Monday Miscellany: Kind of dirty, damp, and disoriented
Notes from the week of June 17 - 23
Good afternoon from the heat and humidity currently enveloping North Carolina! I went for a run this morning at 8am, hoping to “beat the heat” (cute), and it was already a dank 80+ degrees Fahrenheit at that point. Nice try, me. The run was indeed a bit of a slog, but I’m proud of myself for the attempt and grateful for the lightly air-conditioned house I got to return to. Oh, and speaking of high temperatures and swampy environments, let me tell you about a book I just read (folks! that’s a segue right there)…
Currently reading
During my time at Montreat last week, I sped through an early copy of State of Paradise by Laura van den Berg¹ and really enjoyed it. It’s part speculative fiction and part autofiction, based loosely on some details from Laura’s life but also exploring how freaky and lowkey terrifying big tech companies and the state of Florida can be. And it’s short! A delightful fever dream of a reading experience that packs a punch—the book delves into climate change, the pandemic, family dynamics, past trauma, addiction, virtual reality, and a little bit of mystery. It releases on July 9th.
Based on the subject matter and vibes, I would put this one in conversation with Mostly Dead Things by Kristen Arnett, Florida by Lauren Groff, and maybe Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin.² So if you liked any of those, I bet you’ll enjoy State of Paradise as well, and if you haven’t read any of them but are interested in feeling kind of dirty, damp, and disoriented, now you have a nice little flight of four novels to dig into.
The January Children by Safia Elhillo was the April pick for The Stacks book club, and even though I was able to obtain a library copy on time, and even though it is SO short (63 pages), I held onto it and put off reading it for a full two months. As it turns out, it’s a very solid poetry collection and I’m a dummy for dragging my feet. The title refers to the generation of Sudanese children born during British occupation, who were all given the birthday of January 1st and assigned a birth year based on their height. The poems talk about Sudanese diaspora and identity, and the tensions and overlaps between Arabness and Africanness. I especially liked the recurring figure of Abdelhalim Hafez, a popular Egyptian singer—the poems addressed to him create an interesting arc and framework for the collection as a whole. This isn’t a book I would have picked up on my own, but I’m glad I read it and I’m looking forward to listening to Traci discuss it with Hala Alyan on The Stacks.
And finally, this week I finished The Mountain in the Sea by Ray Nayler, a science fiction thriller about octopuses, communication between species, written language, environmental conservation, and artificial intelligence. It’s a slow burn, with a few alternating points of view that gradually come together to reveal how they’re related. The plot itself was plenty engaging, but what I liked most were the musings about how we (and other creatures) think and speak, and what it means to be human.
“That’s what we are, we humans—creatures that can forget. We have a horizon, beyond which we can remember very little. Nothing can reside in our minds forever, etched into us. No resentment, and no joy. Time rubs it away. Sleep rubs it away—sleep, the factory of forgetting. And through forgetting, we reorganize our world, replace our old selves with new ones.” (245)
To cut the tension and high stakes, there is some delightful comedic relief in the form of a character who occasionally uses a faulty speech translator and says things like “Surrender macaroon, robot . . . surrender macaroon cookie thing. Cookie is useless to you.” These particular moments reminded me a little of Marvin in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Overall, The Mountain in the Sea felt like the perfect balance of plotty, scientific, funny, suspenseful, and thought-provoking. I’m planning to discuss it with a few friends and I think it will make for excellent conversation!
¹ Big thanks to FSG publishing and NetGalley for my advance copy.
² A legally-required heads-up: if you purchase a book through the bookshop.org affiliate links above, I may earn a small commission at no additional cost to you. ♥︎
Currently listening
I’ll just tell you: this week’s on-repeat banger is a four-part choral performance of a psalm from the Bible. I know. What can I say, I just spent a few days hanging out in a contained area with several hundred church musicians. Hear me out!
