Hello dear friends,
It’s been a while (again). Here I resurface with another irreverent issue of Marginalia, surely the Internet’s most unreliable newsletter. I always kid myself into thinking that I can regularly sit down and cleverly synthesise what I consume, but, the truth is, my kids are kids, my job is a job, and, well, I am exhausted when not exhausting.
No matter, here is a list of ten or so things I have been loving over the last month.
I hope you love them, too.
And if you have any recommendations, just hit reply and let me know.
See you soon.
1. Sabrina, the first graphic novel ever to make the Man Booker longlist, chillingly relays the story of a missing woman and the poisonous web of conjecture, conspiracy theories and utter lies that surrounds her disappearance. This book – which Zadie Smith called a masterpiece (and her words are sacred) – is truly masterful and haunting commentary on our cultural moment, specifically on the nature of trust, truth and how the erosion of both leads to crippling and dangerous emotional absence.
2. Propelled by the horrendous news of child separation in the US, I read two astonishing books: ex-border patrol Francisco Cantú’s memoir “A Line Becomes A River,” and novelist Valeria Luiselli’s gorgeously angry essay, “Tell Me How It Ends: An Essay in 40 Questions.” Both books are very smart, informative and deeply moving accounts of the heartbreaking migrant crisis at the US border. I am also delighted to read that Valeria Luiselli has a new novel coming out next year. It sounds extraordinary.
3. If you haven’t been, you must visit – in my humble opinion – the best bookstore on earth: Persephone Books on Lamb’s Conduit Street. Part bookstore, part publisher, Persephone Books reprints neglected fiction and non-fiction by (mostly) women. While I’ve read a whole bunch of their titles, one stand out is Dorothy Canfield Fisher’s “The Home Maker.” Published in the 1920s, this book relays the story of a miserable stay at home mum who trades places with her equally miserable working husband: she goes off to work a full-time job (and nails it) and he stays home to mind their three children (and loves it). What follows is brilliant commentary on tradition, gender roles and how subverting both can create the balance that eludes most families.
4. Asymmetry by Lisa Halliday is perhaps the most structurally interesting work of fiction I’ve read in a very long time. Told in three distinct sections, this perfectly crafted novel probes into the power imbalances that plague society. The first story, “Folly,” follows the relationship between a young American editor and a much older writer; and the second, “Madness,” is narrated by Amar, an Iraqi-American economics Ph.D. who reflects on his country, memory and true empathy while detained at Heathrow Airport. The literal connection between the two stories is made, very cleverly, in a brief epilogue written in the style of a Desert Island Discs interview. Similar themes, however, are present across the whole book, deftly exploring, I think, “the extent to which we’re able to penetrate the looking-glass and imagine a life, indeed a consciousness, that goes some way to reduce the blind spots in our own.”
5. Grief Cast is a wonderful and life-affirming podcast in which very funny people are interviewed about grief and death.
6. Caliphate, a compelling podcast by The New York Times, goes a long way in explaining ISIS; how it rose, how it recruits, and, most importantly, how it operates. A book club I go to recently paired it with Kamila Shamsie’s “Home Fire,” which was an interesting combination that enriched both the sound and prose.
7. I enjoyed this NYT piece on motherhood and fear.
“I don’t know if I’m afraid for my kids, or if I’m afraid other people will be afraid and will judge me for my lack of fear.”
8. This bit, from an all-around incredible speech by Zadie Smith, has been ringing in my ears for quite a long time:
“If novelists know anything it’s that individual citizens are internally plural: they have within them the full range of behavioral possibilities. They are like complex musical scores from which certain melodies can be teased out and others ignored or suppressed, depending, at least in part, on who is doing the conducting. At this moment, all over the world—and most recently in America—the conductors standing in front of this human orchestra have only the meanest and most banal melodies in mind. Here in Germany you will remember these martial songs; they are not a very distant memory. But there is no place on earth where they have not been played at one time or another. Those of us who remember, too, a finer music must try now to play it, and encourage others, if we can, to sing along.”
9. I think Kathryn Schultz of The New Yorker is one of the best non-fiction writers alive; I’ll always read anything she writes. This piece on stinkbugs is perfectly emblematic of her insane talents as a storyteller; she takes a small and innocuous subject (stinkbugs) and manages devise smart and unforgettable commentary on the world we inhabit.
10. I cried a little bit during James Corden’s carpool karaoke with Paul McCartney.