So long, summer

#9: Enter: rot (and June/July/August books in review)

Sep 09, 2024

05/09/24:
Last night I went to bed with a plan: I’d wake up early (by my standards), park my arse at a café for the morning (thank you gentrification for the abundance of choices), and have a leisurely reading and writing session — including finishing this piece — before logging on to work in the afternoon. I was feeling rejuvenated; fresh sheets and a mid-week everything shower and day 2 of melatonin because my insomnia very nearly finished me last month – a locked and loaded arsenal to stave off the hump-day scaries (every day has its scaries, they’re not exclusive to Sundays). I currently have six books on rotation but my ‘main’ one is Evenings & Weekends and guys… I haven’t had a five-star read since Enter Ghost in May and this might just be it; brimming with emotion and tenderness and joy and love and I am absolutely SMITTEN. Anyway, I had hoped to finish that this morning at my favourite Clapton café, with an overpriced latte, my laptop and a notebook as companions.
Instead: I woke up to the sound of rain (derogatory) and without opening my blinds could feel the grey and gloom, so turned my alarm off and got back into bed for as long as I deemed conventionally acceptable. Since then, I’ve been going about my day like a walking cadaver with a chewed-up ball of anxiety lodged in my ribcage. And so the seasonal affective disorder begins. I started writing this at the end of August before the blues had kicked in, hence the live laugh love-esque opening; I don’t want to come across as misleading.
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Retrospective interlude: I spent the evening with two of my favourite people, which was all I needed to cure my woes apparently. Looks like it’s officially time to whip out the SAD survival kit, quality time with quality company being near the top of the list. I managed to finish Evenings & Weekends the following day too, and yes, it was a five-star and life is worth living. ‘Masterpiece’ would be an understatement; I don’t think there’s ever been a book that’s made me feel so alive, and I’ve read my fair share. Another small weapon in the combatting-SAD armoury: last week was a self-imposed week off social media, and not to be *that* person, but the buoyancy that comes with time away from the Meta algorithm is a wonder. While I know I can’t escape it forever, at this stage I have no desire to go back.

As summer draws to a close, it’s difficult not to slip into the contemplative state of wondering whether or not I truly made the most of what I claim as my favourite season. Did I do enough did I get out enough did I stay in enough did the sun soak my skin enough did I have enough new experiences did I meet enough new people did I go to enough new places did I laugh enough did I dance enough did I cry enough: Did I live enough?

I realise, though, that ‘enough’ is subjective.

Moving into autumn, I feel fulfilled; my cup is nourished, and that is enough. I’ve spent time nurturing the parts of myself that I value and the relationships that I hold dear, and weeding out anything, internal and external, that no longer aligns with what I want my life to be. That is enough.

Seven months of a fully developed frontal cortex has truly been life-changing, though I suspect that my ideas of ‘personal growth’ are likely just basic tenets of adulthood. Anyway. My brain chemistry and I are constantly working on our harmony. Slow and steady.

I promised you a summer reading recap, so this is me delivering — promptly, at that. Who is she?
Book descriptions are linked in the titles!

June (theme: Pride, obv)

~Gender Theory by Madeline Docherty*
I’ve already reviewed this in full over on bookstagram but holy fuck this was a masterpiece and maybe the best bisexual book I’ve read to date. One of my metrics for a good piece of literature, as I so often say, is how many tears it elicits, and this had me bawling pretty consistently – the emotional depth combined with start-of-cycle hormones rendered me a human puddle. A coming-of-age in a league of its own, particularly given its unfiltered inclusion of navigating life with endometriosis; I have no doubt that anyone whose uterus has ever been a source of grief will feel seen. A poignant, heart-in-throat, perfect-for-autumn read.
My initial Goodreads review was simply ‘Ouch’ and… yeah.

~The Husbands by Holly Gramazio* (not queer but NetGalley license was about to expire)
I don’t have much to say about this, quite frankly. It was an interesting premise and allegorically relevant to the world of modern dating: woman’s attic provides her with an endless supply of husbands (one at a time), not dissimilar to the way choices are now boundless thanks to The Apps™.
Given the constant shifts, I found it difficult to connect with the protagonist at all. I’m well aware that it was meant to be a light-hearted comedy, and I love an insufferable narrator, but there was no depth to her at all and I sighed with relief when it was over.