The day before I came home from Montreat, I was lurking outside the auditorium listening to the adult choir’s afternoon practice when I felt a sudden jolt of recognition. A melody as familiar as my own name, an alto part I instantly started humming along to, lyrics I still remembered after years and years—a favorite piece from my high school chorus days. Yes, friends: Mack Wilberg’s 1995 SATB arrangement of “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need.”
Any fellow chorus kids in the house? Did you sing this one? If you answered no and/or no, let me tell you why it’s great. It starts quietly, the low voices in unison, and then the tenors and basses break out into some simple harmony, which adds a bit of texture. In the next verse, the same thing happens in the higher voice parts. The lyrics, based on Psalm 23, are all about a god who provides for and takes care of you in both good times and bad. The particular performance that I’ve been looping this week is from the Utah State University Chamber Singers, and if I may, they sing like angels: beautiful round vowels, seamless vocal blending, lovely enunciation and dynamics…
And then it really starts to build. All four parts are layered together in the last verse, singing about living in God’s house for eternity, and let me just say, even if you aren’t a religious (or specifically Christian) person, the lyrics here hit hard. Imagine a wall of sound, but like, gentle—maybe a blanket of sound is a better analogy?—enfolding, no, swaddling you in feelings of safety and peace:
There would I find a settled rest while others go and come No more a stranger or a guest but like a child at home
The piece tapers off and ends in unison again, quietly, on that word “home,” and no YOU are crying thinking about found family and deep friendship and being surrounded by support and affirmation and encouragement to rest. Provided it’s a loving and safe one, can you imagine a bigger comfort or more expansive freedom than being a child at home? In the care of adult(s) who love you, who advocate for you in the world, who send you out to play and make you meals when you return, who tuck you in at night, who keep watch for danger so you don’t have to? Completely at liberty to be your full, weird little self and be celebrated and cherished for it?
Goddamn, what a beautiful thought to dwell on this Pride month: even if we weren’t so blessed in our childhoods, we have the power to create that feeling of home for each other in the here and now, friends. Let’s.
And another thing
Here are 5 books that will unleash your nasty side! I have a copy of Bunny by Mona Awad on my shelf and now I want to read it as soon as possible.
If you’re looking for more queer reads in your life as we close out June, might I interest you in a 2024 Lambda Literary Award winner or two?
Strawberry shortcake is a non-negotiable part of summer for me, so this adjacent strawberry pretzel bar recipe really caught my attention.
This article by R.O. Kwon about parental regret is fascinating.
Akwaeke Emezi is one of my favorite authors, so I was delighted to hear them in conversation with Traci Thomas! I’m really looking forward to their new novel, Little Rot.
Haiku round-up
This week, I’ve been swinging back and forth between high-energy, celebratory, social time and relaxed, solitary, quiet moments at home. Considering the current heat wave we’re living through, it has felt just right to venture out, soak up some sunshine and fresh air, hug some friends, and then retreat to our tree-shaded old house for a while. I hope you’re finding balance in your summer so far, too.
Monday, June 17
Hours spent alone, anxiety silenced by roaring waterfall
Tuesday, June 18
You take breaks to rest while I look around for bears; We hike up and up
Wednesday, June 19
Why is it so hard to accept relaxation, to take what you need?
Thursday, June 20
Listen to the swell, the wall of blending voices Let it knock you down
Friday, June 21
Our spirits are high, the soundtrack is perfect, and the hours fly past
Saturday, June 22
Sweaty yet joyful, we form a colorful mass, dancing down the street
Sunday, June 23
Inside for the day, we avoid the humid heat with games and reading
Until next time
Mentally, I am still in the cool, foggy mountains, sitting on a bench by a waterfall, catching the stray bits of singing or instrumental music that pass on the breeze. Maybe I’ll just stay there for the rest of the summer? If you’d like to join me, we can congregate in the above photograph—I’ll meet you on the stone patio of that gorgeous inn, and together we can have some ice cream and gaze across the gently rippling lake. Yes?
See you next time, and until then, go do whatever the fuck you want!