Here’s a glimpse of some recent reads which lend themselves more to sampling, in a handful of reading sessions, than gobbling in longer periods of time. Not the books which require a sink-into-your-seat focus, the ones which afford the opportunity to window-gaze between pages.
Recently I’ve been missing a habit that once launched my mornings: reading poems. Occasionally a volume of prose scratches that itch, too. Like Virginia Pesemapeo Bordeleau’s The Lover, the Lake (2013; translated by Susan Ouriou, 2021). “Love in the plural,” as the author describes it. A story that “shows us that we are not just suffering and victims: we can also be pleasure, exultation in body and heart.” Set in the “beautiful and enchanting” Abitibi region of Québec, there are also striking line drawings and sketches between each chapter. Even more pleasure.
You can listen to Lillian Allen’s dub poetry on Youtube, if you can’t find her books. Her first, a self-published chapbook that sold 8,000 copies, Rhythm an’ Hardtimes (1982) contains “Black Woman’s Blues” (“Misused Abused Confused”), “Lalumba” (“My feet move to the drums of Angela, Malcolm, Tubman, Turner, Fidel and the many others”), and “I Fight Back” (“They label me Immigrant, Law-breaker, Illegal Ah No, Not Mother, Not Worker, Not Fighter”). The spirit in these early works resonates throughout her later works too: Women Do This Every Day (Women’s Press, 1993) and Psychic Unrest (Insomniac Press 1999). The latter takes its title from the Gloria Anzaldùa quotation: “Living in a state of psychic unrest, in a Borderland, is what makes poets write and artists create….” The former opens with a terrific introduction which presents the contributions of key creatives in Black culture in Toronto and beyond, from the mid- to later-20th century, although the poems feel decidedly international, moving from Nicaragua to South Africa, from Regent Park to Haiti.
Liz Howard Letters in a Bruised Cosmos (2021) is titled for the “cosmic bruise” which is an anomalous region detected in the ‘heat map’ of the known universe. Her author’s notes also reference the Anishinaabe cosmological knowledge REDTalk “Stars and Sky Stories: Indigenous Cosmology and Western Astronomy in Toronto 2018. If you’re like me, already you’re starting to feel like you’re not smart enough for these poems, and maybe I’m not. But straight away I was impressed by THE HOLE IN THE SKY, presented in a block shape, with a space in the middle. Shape matters, as in “Settler—Anishinaabekwe—Noli Turbare”, which opens “Beauty is my irreparable eye / and today I became geometric.” Even though I don’t catch all the science, I recognize the legacy of trauma in poems like “Brain Mapping”: “A rape in every / generation of my line within the time of photography. A heritable / loom of methylated DNA.” And the importance of another kind of history and inheritance, as with the ending of “Physical Anthropology”: “I know you know / women too painted those novels / in the caves of Lascaux.”
Originally exhibited as a 114-foot-long banner in art galleries, representing the length of the Columbia River, Rita Wong and Fred Wah’s beholden: a poem as long as the river (2018) is available in book-form too. There are two scripts, one mechanical font and the other handwritten, which border the topographical-map styled image of the river; they cross the river, where there is a bridge or where the water shrinks to the width of an inked line, and they cross each other too. The names of the Indigenous communities for whom this is homeland appear, along with the names of other creatures who inhabit this territory. There are map symbols indicating the type of terrain and there are line drawings which occasionally flesh out another dimension. Hard questions emerge, like: “Hot springs once used by the Ktunaxa are now run by the Kukiy as the river’s people circumnavigate history’s rapids, is this what a portage across capitalism looks like?” There are things to learn: like the distinction between a lake and a reservoir, mythologies, and conflicts between aboriginal communities and the federal governments. Also important is the sense of slowing, the realization that allowing words to take the shape of a natural wonder is a reminder to change our relationship with it IRL as well. “How can we work with the river and its peoples through whatever skills and capacities we happen to carry?”
