Reading Roundup: January/February 2018

The Night Masquerade by Nnedi Okorafor. The final novella in the Okorafor’s Binti series (mentioned previously here and here). I was very excited to find out what happened to Binti and her jellyfishlike classmate Okwu, and I would have been thrilled even if the novella didn’t take some very unexpected and extraordinary turns. This series is so wonderfully imaginative and moving! I’ve seen some tweets suggesting that readers who loved the new Black Panther movie will love the Binti series: both depict a diverse, colorful, technologically advanced Africa that at the same time celebrates traditional garb and customs. (In the film, one of the Wakandan leaders appears to have her locs coated in the red pigment used by the Himba people of Namibia; this otjize paste is of vital importance to the plot of Binti.) But sci fi and fantasy readers should enjoy Okorafor’s prolific writing anyway: like Octavia Butler, her prose is accessible and vividly descriptive; like your favorite fantasy series, the characters appear to be sought out by strange forces that they master by seeking out communities of teachers and allies.

The Odyssey, translated by Emily Wilson. This much-celebrated new translation was on sale for $3 on New Year’s Day, so I snapped it up. I cannot lie to you; I just reread The Odyssey last year when I was gearing up to read Ulysses by James Joyce, and in neither case did I find this epic poem an absorbing or unputdownable read.  However, what I do find endlessly fascinating is Wilson’s lengthy introduction explaining some of her choices in translation. On Twitter, she’ll go into a bit more detail comparing her translation to past translations; in this thread, for example, she is critical of the way past translators have characterized the Cyclops Polyphemos as a beast or savage, when the original word used for him is ander or man, same as the word used for Odysseus in the opening line (Wilson’s translation: “Tell me about a complicated man”). Reading about the translation process did help me appreciate, if not enjoy, the casual violence throughout this tale and the absolutely gruesome bloodbath when Odysseus returns to Ithaca.

I’d recommend a physical copy over an ebook; there are copious footnotes which I did not discover until the end.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng. Ng’s earlier book Everything I Never Told You is one of my favorite reads of the last few years, but it took me a little longer to warm up to this one. While Everything unfolds from the perspective of a family who feels visibly and culturally Other in a small town, Fires takes you into two intertwined homes: one of outsiders as well as one of the well-to-do and aggressively normal families in one neighborhood, and the latter seems a little too broadly characterized at first. But at some point, the switch flipped for me: I was reading on a train, and then I arrived at my destination, and then I couldn’t wait to go to bed so I could finish the book under the covers in the wee hours of the morning.

The Likeness by Tana French. As is always the case with French’s murder mysteries, I devoured the book in two days and had related nightmares the following night.  My recent haiku still applies:
Give me a murder,
a troubled cop, a bent rule–
that’s a good story.

Moby-Dick by Herman Melville. The last meeting of my Herman Melville class was mid-February, and one of my classmates brought brownies with little white powdered-sugar whales on them. I’m sorry the class is over, because I really enjoyed the journey: loved the humor, loved the descriptions of sailing and whaling, actually really enjoyed the cetology chapters. This is a book I will certainly re-read someday, and if it weren’t for the daunting pile of unread books on my table, I’d start again immediately.

The Story of a New Name by Elena Ferrante. I read the first of the famous Neapolitan novels a year or two ago and, as I said then, they do live up to the hype. I knew I’d want to read on, but the opportunity didn’t seem to present itself until I was browsing my favorite used bookstore in Pittsburgh and found the next two novels in the series (plus The Likeness, noted above). I briefly considered revisiting the first novel to catch up to the cliffhanger ending, but decided to trust that the novel would get me up to speed as needed. (It did.) I started reading this 400+ page book over President’s Day weekend and finished it by Thursday; with Elena and Lila a little older and the stakes of their nonconformity much higher, I didn’t want to put the book down. Fortunately, I had the third close by.

Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay by Elena Ferrante. I’m actually not finished with this novel yet, but I’m so close and it’s so much a continuation of the previous book that I can’t wait until the next post to talk about it. In addition to the very fine translation of what must be incredibly dense prose, this series offers a complex portrait of a friendship between two women, and it also feels urgently contemporary and relevant despite its setting in Naples in the mid-twentieth century. In this volume, the narrator’s roller coaster of feelings about her education, her writing, and her relationships is complicated by student protests and violent clashes with Fascists, and I’m turning the pages with fear and hunger to find out what happens to Elena and her unpredictable friend Lila in these tumultuous times.


