Marginalia: Ongoingess.

Hi friends,

Happy new year! I bet you’re surprised to hear from me so soon. As a new year begins, I am, like most, attempting to kickstart and sustain good habits. Marginalia is a good habit; without this tiny little missive, I feel like all I do is consume without the follow up contemplation that I find so essential.

In between complaining about the horrendous heat (upwards of 35; I’m melting) and managing my children during an eight week summer break, I have been reading, watching and listening to some fantastic stuff. It’s all below. In a couple of weeks, I’ll send out a list of my ten favourite books of 2018; I haven’t been able to choose that final tenth book yet.

What’s the best thing you’ve consumed this year? Please hit reply and let me know!

With much love to you all,

Kyra


1. While browsing a wonderful bookshop in London Bridge last year, I picked up a copy of Sarah Manguso’s “Ongoingness: The End of a Diary.” I read it with rapture — twice —  on my flight back to Sydney. Manguso, an American novelist and essayist, kept a diary for over twenty five years — it’s 800,000 words long. While she refuses (for quite clever reasons) to publish any of it, “Ongoingness” is a furiously brilliant, totally absorbing and breath-stopping exploration of her — and our — obsessive need to record. Why do we write? Do we write to remember? To forget? Both? Manguso writes of her need to control time, to rebuff her mortality. It makes sense to me: writing in a diary gives us a false sense of control — you feel, for a brief moment, as if you’ve paused your life, as if time has somehow frozen. Diary keeping, then, is a neurosis; a way to ward off the inevitable reality that life is ongoing, and that as it goes, our losses accrue. Just read this, on time:

“Living in a dream of the future is considered a character flaw. Living in the past, bathed in nostalgia, is also considered a character flaw. Living in the present moment is hailed as spiritually admirable, but truly ignoring the lessons of history or failing to plan for tomorrow are considered character flaws … I wanted to know how to inhabit time in a way that wasn’t a character flaw.” 

2. On the podcast front, I feel like I can’t STFU about Jonathan Goldstein’s Heavyweight. The premise is nothing short of brilliant: people approach the witty, warm-hearted, hilarious and wise Goldstein with an unresolved element of their past — a regret, a misunderstanding, a broken relationship, etc. — and ask him to serve as the interlocutor between them and the person/people on the other side. He goes from being extremely moving, to hilarious, to existential. I love it.  Some of my favourite episodes: JeremyDinaJuliaMarchel and Alex.

3. Dumplin’, now on Netflix, is so delightful. It’s the dose of Dolly Parton whole-heartedness I needed during a time when I just can’t keep myself away from the news.

4. Speaking of the news, I’ve been on a bit of a Brexit binge; trying to understand, really, what on earth is going on and how the UK will emerge from this spectacular fuck up. I don’t miss an episode of Remainiacs, a clever, funny and insightful podcast on all things Brexit (I am always very impressed by their ability to keep up with the constant developments). In terms of reading material, I think this Economist piece on what a no deal Brexit looks like is excellent (though it should have been written much longer ago, to be honest); and this, from the Guardian, is a great all-round guide.

5. I adored — and can’t stop fawning over — the second instalment in Deborah Levy’s “working autobiography.” “The Cost of Living” is magnificent; with oblique and elliptical prose, Levy explores the cost a woman must pay when she chooses not to live by a story determined by societal norms. Deftly — and with a hint of incandescent rage — she writes of motherhood, love, work and marriage.

6. I was infatuated with Maira Kalman’s gorgeously written and illustrated memoir, “The Principles of Uncertainty.” I read it in one peaceful sitting as my son napped behind me in the car, drinking in her simple yet profound view of the world. How gorgeous is this?

“Soon enough it will be me struggling (valiantly?) to walk – lugging my stuff around. How are we all so brave as to take step after step? Day after day? How are we so optimistic, so careful not to trip and yet do trip, and then get up and say O.K. Why do I feel so sorry for everyone and so proud?” 

7. I love nature writing, so I couldn’t resist Helen Jukes’ beautiful and affecting memoir, “A Honeybee Heart Has Five Openings.” (I was lucky enough to interview her for the Simon & Schuster books podcast.). This restrained and beautiful memoir relays Jukes’ year of keeping bees in the garden of her small Cambridge home. From her hive, we learn not just about the fascinating and sophisticated creatures, but are presented with lessons in how to live.

8. Dissect, an all around great podcast, has just finished off a wonderful eight episode series on Lauryn Hill’s extraordinary album, “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.” Every song in the album is dissected, exposing the sheer brilliance of Hill’s lyrical prowess. It’s so fantastic.

9. A few years ago, I started a commonplace book. (I stole the idea from my hero, Michel de Montaigne). Now that I have my own, I am completely obsessed with finding those of others. Here, Dwight Garner (the wonderful book critic at The New York Times) shares snippets of his. Oh, and if you’re interested, here’s me writing a bit about why keeping a commonplace is a wonderful idea. 

10. And to finish, a quote from my aforementioned commonplace book. This is from Joan Didion:

“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.”