Another creative living on the west-coast of (the country currently called) Canada, is Ivan Coyote. I’ve been reading their books for a couple of decades; by the time I get to Rebent Sinner (2019), it feels like catching up with a friend. They’re still working out at the same gym, their dog has gotten older and *sniffles* has died, they’ve been touring up north and remembering what it’s like to be around so much flannel: I enjoy the undercurrent of sentimentality (there’s a lot of hugging, a fair bit of nostalgia) and the alternating tones of celebration and resignation. Sometimes these pieces are a few words, other times a few pages. Whether it’s an Instagram post or a joke, a lamentation or a letter: their tone reads as authentic and kind. Ambassador first, author second—Rebent Sinner is filled with pride parades and pat-downs, props trucks and pronouns: a comfortable catch-up for established fans, an easy introduction for getting acquainted.
I wouldn’t have thought that Jhumpa Lahiri’s new novel, Whereabouts (2021), would linger; it’s short, its chapters are short (two or three pages, usually), and it seemed the sort of book I might settle with in an evening and complete by saying “just more one” until I finished and turned out the light. But the simple language (she translates her own words from the Italian, a process begun, in some ways, In Other Words) and the sense of intimacy she cultivates made it read more like poetry for me. It also took an unexpected turn as I read on, and I didn’t want to rush through that; not to say that anything really happens, because it’s the kind of story rooted in interiority, but it slowed me down. “There’s no escape from the shadows that mount, inexorably, in this darkening season. Nor can we escape the shadows our families cast. That said, there are times I miss the pleasant shade a companion might provide.”
Several of the artworks in The Art of Reading: An Illustrated History of Books in Paint (2018) by Jamie Camplin and Maria Ranauro were familiar to me because I’ve seen them used as book covers over the years. (On classic novels and, I believe, on a few Viragos too.) Even though there are detailed and scholarly chapters on various subjects, surrounding the images, they didn’t capture my interest. The long paragraphs accompanying each image were fascinating though, however, and even after I had flipped to the end of the book, over the course of a few days, I revisited the chapters that I found most intriguing. The Renaissance paintings of Mary intrigued me (I’d not thought of her as a reader, not even of scripture! Hee hee) and I loved the chapter on “Book Love and the Home”; the introductory chapters that pulled from a variety of eras and styles, to make the point that there have always been books in paintings, are also curious. And, there’s a lovely brown satin ribbon to mark your place.
What have you been reading lately, that’s best appreciated in smaller servings?
I loved Rebent Sinner, which was my introduction to Ivan Coyote’s books. I’m glad to have one overlapping book with you 🙂 And of course there is Margaret Atwood. Off I go…
It’s a really good one, isn’t it! I think all of these are YOU picks actually, just for different reading moods. I’m still waiting for my copy of the writing book you recommended…not that there’s any shortage ’round here!
I haven’t read any poetry for ages, but I do enjoy it. I read much more of it when I was younger. I loved Whereabouts, such gorgeous writing.
Maybe it would be a good time to return to the habit, when you’re not always feeling like concentrating on a longer book? But, then again, maybe it’s too hard to start a new habit when you’re not feeling 100%?
I have Whereabouts lined up for the Lit in translation week of #NovNov. I take a slow-but-steady approach to most of my stack, chipping away at a few pages here and there, but the recent reads that come to mind as fitting your bookbag theme are all ones that started out as columns or blogs by (older) women: No Time to Spare by Ursula K. Le Guin, Thinking Again by Jan Morris, and a Home Life volume by Alice Thomas Ellis. Each entry is a maximum of a few pages, so it’s the perfect sort of book to have on the bedside table or coffee table to snatch a bit from before sleep or between other books.
Ohhhh, I must have missed the idea of there being a translation-oriented week, and I’m not sure I have one in my stacks, but I’ll check. I def have a non-fiction one selected with that in mind (but it’s turned out to be an essay, and a short one at that).