Year of Gaming, winter report

For anyone who has been following the progress of Purple DadShep–my final playthrough of the entire Mass Effect trilogy accompanied by my friend and neighbor–we have responded to the events of Tuchanka and the Citadel by becoming staunchly Paragon (unless mercs and jerks are really getting on our nerves); those are two quests that really test your commitment to the middle road, and we came so close to losing two important characters that it felt like a natural turning point. Of course, we may have softened up after the Cerberus attack because we finally locked it down with Kaiden, and it was absolutely worth the slow burn across two and a half games. (“It does. It does feel right. After all this time.”) We’re so close to finishing ME3 and I’ll be a little sad when it’s all over. We even started playing another game to avoid that final stretch on Earth, although that wasn’t entirely ME3’s fault.


LEGO Star Wars: The Complete Saga. It’s mildly tempting to try to unlock all the achievements for this one. Aside from collecting all the collectibles, most of the achievements relate to having specific characters fight one another–for example, I scored one when my default Qui Gon character accidentally started a brawl in the Cantina where all your minifigs hang out between episodes, and Qui Gon killed Darth Maul instead of the other way around. But I’m extremely uncomfortable typing about minifigs murdering each other, which kind of encapsulate my issues with the game.

Tomb Raider (2013). I started this years ago, but didn’t get very far for the same reason that appears in most reviews of this game: one grows weary of watching Lara die in graphic cutscenes. In the early stages, when I was still getting used to the controls, I watched her be crushed by rocks, have her throat torn out by a wolf, and get axed and throttled by the mysterious scary men who presence on the deserted island had not yet been explained.

But I’ve gotten better at playing games generally–multiple runs through ME and DA on increasingly difficulty levels had a payoff!–and as I got better at not dying, I had time to enjoy the beautifully crafted landscapes, tomb puzzles, and cinematic elements (including good voice acting). I think I spent about three evenings after work completing this game–it was like reading a suspenseful book, I didn’t want to put it down.

Incidentally, I saw the trailer for the upcoming movie, which has not gotten very positive attention so far. But I was astonished at how much of the trailer was drawn directly from the game: Lara’s opening scene leap from a sinking ship and her precarious walk across a wrecked plane are adapted visually verbatim. I’m fascinated by this media loop–gameplay is inspired by action movies, becomes an action movie based on the game–and I liked the game enough that I will go see this movie even if it’s terrible.

Borderlands (the first one). I didn’t really latch onto this game when I first played it–I seemed to be stuck in the Arid Badlands forever, I kept getting killed, and it wasn’t fun. But after I played and completed Borderlands 2, I wanted to spend some more time in that world. Which is weird, because it’s a lot more bloody and creepy and noisy than I usually prefer for my evening entertainment. But there’s something about the graphic style and gameplay that is very satisfying. I love discovering new areas and collecting cool weapons, I don’t know what to tell you. So I went back to Borderlands, and while I missed a few utilities and upgrades that were present in Borderlands 2, I really enjoyed uncovering (and occasionally being surprised by) the backstory of the characters and locations I first met in the sequel.

Sims 3. If you’re a long-time Sims aficionado like myself, the console version is probably not for you. There are many aspects of the PC game you can’t enjoy, like placing more than one family in your neighborhood, switching between families, editing town lots, and cheating. There’s very little the console version offers that’s new or different than the PC, except for the slightly annoying Karma points. And yet! I bought the game deeply on sale–violating my rule to not buy any new games this year–in a bout of retail therapy, and it was so soothing and nostalgic to go through the painstaking process of creating a person and laboriously leveling up their life. The game’s limitations slow it down, which is actually a way I always meant to play The Sims–up close, watching all the little surprising interactions between town NPCs and their tiny world–which is easily overlooked when you’re playing in God mode.

It still sucks that you can’t switch between houses; I made a family full of characters from The Good Place and gave them the worst traits (Neurotic, Inappropriate, Snob, etc.) and intended to watch them at a distance, but when you move a Sim out of a house on the console, what remains of their household just disappears.