~Cinema Love by Jiaming Tang*
My thoughts on this one are complicated. The author did an incredible job of weaving past and present together; all the characters were extremely fleshed out and though perspectives shifted frequently, there’s never any confusion as to whose narration you’re reading. Each of their woes were carefully constructed and navigated, with an impressive depth throughout. It was also fascinating to read from the perspectives of wives of closeted gay men – a viewpoint I’ve never seen (or even considered) before. However, there were so many themes incorporated that it ended up feeling a little convoluted toward the end. That said, Tang is undoubtedly a talented writer, and I’m excited to see what he does next.

~Trust & Safety by Laura Blackett and Eve Gleichman*
I appreciate that this was meant to be satirical, and admittedly, I whizzed through it, but… sorry, just pointless really.

~Boulder by Eva Baltasar
Okay there’s no way I’ll be able to articulate my thoughts on this well. I so wish I had a physical copy to annotate, but this was a heavily highlighted Libby read (support your local library!!!). For now, I’ll leave you with one of my many favourite quotes, so you have an inkling of the talent wielded by Baltasar and her translator, Julia Sanches:

Language is and always will be an occupied territory. I have the feeling I was shackled to it the moment I was born. Only language can help you belong somewhere and make sure you don't lose your way. It's a nourishing underlayer that seems to live in the mind, migrate down to the mouth, and, spoken, melt on the lips. At the same time, language is everywhere, occupying the body's farthest-flung cells, pushing them to unimaginable places. It urges you on and turns your stomach, confuses your animal instincts, makes you human. No emotion is more indulgent than the feeling that you are intensely human. Though it can also be the most tyrannical. You are responsible for every word, and no statement is innocent.

Like HELLO???

July (no theme but still very homo x)

~The Foghorn Echoes by Danny Ramadan*
This is a difficult one to review. On paper, it sounded like it would tick all my boxes:

Split between war-torn Damascus and unforgiving Vancouver, The Foghorn Echoes is a tragic love story about coping with shared traumatic experience and devastating separation. As Hussam and Wassim come to terms with the past, they begin to realise the secret that haunts them is not the only secret that formed them.

I had been looking forward to reading something that broached the specific intersection of queerness and asylum, which I don’t think I’ve come across before. While I do think that Ramadan is a talented storyteller – my heart broke over and over for the two friends and their numerous struggles – this book suffered from overly pedestrian prose and frequently leaned towards telling rather than showing.

~All This Could Be Different by Sarah Thankam Mathews
The power of this book, for me, was in its unpacking of non-white identity in a white-majority country. Though I often found the protagonist to be utterly jarring, she was but a product of her environment: a first-gen queer Indian immigrant in the States caught up in a tunnel vision pursuit of the Am*rican Dr*am. All while trying to balance and maintain healthy platonic, romantic and familial relationships. I didn’t love it, but it resonated with me much more than I’m comfortable admitting. I will be referencing it when I do write up my identity piece because it was microaggressions galore, without being all ‘woe-is-me,’ which it could’ve easily fallen into.

Jun. on X: "Don't mention the American dream when I'm around again. *looks at camera* Vulgar!" / X

~Experienced by Kate Young

An all-round good time. Fluffy and light-hearted but not in a cliched tropey way that most rom-coms nowadays tend to be.

~Hard Copy by Fien Veldman*
Enjoying a ‘girl meets printer’ book was not on my 2024 bingo card, but here we are. Engaging and witty and poignant and unexpected and I inhaled it in two sittings. Thought-provoking, with sprinkles of darkness, but not in an emotionally taxing way, just a lot of fun.

~All Fours by Miranda July*
Okay I am actually gutted that I didn’t love this because it started off so well, and I thought I was entering my midlife-crisis-literature era (at the ripe age of 25), but nope. Turns out that a perimenopausal privileged white woman blowing her life up just because she can isn’t my cup of tea. Granted, there were pockets of humour and wit that I enjoyed, but the demographic disparity was blinding. Not for me, but I know plenty who have loved it, and I love that for them.