I’ve read the first and would happily read the other two in your stack. It’s true, books that started as blog posts do seem to lend themselves perfectly to this habit of reading in short sessions. With those longer volumes, I’m regularly struck by the idea that small sessions don’t add up to much in the beginning and, then, seemingly suddenly, I’m nearing the end (often of multiple volumes) and the reading log crests in a swell!
Whereabouts looks tempting and might be interesting after having read Deborah Levy’s musings, the reflective memoir rather than life story.
I’m reading a historical fiction novel Gods of Tango by Caroline de Robertis and planning to follow it up with Milongas, a nonfiction short book about the history of tango, love it when a couple of books make friends like these two, asking to be read together. 🙂
I think you’d appreciate it; from what you’ve said about Levy’s writing so far, I think it would be interesting as a companion.
Gods of Tango sounds great. I love it when that kind of contagion spreads through my stack too!
I’ve been dipping into “Me and White Supremacy” because it’s too depressing to read in large chunks but I like to get a few days done at a time!
I’ve got a couple of race-related volumes on the stack, waiting for that daily, devotional-styled reading too.
I often have several books going at once – one in my car, which is currently State of Terror by Hillary Clinton and Louise Penny, which I am greatly enjoying; one that is somewhat portable for the treadmill or gym; one for commuting (although at the moment I am not taking public transportation); whatever library book is about to be due; and something I feel like reading in bed.
I love 16th century poetry and wrote my undergraduate thesis on the sonnet, but have not read much that is recent except Mary Oliver.
I love Ivan Coyote! I need to read Rebent Sinner, I just loved their Care Of collection this past year – that’s a good one to read in small doses actually, although I rarely read anything in small doses b/c I like to only read one thing at a time. For some reason, it makes me feel like I’m going to write the review easier if I only have one book in my mind at once?
The idea for Care of is wonderful; I love that they took time to write responses to so many people. It’s definitely one to take time with too, even more so than this one, because otherwise all those letters would lose some of their power if read in a blur. When my (step)kids were as old as your kids, I wasn’t reading this many books at once either: usually just two, one that travelled well on public transit and a SAH book. Hee hee
I love that! SAH (stay at home) book, right?
Very keen to read Whereabouts – it sounds just marvellous. I put some poetry collections by my bed to see if I would dip more, but it’s not working – so I will have to go for a different strategy! 😀
Some of these books are such independent thinkers, yaknow? We put them near the yoga mat and hope they’ll exercise for us, stack them in the kitchen with menu ideas on a sticky note, and they just go on living their own lives as if our plans don’t matter. Pffft.
I don’t read poetry but often enjoy novels by poets. It’s that faciility with language. Speaking of which, I loved Whereabouts. It’s a book to savour rather than rush, isn’t it, and I continue to be intrigued by Lahiri’s love affair with the Italian language.
The first author I remember sparking that idea for me was Michael Ondaatje; his poetry seemed elevated and impenetrable to me as a young reader, but how I loved his sentences (In the Skin of a Lion, etc.). Yes, I think I was expecting a short and spirited, character-soaked novel, more like The Woman from Uruguay rather than a follow-up to In Other Words. The pacing really surprised me.
I adored Whereabouts, so it’s great to see that you enjoyed it too. There is something increasingly unsettling about it as it progresses, a feeling that lingers in the mind for quite some time…
When I think about just how much you and Ali and Susan enjoyed Whereabouts, I wonder if I shouldn’t reread it at some point. I have loved her other books (I think we discussed this in your comment section: The Lowland, The Namesake, etc.) and the way she stuffs stories into those characters really suits me, and here we have such polished and spare prose and a focus on observation, but if I went into Whereabouts expecting that, I might warm to it even more.