Life is Strange. I enjoyed this so much that I almost immediately cajoled my neighbor into checking out the game so I could start a new playthrough with new choices. This is a stunning game: it’s visually very beautiful and unique, with its soft Square Enix style highlighting the gentle, otherwordly beauty of its sleepy coastal town and art college. The soundtrack is phenomenal; slightly older than its young students, the music adds layers of warmth, nostalgia, and melancholy. The protagonist, Max Caulfield, is a delight; she has all the sweetness and positivity of Dreamfall‘s Zoe Castillo, but also an appealing shyness and reflective self-awareness. I became very skeptical about halfway through, when it seemed that the plot was dipping into some very conventional and boring “pretty dead girl” stuff, but I was genuinely surprised by the twist and the game’s iron backbone in addressing those darker elements. And as I said, I wanted to return to this delicate world and try to treat it a little better, knowing what I know now.

Upcoming possibilities

Abyss Odyssey
Beyond Good and Evil HD
Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons
Lego Pirates of the Caribbean
Witcher 2


In which your narrator is attempting to play all the free games she’s downloaded on Xbox 360 before she treats herself to the next gen.

Initial report

Borderlands 2
Tales from the Borderlands, episode 1

Interim report

Star Wars: The Force Unleashed 1 and 2
Dance Central 3
Elder Scrolls: Oblivion


Books I Read and Loved in 2017

November/December was a little bit of a wash reading-wise. I trudged my way through two more books for my book reviewer side hustle, and continued to enjoy Moby-Dick but there’s so much of it! Then I downloaded Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body and Other Parties and devoured it and felt alternately amazing and awful, like drinking too much whiskey and feeling really understood and then really sad. Then I remembered why I even read in first place: not for school anymore, not for work, not for money. For love.

So here are the books I loved this year–in haiku, because I blogged about most of them before.

Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado
Learn why so many
old tales are of woman’s pain;
live anyway. Love too.

What is Not Yours Is Not Yours by Helen Oyeyemi
Roses, romance, rare
books, things stolen or yearned for,
and their high, high cost.

Queen Sugar by Natalie Baszile
Who knew that sweat, blood,
sex, beauty, intensity
could become sweetness.

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
Wars are not only
fought on the battlefield, but
at tea, in marriages.

In the Woods and Broken Harbor by Tana French
Give me a murder,
a troubled cop, a bent rule–
that’s a good story.

The Witches of New York by Ami McKay.
Few things can’t be healed
with the right tea, a mantra,
and a woman’s touch.

What It Means When a Man Falls From the Sky by Lesley Nneka Arimah
And who among us
has not fashioned a clay child
or solved grief with math?

Home by Nnedi Okorafor
What’s more alien:
tentacled beings from space or
the village girl, their friend.

Coming up soon: The Night Masquerade by Nnedi Okorafor, the third novella in the Binti series; Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng; a bunch of paperbacks I picked up off the ARC table.

Previous Books I Have Loved: 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016.

Reading Roundup: September/October


A Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. I actually finished rereading the day after I posted my midway review in the last roundup. I found that I didn’t want to put it down.

All Grown Up by Jamie Attenberg. A fast phone read–I read about 40% while minding a boring post at a work event. I had so many feelings, not all of them positive. I respect and wrote about Attenberg’s earlier novel, The Middlesteins, which dips into a number of different characters’ perspectives. All Grown Up features just one–Andrea, thirtysomething and single and working a boring if stable job and trying and continuously failing to figure out how to be happy. I got so tired of Andrea, but her problems are my problems (barring the occasional dip into drug addiction and the extent of her tolerance for worthless men). There’s no lesson in the emotional ending, but part of the point of this book is that there isn’t a lesson. In this world, people don’t change for the better, they just get sadder and older. Perhaps that’s what I didn’t like about it–it offends the optimism I cling to for dear life.

What is Not Yours Is Not Yours by Helen Oyeyemi. It’s sort of cheating to include this book because it was several days into November when I finished it, but I enjoyed it so much that I can’t wait to talk about it. I felt let down by Oyeyemi’s last book, Boy, Snow, Bird, even before the rather dismaying plot twist. I think this author is at her best in structures like Mr. Fox, in which she can cartwheel between beautiful, mysterious fairytale-like short stories that are surprising but familiar. What is Not Yours returns to that format and opens up a series of captivating little worlds, some mundane and contemporary and others seemingly from times long past in lands where supernatural forces easily slip into daily life. But the stories mostly connect, so that characters you meet in one chapter might reappear decades later in another story, and you learn that the otherworldly student from the creepy puppet school grows up, falls in love, exists in the same plane as the contemporary teenager heartbroken over a celebrity crush. Each story is about longing, in some ways–wanting something that you cannot or should not have–and I found it reassuring that in the universe of these stories, one can recover from loss and yearning and magic and simply go on.


