Having read and loved two of Jedidiah Jenkins’ later books, Like Streams to the Ocean and Mother, Nature, I was excited to go back and check out his debut. This one covers a bike trip he took in 2013-2014, when he had just turned thirty and was trying to Figure His Shit Out.™
It was solidly okay! He and I are just a few years apart in age, so I think if I had read this in my early thirties when it came out, it might have been a little more relevant and relatable. At this point in time, though, it feels pretty dated. We’re along for the ride as he sorts through his Christian upbringing trying to figure out his spirituality, as he thinks about patriarchy and encounters ideas of white privilege for the first time—all topics that, in the year of our lord 2025, seem… obvious? Or at the very least, no longer groundbreaking. And having experienced his more recent writing first, I definitely read this earlier work as a step backward.
Still, dude can write. Here are a few of the passages and turns of phrase that really grabbed me:
I have learned this for certain: If discontent is your disease, travel is medicine. (1)
There is a weird paradox in trying to live a meaningful life, one that you will talk about and tell about. There is the present experience of the living, but also the separate eye, watching from above, already seeing the living from the outside. (56)
I didn’t know what I was holding on to. I had wrapped my life in the fear of messing up. Of disappointing God, which really meant disappointing my mom and friends. I was finding that so much of my life had been about avoiding the feeling of being in trouble. (211)
I looked, and my eyes were happy. (292)
And the scenery Jenkins describes along his journey is beautiful! This book made me long for a return to Chile, where I studied abroad in 2008.
I’m not sorry I read this one, but if you’re new to Jedidiah Jenkins, I might recommend skipping ahead and starting with Like Streams to the Ocean.
Franny Banks is an aspiring actor in her twenties who moved to New York almost three years ago and is now approaching the deadline she set for herself to prove she could “make it.” We follow her as she buckles down in acting class, goes to auditions, hatches vague plans to better herself, and works as a waiter to pay her rent while she tries to land a proper part in something.
The story is set in 1995, so there’s a lot of writing in planners, going to agencies in person, and rushing home to check the answering machine for important messages, all of which I found delightfully refreshing. Franny is a lovable character who is easy to root for, and I had fun living in her world for these few hundred pages.
A true “right book, right time” situation here. I first heard about Beth Pickens on Ann Friedman and Aminatou Sow’s Call Your Girlfriend podcast, when her first book (Your Art Will Save Your Life) came out. I never got around to reading that one, but this newer one has been on my radar for a few years and I’m so happy I finally got my hands on a copy. It contains the perfect blend of motivation and reassurance and practical advice, and it’s 100% what I needed to kickstart a year in which I am really, seriously, no for real, I mean it this time, getting back into making paper goods and running a creative small business.
Both of these novels were re-reads for me, though I can’t remember when I first encountered them, and whether it was separately or as a pair. What I do know is: they belong together.
Virginia Woolf’s stream-of-consciousness writing style usually works for me, since my brain naturally meanders in similar ways, but I do sometimes have to pause and go back a few sentences to remind myself whose head we’re in now, or what has happened that someone has begun mulling over or used as a jumping-off point for a new thought or memory. Michael Cunningham’s riff on her story is truly the perfect companion (I read Mrs. Dalloway first, and then The Hours)—it has a similar tone and style, but it’s slightly easier to get into and it does a wonderful job of highlighting and expanding on the themes of the original. I loved identifying little details that Cunningham spread out over multiple characters in his triptych version, discovering how all three of his women main characters could embody the idea of Mrs. Dalloway in slightly different and complementary ways.
I watched the film adaptation of The Hours after reading both novels and can happily report that it continues to be sad and beautiful and outstanding. Just an A+ experience overall. Highly recommended for the introspective girlies who like to ponder death.
Truly a “right book, right time” situation—these ideas were exactly what I needed at the beginning of a new year when my excitement and motivation for change were high. James Clear isn’t proposing anything wildly innovative, just simple, scientifically-backed information laid out in a logical and easy-to-understand way. And yet! I needed it. I wrote down a ton of notes. I’m very much looking forward to implementing some of his strategies in my life, (Michael Scott voice) ASAP AS POSSIBLE.
Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.5
First of all, giant content warnings for discussion of suicide and opioid addiction.
The beginning of this book is written as a series of suicide note attempts, and the tone is light and straightforward and almost funny at times—I kept wondering what had happened in Sigrid’s life to lead her here. Of course, more is revealed as the narrative continues, and we eventually learn about her sister Margit, her best friend Greta, and some pretty upsetting events that have left their mark on Sigrid. The ending seems hopeful, but man, this is definitely the heaviest of Emily Austin’s novels so far.
I thought the structure was innovative, and the use of different perspectives effective (and truly heartbreaking). My feelings for Sigrid and her loved ones are so tender—I’m going to be thinking about these characters for quite a while.
Ugh, I just love a late-in-life lesbian coming out story. This one is raw and honest and also hopeful and heartwarming. There’s something so inspiring about someone desperately pursuing joy no matter the cost.
Written largely in the form of letters, Happiness, As Such is about a family in Italy in the 1970s. The son, Michele, has moved to England for political reasons, and his mother and sisters are all pretty lost without him. Not a lot happens, but Ginzburg is great at setting you down right in the middle of the action and painting a vivid slice-of-life portrait of her characters. Even if I couldn’t relate directly to what they were going through, I could feel it. The tone at times is funny in a Wes Anderson sort of way, but there’s also a healthy dose of melancholy here—a winter book to be sure.
I’d call this a memoir in poems, spanning from Carver’s childhood to his more recent experiences as an educator in Kentucky public schools. While I was interested in his story, I wasn’t blown away by any of the poems on a craft level—I think I might’ve preferred a more traditional prose version of this. Still, it’s worth a read, and because it’s pretty short, it probably won’t take you more than an hour or so.
This story is about Phoebe, an adjunct English professor in her early 40s, whose husband has an affair with (and then leaves her for) their mutual friend and coworker. Alone and adrift, Phoebe decides to splurge on a night at a fancy waterfront hotel, with the intention of going to sleep in a giant comfy bed and never waking up. However! When she arrives to check in, she realizes that she is the only guest at the hotel who isn’t part of the wedding festivities taking place there all week; she then meets the bride-to-be in the elevator and almost immediately finds herself tangled up in the wedding people’s chaos.
In less capable hands this premise might have gone in a corny Hallmark direction, but Alison Espach really pulls it off. As she’s becoming more and more involved in the lead-up to these strangers’ wedding, Phoebe is also going deep into her own internal shit and figuring out what to do and how to live moving forward. The sense of freedom she slowly discovers as she wrestles with herself is so inspiring and exciting.
How much of her life had she spent in this moment, waiting for someone else to decide something conclusive about her? (28)
Maybe this is just what it means to be a person. To constantly reckon with being a single being in one body. (170)
At the same time as it’s tackling the heavy subject of, you know, human existence, the book is also funny and ridiculous and completely absorbing. When I picked up my phone somewhere along the way to jot something down, I saw that more than an hour had passed uninterrupted without my realizing—the sign of a truly excellent reading experience.