~Permafrost by Eva Baltasar
I think what I need to do is buy the entire triptych (I’ve not read Mammoth yet) and do a dedicated Eva Baltasar essay. Again, I read this on Libby so can’t reference specifically, but I do remember how often I was highlighting. Protagonist being a jaded and severely depressed twenty-something with nothing but complicated interpersonal relationships? Whew. Also, the ending! Another quote:

Life belongs to others. It always has. I am here and I see it passing, life passes by other lives; life is a mirage that is real and unfathomable, and it flows through the lives of others, sating them with water, bloating them into double chins. The fact that my turn had come was an accident.

If needed, check TWs, in case that quote didn’t make it obvious.

~The Nude by C. Michelle Lindley*
Have also already reviewed this in full on bookstagram; a delicious fever dream of a book, a slow and sticky and sensuous delve into the world of curation, and the ethics behind the ownership of art. The final 25% did feel a little rushed and anticlimactic, but I’ve come to expect that from debuts.

~The Coin by Yasmin Zaher*
I’m a simple girl, I see a book marketed as ‘woman unravelling’ and I run (to the publisher’s DMs). This is very much another case of ‘wtf did I just read’ – affectionate – and while I’ve seen and agreed with many books saying that it was mis-marketed (mostly re the Birkin scheme), I didn’t enjoy it any less. From the moment the protagonist stated that she couldn’t get into bed without showering – I’ve never felt so seen – I was sat. As she descends further down her spiral, cohesion and coherence are lost, but I remained engrossed until the last page. Short and snappy chapters reign supreme. The conversations around class and empire and grief and war and identity and trauma and belonging were subtle, but Zaher brought it all together masterfully; to have any of them as the focal point would have detracted from the essence of the book, but to subtly combine them painted a captivating portrait.
I went to a beautiful event with Yasmin in conversation with Etaf Rum on Saturday, and she [Zaher] described it as ‘Sex and the City meets the Nakba’ (lol): the two authors spoke about the fact that there is no monolith for the Palestinian experience, and the importance of being able to explore this diversity within their work as fiction writers. In the case of The Coin, the struggling immigrant trope is nowhere in sight – she’s wealthy, she’s untethered, she’s liberated (or is she?), she’s just moved to a big city and has no duty except to herself. A breath of fresh air.
‘The more contradictions in your life, the more complex your identity, the harder your soul, the more difficult it is to love and be loved.’

August (theme: anything to get me out of the summer slump)

~True Love by Paddy Crewe*
Where to begin omg. Started sobbing during the first chapter, so there’s that. An emotive portrait of grief, belonging, class, trauma and learning how to… love, when life’s given you every reason not to. My copy is more than slightly dog-eared for all the musings Crewe expresses through Keely and Finn, from their loneliness to their anger to their capacity for love to their coping mechanisms to their joy – just so beautiful. I thought it would be a five-star but I couldn’t get on board with the conflict and complete lack of reasoning behind it. That said, the ending had me on the edge of my seat holding my breath; the anxiety was palpable and I couldn’t believe that after all that, Crewe was capable of even more tugging at the heartstrings. (I was aware of my exhale when it ended, by the way).

~In at the Deep End by Kate Davies
A lesbian book where I was more invested in the straight couple. Tells you all you need to know. (Don’t waste your time).

~Misrecognition by Madison Newbound*
Though punctuated with some relatable ruminations on mid-20s languor and confusion, ultimately, I struggled to see the point of this. The protagonist had no personality apart from the throuple she was thrown out of and her inability to let things go; there was no substance to her, nor did she have any sort of arc or development. That’s not to mention the awful non-binary rep, gender diversity is cool but only referring to the NB character as ‘the-person-called-x’ is not – every time I read that phrase, it made me want to stick pins in my eyeballs. Like, of course they’re a person? Just call them by their name or pronouns? Weird.

~The Beauty of Your Face by Sahar Mustafah
I briefly touched on this in my last piece, and I don’t have much to add. Again, a demonstration of the multitudes that exist within the Palestinian experience and extremely pertinent to the conversation around being a Brown person living in the west.

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*I’m not sure what Substack’s ad/pr rules are but for the sake of transparency, these books were kindly gifted by their respective UK publishers. All thoughts and opinions are my own, of course.

Having written all of those reviews out retrospectively (I fell off with my reading journal), I’ve come to realise that I need to take commonplacing seriously; I have so many miscellaneous quotes saved in my notes app/camera roll, but rarely do I know which book they’re from because I am a several-books-at-once reader.

I would love to know your thoughts if you’ve read any of the above!

For posterity's sake

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