Oh, I am absolutely picking up the Pésémapéo Bordeleau on your highlighting of it! It’s proving a bit more difficult to source outside of Canada, but I’ll persist. It’s also thrilling to see you spotlight Lillian Allen: I can’t wait to read the selected from her, Make the World New, particularly as its curated by Ronald Cummings, whose thoughtful scholarship I really appreciate.
Of late, my adventures in short-form reading have taken me towards the gothic, supernatural and uncanny: currently I’m lingering in the pages of Premee Mohamed’s The Apple-Tree Throne, an unheimlich visioning of a post-war alt-Edwardian Britannia with technologically savvy quirks and bloody ghosts. I’m undeniably a (vampiric?) sucker for the season, I suppose!
LOL Of course you are! I just finished her Beneath the Rising, but I’m intrigued by this newer one. And I had completely forgotten about the upcoming (now available?) collection of Lillian Allen’s poems; I must make strides in that direction. I just read the recent volume in that series which was dedicated to Rita Wong’s poetry and found its introduction very helpful indeed. Did I see somewhere recently that you had read or were attending an event with Ingrid Persaud, maybe something connected to her promotion of Love after Love, maybe at Bocas Lit Fest? How I loooove that book. I still think about it, months later.
It’s very likely you spotted something Bocas Lit Fest related, yes! Ingrid’s novel has done phenomenally well — it’s heartening to see such a Trinidadian story resonate with readers all over the place. Have you read another well-publicized Trinidadian novel, Golden Child by Claire Adam? It was part of the Sarah Jessica Parker Hogarth line, and received a massive amount of attention. Not very much like Persaud’s — darker, for one thing, thornier, more atmospheric than plot-laced, but I adored it profoundly.
That makes sense-I add all those shortlisted books to my TBR, an excellent source for very fine lit. I’ll pick up a copy of GC on my next library run (still not able to buy all the books I want right now…will that ever happen?) and keep your comments in mind, combining it with complementary stories in the stack so the darkness doesn’t overwhelm. Thank you!
At the moment, I’m between two novels, as I usually read one book on the kindle and the other on paper. So, no reading in small servings. I’ve started Lost Illusions by Balzac, a big book and it’s excellent. I’m also reading The Wild Inside by Jamey Bradbury and it’s unsettling.
I don’t read poetry and I feel like I’m missing out.
Balzac is a gap (a huge gap!) in my reading experience. I keep meaning to start (Cousin Bette is my plan) but this year’s focus on new books and writers has pushed that possibility even further into the darker corners of the bookshelves.
I started by browsing in a trusted indie bookshop and buying one volume each time I was there to make other purchases (they were out-of-town, at the time, so it was a destination and easy to plan for/manage). I still don’t think of myself as a Qualified Poetry Reader though. Hee hee
These days I tend not to read things in smaller servings. I just read a book at a time. However, for the post I’m in the middle of now, I have picked up Reading like an Australian writer, in which different Australian writers write about a work by another Australian writer. I really enjoyed the one I read. Found it useful and insightful. Looking at it, I think I’ll find others similarly, so I’m going to try to read one every now and then, and, if I’ve read the book, post on it.
As for what you’ve read, this made me smile: “If you’re like me, already you’re starting to feel like you’re not smart enough for these poems, and maybe I’m not”. But you are, of course, because you engage thoughtfully with whatever you read and what more can any writer want really.
I love that kind of book. Lorna Sage’s essays about women writers worked like that for me. And another, newer one, with international content, would be Nancy Pearl’s The Writer’s Library. They truly embody the book-leads-to-book concept.
When 2021 started, I thought I was going to keep my stacks tidier than usual. Not one book at a time, but a reduced stack for sure, and for the first few months that was true, with six or eight on-the-go (each for a different reading mood). In the second half of the year though, they’ve been more overpopulated than ever and this year is already a record-setting one for me. I tell myself that smart writers are probably just as lonely (sometimes) as anybody else, and they’re just happy to have a reader (any reader) curl up with their book, in those solitary moods. Heheh