also trying to read more of!
You bear the shame of existence because the bullet missed you. Now here you are among the survivors.
(153, from “Existential Turmoil” by Fadwa Al-Abboud, trans. Elisabeth Jaquette)
There is an overarching shared theme of war here, which makes a lot of sense, but I did occasionally find myself weighed down by the violence and fear of it all; in hindsight, this might not have been the best choice of US presidential inauguration week reading. But the writing and translation is all top notch, and I certainly recommend this issue if you’re in the right headspace for it. Taking in a story or two at a time while you also have something lighter in progress would be a good idea.
We used to smile at each other back in Syria—did we smile, in the streets, in offices, and on public transportation? Or am I remembering a non-existent past?
(286, from “Say Goodbye to Nina” by Rabab Haidar)
Standout pieces for me:
“The Man Who is No Longer a Father” by Ibrahim Samu’il, trans. Ghada Alatrash
“The Things That Heaven Cannot Tell People” by Mustafa Taj Aldeen Almosa, trans. Maisaa Tanjour and Alice Holttum
“Spring Diary” by Odai Al Zoubi, trans. Elisabeth Jaquette
“The Kurdish Maqam” (novel excerpt) by Maha Hassan, trans. Sawad Hussain
Pausing here to say that I have yet to buy a single book in 2025! Aside from one review galley (We Could Be Rats by Emily Austin, which is fantastic and releases tomorrow), I’ve been exclusively reading from my own unread shelf. As I browsed after finishing the McSweeney’s, what called out to me was Why Fish Don’t Exist by Lulu Miller, a book I originally heard about on Nerdette podcast back in 2020.
This one is part science, part memoir, and fully my favorite kind of narrative nonfiction. I just love when an author includes herself in the process, peppering in pieces of her own life and writing about how the research she’s doing is affecting her own thinking and existence. In this case, Lulu Miller is depressed and wondering about the point of life (content warnings for suicidal ideation) when she becomes obsessed with a scientist and taxonomist named David Starr Jordan. Through her intense study of his life and career, Miller comes to a few important realizations about herself and the world she lives in.
Slowly, it came into focus. This small web of people keeping one another afloat. All these minuscule interactions—a friendly wave, a pencil sketch, some plastic beads strung up a nylon cord—they might not look like much from the outside, but for the people caught inside that web? They might be everything, the very tethers that keep one bound to this planet. (161)
This book is incredibly compelling, the perfect mix of biology, history, interesting science facts, and what it means to be human. Miller goes to some dark places, but ultimately she emerges into the light. My only complaint is that this book was too short; I’m already eagerly awaiting whatever she writes next.
Added to my to-read list this week
My Lover’s Lover by Maggie O’Farrell: My friend Kait posted a review of this backlist title recently, and her enjoyment made me want to try more of O’Farrell’s early work myself. I’ve already read and loved This Must Be the Place and Instructions for a Heatwave, as well as her memoir I Am, I Am, I Am and more recent novel Hamnet, so I bet I’ll like this one too.
Aflame: Learning from Silence by Pico Iyer: This is a nonfiction work about Iyer’s many visits to a Benedictine hermitage over the years and what he has learned about life from all those hours of silence and reflection. It showed up in the “Better Living Through Books” newsletter that Rebecca Schinsky writes for Book Riot, and it sounds reflective and lovely.
Mending Life: A Handbook for Repairing Clothes and Hearts by Nina Montenegro & Sonya Montenegro: During our closet sort-through a few weeks ago, Jordan and I pulled aside several pieces we wanted to keep but that needed repair, and shortly after that, my friend Anna mentioned this book to me. Pretty sure it’s a sign that I need to get my hands on a copy and get to darning.
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Currently listening
Politics are still at the forefront of my mind and likely will be for the foreseeable future, so it’s not a huge surprise that I listened through the entire Hamilton soundtrack for the billionth time this week. It’s comfort, it’s a reminder of the ideals this country was (allegedly) founded on, it’s emotional indulgence, it’s my unabashedly huge crush on Leslie Odom Jr., it’s that moment when Daveed Diggs goes “southern motherfucking Democratic Republicans.” And it’s making me wonder: how would our current situation be different if politicians still challenged each other to duels??
I love a musical that is completely the music, with no spoken lines between songs, because listening to it is reliving the entire story; the radio show version of seeing it onstage. And I love, having followed the whole thing through to the end, Aaron Burr’s deliciously heart-wrenching “wait” when he realizes too late that Alexander Hamilton has aimed for the sky.
Something else I’ve noticed circling in my brain lately is a song I haven’t thought about in years (I had to google the lyrics to be reminded of the artist’s name), “All Will Be Well” by Gabe Dixon. The album it comes from was released in 2008, so I guess I was into this song at the end of college or shortly after? I can’t remember where I first heard about it. But yeah, something about the present moment we’re in summoned these lines to mind:
The winter’s cold But the snow still lightly settles on the trees And a mess is still a moment I can seize Until I know that all will be well Even though sometimes this is hard to tell And the fight is just as frustrating as hell All will be well
And another thing
R.O. Kwon wrote up this list of 48 books releasing this year by women of color and it is a feast! I am particularly looking forward to new Han Kang, Laila Lalami, Katie Kitamura, Caro de Robertis, Susan Choi, and Jade Chang.
I’m almost finished with the socks I started knitting on our Christmas trip to Memphis, and I think I might want to try a sweater next? Many years ago I made a cardigan, but I didn’t do the most conscientious job and it ended up a bit wonky. This time I have my eye on this easy pullover pattern.
Haiku round-up
Monday, January 20
Our colors clash, but everything’s in its right place The team, assembled
Tuesday, January 21
By way of greeting: “Wanna go see a vulture? Bundle up, let’s walk!”
Wednesday, January 22
Today’s good omen is a pair of fat raccoons trundling through the yard
Thursday, January 23
Systematically completing a list of tasks, quieting the brain
Friday, January 24
Each breath is labored, but pumping limbs, beating heart both feel like freedom
Saturday, January 25
Sitting together waiting, bored and impatient— Love in the mundane
Sunday, January 26
Perhaps scarcity makes limited time sweeter We laugh while we can
Until next time
After a Saturday spent in a couple different emergency rooms with a family member (everything is okay!), I’ve been thinking about love. It’s often so flashy in books and movies—romance, sparks, chemistry. But in real life, it looks more like sitting by someone’s side for hours, occasionally checking the clock to anchor yourself in time, offering a snack to quiet a stomach’s rumbling, talking through the doctor’s comments, making jokes to lighten the mood. It’s honestly pretty boring sometimes. But there’s also a beauty in the tedium, and it comes from the simple fact that you’re together. I hope you have people showing up for you, and vice versa, this week. That’s what’ll get us through.
See you next Monday, and until then, here ya go, sweetheart.
—Emily
If you have any feedback, or want to tell me what you’re reading or listening to, I’d love to hear it! You’re always welcome to leave a comment or reply directly to this email.
I feel such a sense of “normalcy” while reading your words and I mean that in the very best way. It’s a reprieve, but more than that. A returning. It’s been such a whiplash week (despite truly trying to stay away from news!) and just sitting here reading this for a few minutes and feeling like I’m part of your conversation (a beautifully written one) is just a lovely moment. Thank you 🤍