Moby-Dick by Herman Melville. I did it, I’m taking the class. Some of my favorite co-workers are in it. Now that I’m not reading it hungover on a stunning beach in Mexico, I’m able to appreciate the humor in it. It’s a challenge to read on my commute; Melville packs about three sentences into every one, with clauses and asides that make nautical jokes or fill in the picture of seafaring life two centuries ago, and if the bus jolts I lose my place and have trouble finding my way back. But I’m enjoying the ride immensely. Everyone is just so extra.
On the minus side, Moby-Dick is not a small book and reading it has considerably shortened my Read list.

My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk. This is the only book I picked up at the book swap I hosted in August. I was more focused on given books away, but the book’s owner had written on a sticky note that the book about some medieval miniaturists trying to solve a murder, and I love me a good art history mystery. I was enjoying the story, too, but set it aside for by Moby-Dick and other distractions. Now the book’s previous owner has passed away and I wish I’d kept that sticky note. I am a little too sad to keep reading for the time being.

To Be Read

To celebrate the 10-year anniversary of Kindle, Amazon released pretty much all of Octavia Butler’s work for $1.99 apiece, and I downloaded everything I haven’t yet read. I am so excited.

I also picked up a copy of Another Brooklyn by Jacqueline Woodson, which is the One Book One Philadelphia selection this year, and I am really looking forward to the experience of reading it at the same time that so many friends and neighbors are reading it. I loved that last year with The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time.

Book Blind Items

I started writing reviews for I can’t post my reviews anywhere else, but in way this is very liberating, because I can write here what I cannot say in my review, and just not mention which book it is.

The first book I received really troubled me, and I talked about it angrily to several friends before I tempered my response into a review format. During that time, I saw Colson Whitehead speak at the Wolf Humanities Center, and he said several things that helped me temper and modify my response. He quoted Toni Morrison in saying that the catastrophe of slavery makes it an inexhaustible subject. He also said that the very fine work of authors before him freed him from an obligation to social realism. In combination, these perspectives allows him to write a version of the Underground Railroad that involved a literal train: there was still more meaning to mine from that catastrophe, but no obligation to cleave only to the truth of what happened. Indeed, what factual recitation could really express the truth?

The first book I reviewed was set during the Civil Rights Era; written by a white author, the dedication said that she told this story so that her grandchildren would know the shadow history of the south (presuming, I guess, that they won’t read any of the high quality Civil Rights narratives by writers of color). The book, in addition to being poorly written, raped and maimed its black characters and peppered them with n-words, purportedly to show how bad things were Back Then. (One is reminded of the Game of Thrones defense: rape is historically accurate! that is definitely the only reason we are depicting it onscreen, and definitely not because we are trying to be edgy! also this has nothing to do with any sexual assault discourse today!) But why did we need a white author to write this story in this way? What do I, a white reader, gain by reading it? What on earth would a nonwhite reader get out of it?

The second book I received is just fic trash about some Yakuza assassins, but I’m not finished reading it and have not yet reviewed it.

“Summer” of Gaming, interim report

Well, summer’s over. I didn’t spend any money on games and I didn’t start yet another new character on Mass Effect or Dragon Age (not counting my ME playthrough with my neighbor, in which our slightly Renegade BroShep of ME2 is evolving into an extremely purple DadShep in ME3). Goal achieved! But I certainly had no lack of novelty or entertainment to while away the hours between work and dusk when it was too hot to do anything else, so while I’ve finished a few of the games I listed in my opening post, there are so many more that I’ve downloaded for free on Xbox Live–even some new ones this summer. The experiment of playing them all will continue apace until I acquire a next-gen console!


Dance Central 3. As in, I completed the main quest (such as it is) and saved the world from a time-traveling megalomaniac who wanted to regulate dancing. However, one can really play indefinitely–there are at least a dozen songs I haven’t unlocked yet, and there are already a lot of great songs.

