I finished 13 books in March. Lots of middle grade and graphic novels, because that‘s all I could mentally handle. The Spear Cuts Through Water was my favorite, even though it took me two months to read. It was so worth the effort. Both of the Swifts books by Beth Lincoln were delightful. #marchwrapup
pickYears ago, I came across the poem “The Taxi” by Amy Lowell, and its final line has lived in my brain ever since: “Why should I leave you, / To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?” I‘ve meant to read a collection of her poetry ever since, but we all know how the TBR intentions sometimes go. So when it became apparent that in spite of my best intentions in January, I definitely wasn‘t going to get around to reading any (let alone all ⤵️
SEPTEMBER, 1918
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
⤵️
I‘m really hoping that the #bookspin gods are kind to me and pick books that are already on my March TBR. Between library books with due dates that can‘t be extended, books clubs/buddy reads, NetGalley books that publish this month, and my library system‘s annual Community Reads program, my schedule is already packed. In fact, looking at this makes me so stressed, I may bail on everything and just watch Netflix. 😂
pickThings I love:
-The pacing leaves plenty of room for emotions to develop.
-The perspective shows both the frustration of the US medical system and the wonder we can access when knocked out of our unconscious narratives.
-The writing, beautiful without being sappy.
Things that don't quite work:
-The extended treatises on poetry and music go on too long for my taste.
-The meticulous detail, which gets tedious.
Soft pick for a #tob25 longlist title
pickA strange and obscure little book written in the 1920s, about a rural Ohio woman torn between her husband and a lover. As Dawn Powell‘s biographer puts it well, this novel reads as romance fiction but with all the dark and bleak stylization of a Theodore Dreiser story.
This is the start of Small Rain. It‘s something, I think, anyone who has been to a US ER with chronic illness/pain would recognize. I was just there going through this the week before Christmas.
