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Music to My Eyes: A Lifely Read Wrapped 2019 (aka My Top Books of the Year)

2019 A Lifely Read WrappedI love to read (obviously), but I also love to listen to music. I’m a Spotify user, and something the Swedish company does toward the end of every year is provide Premium users (fancy!) a graphically appealing “snapshot” of their year via music. Therefore, early December brings a flurry of people sharing factoids about their listening habits.

Spotify tells me that I spent 42 hours in 2019 listening to R.E.M. alone. Apparently I listened to 235 new artists this year and really “vibed with” Dan + Shay. (Huh? Really?)

What I also realized is that our family has held a premium membership since 2015 (Dad, happy to have you be the 5th user), and that 2018 was actually the year that I listened to Spotify the most (74,000+ minutes).

Stats like those are fun because of the presentation and the teasing out of what could just be another boring “best of” or “my favorites” list. Sometimes there’s something a little funny that maybe you didn’t realize about yourself and your preferences – like the fact that I apparently enjoy listening to country – that jumps out from Spotify’s vibrant graphics to tell you: Stop boxing yourself in. Continue reading “Music to My Eyes: A Lifely Read Wrapped 2019 (aka My Top Books of the Year)”

Fact or Fiction: On The Stone Diaries, The Body Papers & Investigating a Life

The Stone Diaries, by Carol Shields and The Body Papers, by Grace Talusan

I just Googled “fiction versus memoir,” even though I know the difference – and I suspect that you do too. My search results yielded the following top result: “Memoir or Novel? How to Decide.” It’s from a random literary agency that hosts an accompanying blog full of tips for would-be authors, and this was one of its posts. I admit to being a little baffled because I always assume that writers sort of know what genre they want to tackle. Do you want to make up a story or not? Ok, ok, I’ll concede that maybe at the beginning of one’s writing days, a little waffling may present itself. Writer: “I have a message I want to convey, but I’m not sure how.” But otherwise, “fake news” notwithstanding, we have FACT and we have FICTION. They’re different, right?

This summer the New York Times Book Review published a special section entitled “The 50 Best Memoirs of the Past 50 Years.” When you think about it, 50 years is a long time. (I can get away with saying that because I myself am over 75% of the way to 50.) In fact, I think “50 years” is a particularly long time in memoir-speak because except for the very few, most of the selections on this list were unfamiliar to me or caused me to go, “Oh riiiiiiiight. Forgot about that one.” The majority of memoirs seem to be the flashes-in-the-pan of the literary world.

The “surprise emoji” kind of encapsulates how a lot of people felt upon reading Westover’s book…

Let’s take one of 2018 and 2019’s favorite memoirs. Raise your hand if you have read Educated. (Do you see what I did there? Education…school…raising hands…) In the event that you don’t know, Educated is the story of a woman named Tara Westover who extricated herself from a hyper-religious and hyper-survivalist childhood in Idaho, taught herself enough info to do well on the ACT, gained admission to Brigham Young University, and then earned a Masters and doctorate at Cambridge. The epitome of an against-all-odds story, Westover’s memoir chronicles a stratospheric ejection from her unorthodox childhood from every imaginable angle: educational philosophy (she entered BYU not knowing what the Holocaust was), religious philosophy (a hybrid of essential-oil-heavy “naturalism” and Mormonism), and family-relationship philosophy (Westover eventually realizes that “hey, this isn’t normal”). It’s made-for-television (except it’s real), and we read this type of thing slack-jawed. For those who have grown up in an environment like Westover’s – rare, but plausible – the book may provide a blueprint of hope. For those of us who did not grow up like that, it is a fascinating view into someone’s life as well as a reminder to “appreciate all that we have.” I suspect people will remember Westover’s book for a long time – how can one forget? Continue reading “Fact or Fiction: On The Stone Diaries, The Body Papers & Investigating a Life”

Tragic Yet Cozy: On Where the Crawdads Sing and Brené Brown

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Where the Crawdads Sing, by Delia Owens

While perusing the book aisles at Target, one back-cover blurb in particular caught my attention. In case it’s hard to read below: “Mackenzie Cooper took her eyes off the road for just a moment, but the resulting collision changed her life forever. Now she lives in Vermont under the name Maggie Reid, in a small house with her cats and dog, working as a makeup artist at the luxurious local spa.” Let’s forget the first sentence (without forgetting that texting and driving is a BIG NO NO); doesn’t the rest sound kind of…charming? Cozy? Maybe it sounds a little boring and/or slow, but I think we all have days where “real life” seems chaotic and stressful – and maybe enjoying a cup of piping hot tea while curled up in a blanket after returning from our probably-the-same-everyday job seems downright appealing. As I noted on Instagram, this blurb sounds tragic…but also like something out of a J. Crew catalog circa 1995.

barn-jacket
Anyone else regret getting rid of their J. Crew barn jacket? (You can get this one on Poshmark!)

We all know this is not real life, but a little nudge toward a comfy and snug life is the same reason some people, in theory, want to be painters or writers or perhaps potters like Demi Moore in Ghost. (Talk about a weird interplay between cozy and tragic.) So I’ve discovered and trademarked a new genre: Tragic Yet Cozy. And by the way, I did a proof read of a manuscript by this same author about 10 years ago, and the plot involved a group of middle-aged mom friends whose daughters all participated in a (ripped-from-the-headlines) pregnancy pact. The women found solace in knitting together in a converted barn in their quaint New England town. I’m just saying: TYC.

 

Tragic

 

 

Continue reading “Tragic Yet Cozy: On Where the Crawdads Sing and Brené Brown”