Star Wars: The Force Unleashed. Pros: Beloved classic music. Beloved planets and people. The force mechanics are pretty cool–it’s much more fun to force-fling stormtroopers from precipices than it is to hack at them with lightsabers. Cons: plays like a cart ride at an amusement park: you just go along the tracks, and then you go along the same tracks again and do the exact same quest but with a different configuration of bad guys. The voice acting is painful. The romance is forced. The plot is tenuous. I thought, several times, about quitting, but I knew you could load your save into the sequel, and fortunately…

Star Wars: The Force Unleashed 2 is way more dynamic and fun. Less repetition, more unexpected gameplay in beautiful environments. The romance still makes a flimsy plot driver–maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with it if played Sith instead of Jedi?–but in general I played through this game a lot faster and enjoyed it a lot more.  All the same, despite my usual completionist tendencies, I’m not tempted to replay for dark side options. As soon as I completed the second game, I deleted both games to make more room for surprise free downloads, like Bayonetta.

Elder Scrolls: Oblivion. When I last played several years ago, I was stalled out by the Bruma gates–couldn’t keep Martin alive. But I also hadn’t recruited all the city guards, mainly because closing Oblivion gates is such a chore. Reopening my old save, I downed a bunch of invisibility potions and closed the last few gates outside cities, obtained a follower and a couple of conjuration spells, and finally made it through the Bruma gate. After that, the rest of the game was a breeze. To my surprise, I discovered that at some point I’d acquired two expansions for this game–Knights of the Nine and Shivering Isles. My completionist heart yearns to finish these sometime, but I still count this game as won. And I need a break before I head to Sheogorath’s world–as the god of madness, his aesthetic seesaws wildly between delightfully whimsical and first-year writing workshop “crazy.”

In progress

Bayonetta is a ride, isn’t it? I downloaded it shortly before some friends dropped in for an afternoon of gaming, and I’m so glad I had company and wine when I started this noisy, chaotic, campy game. Bayonetta’s character design is pretty ridiculous, and the camera-swinging combat style is a little hard for me to follow, and I actually yelled NO when her friend Rodin appeared as a bartender at The Gates of Hell–yet I’m interested enough to continue. I just can’t do it at night when I’m trying to wind down or I’ll have guns and bells jangling in my head when I try to sleep.

LEGO Star Wars: The Complete Saga. I don’t know, y’all. I might hate this game. I feel a little like a monster–minifigs are so cute! everything’s so colorful!–but 1-player Story Mode is weirdly difficult and it seems wrong to achieve “True Jedi” status by blowing up everything and collecting as much currency as possible. I’ve been stuck in several chapters and had to look up hints, and the answer is always “blow up more things” or “jump better.” On the plus side, this game offers the perfect way to revisit the three prequels, which I have not seen since theater release. Playing those chapters essentially provided a recap with no uncanny valley and no awkward dialogue.

Borderlands 1

Beyond Good and Evil HD

Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons


Under consideration

Lego Pirates of the Caribbean

Tomb Raider


Reading Roundup: July/August

Some books are particularly good to read in the summertime. Typically I do most of my reading on subways and bus commutes, but summer offers new venues, like beaches or road trips. Because I was out of the house so much more for work and play, only a few books were good enough bring home to my couch–that meant I was reading en route but the book was too good to put down when I got home, despite other temptations like television and sleep.

Books worth reading on the couch

Queen Sugar by Natalie Baszile. As predicted earlier this summer, I continued to really love this book–seriously, just stunning writing. It made me really feel how little I know I know about agriculture and the rural South despite living in Southern cities for the first 24 years of my life. I’ve never been interested, but the author makes rural life fascinating, beautiful, and terrifying.
But the ending though. So abrupt. And poor Ralph Angel never really evolved in this story. Maybe that’s the point–some sad combination of his circumstances and his choices continually kept him from growing into the person he desperately wanted to be, and if it’s wearying to the reader to watch him fail at everything he tries, that is likely the intent. Maybe I should just deal with my feelings about that. But it’s the only aspect of this gorgeous novel that is hard to love.

The Rules of Magic by Alice Hoffman. A prequel to Practical Magic, which was published more than twenty years ago. Look, unpopular opinion or not (probably not), I think the film adaptation of Practical Magic is better than the book. But I still enjoyed the book, a romantic and quasi-Romantic fantasy about beautiful and powerful women, transformative and life-threatening love, and magical interpretations of natural phenomena. The Rules of Magic is much the same, plus a little nostalgia for midcentury New York. It was a cheesy, charming read that I started reading on the train to New Jersey, continued on the beach, and then kept reading when I got home all warm and drowsy from the sun.
“What are you reading?” asked my gentleman friend, dropping by for a nightcap.
“A sexy witch book,” I told him. That’s pretty much it.

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. I started this earlier in the summer–it’s not a difficult book, just a long one. The hardest part is getting through the early chapters, in which dozens and dozens of characters appear for the first time with three names apiece, and then the Battle of Austerlitz which itself appears confusing and chaotic as it is experienced by the characters, in addition to being the first time we meet some of them. After that, it’s an absorbing read–a miss-your-subway-stop read–as characters scheme and seduce in the drawing room and on the battlefield. Closing the book made me miss the characters I’d spent 900 pages with, so I’ve been watching the recent BBC adaptation (which is astonishingly tight, in part because it makes some subtext into text) and look forward to sitting down with the cast recording of Natasha, Pierre, and the Comet of 1812 and following along with the lyrics, as I did for Hamilton.

Books to read in bars

Yes Please! by Amy Poehler. Happenstance brought about several consecutive afternoons of killing some time in a bar, having a drink alone while waiting to meet up with friends. On these occasions I was happy to have this playful, occasionally silly book on my phone rather than the enormous tome of War and Peace on the counter. This may be faint praise; there are some rough spots where the author is not quite as clever about racism and intersectional feminism as you’d like to see your heroes be. But I did love the chapter about the creation and production of Parks and Recreation.

Books to read on the road

Bonfire by Krysten Ritter. Do I mean Krysten Ritter of Jessica Jones and Don’t Trust the B in Apartment 23, two television series I love? Yes, I do! Is she a good writer? Well, this book is intended to be a gritty and suspenseful thriller, not a literary masterpiece. It was not as gritty as the cover promised, but it was interesting enough to merit a spontaneous read-aloud on two hour-long legs of a road trip. I highly recommend this as a form of entertainment! I skimmed along and just read the juicy bits, and I am sure I missed a few relevant plot points, but we had more than enough material to milk all the hard-boiled one-liners, bar scenes, and surprise twists for all they were worth–and complain aloud to each other about the loose ends. A+ reading experience, would repeat with a different thriller.

The Floating World, by C. Morgan Babst. Not completely intentionally, I ended up reading most of this either next to the water or in transit, where the grassy marshes and pastel seashore houses of New Jersey reminded me of the long lakeside stretch of I-10. The Floating World takes place in New Orleans in the three months after I moved away from that city: 2005, Hurricane Katrina, then Hurricane Rita.
As a caveat, I tend to shy away from media about New Orleans. I have my own cherished memories from living there fresh out of college, when everything in the world was new, and it’s hard to make space for other visions. Parts of Babst’s vision is strangely like mine, and it rankles. Some of the young characters dance on Frenchmen Street and go for burgers at Port of Call, like I did with my roommates. They think about the light and the river and the weight of history. The narrator goes in for first-year M.F.A. turns of phrase–one kiss is described as “his tongue fluttered on her palate” and I almost threw the book away. I think the author’s next novel is going to be stunning. I can’t tell if this one displeased me because of the writing or my jealousy over a city that hasn’t existed the way I knew for twelve years. But I still read it hungrily, and sadly as news coverage of Hurricane Harvey began to come in.

Books on my nightstand (in progress)

A Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. My gentleman friend had a copy of this one our recent beach trip, while I had The Floating World. We each finished reading our respective apocalypses side-by-side in the comfort of our room on a day of nonstop rain. Then he lent me A Handmaid’s Tale for the ride home. I had read it twice but it’s been about a decade, and I’d forgotten how vivid and dense with detail it is. I watched the first six episodes of the Hulu series, and there are so many tiny details that I thought were imagined by the showrunners–it is a beautifully designed show–but which actually appear first in the text. It’s weird to say that I’m enjoying it, but I am. As Atwood says in the new introduction, it’s an anti-prediction: telling this story is supposed to keep it from happening.

Moby-Dick by Herman Melville. I’m obsessed with the Twitter bot–out of context, lines from the book sound like prophecies from a gay sea oracle–but I didn’t get very far when I first started reading the book several years ago on a trip to Mexico. I’m hoping to audit a course on the novel that is offered by my workplace–if not, I can’t promise to power through when I have a stack of ARCs and previously owned books to choose from.