Many of the books in my February reading stack also fit with the celebration of independent publishers #ReadIndies hosted by Kaggsy and Lizzy this month: Archipelago Books, QC Fiction, Nimbus Books, Tin House, Duke University Press, and Allery Editions (links below). Later this month, I’ll chat more about independent publications too.
Archipelago Books’ publications, including Scholastique Mukasonga’s Igifu (2010; Trans. Jordan Stump, 2020), are immediately recognizable on a shelf, even from a distance. Their earth-toned covers on high-quality paper, soft covers with folded flaps, an emphasis on women’s voices, dedication to overlooked or infrequently told stories: they stand out. This collection contains five stories: Igifu, The Glorious Cow, Fear, The Curse of Beauty, and Grief. I’ll have more to say about them in the upcoming spring issue of Quarterly Short Stories.
Each of QC Fiction’s offerings presents a distinct voice. The Woman in Valencia by Annie Perreault (2018; Trans. Ann Marie Boulanger, 2021) swiftly creates a mood. Orders and Subscriptions available here (this title is currently scheduled for publication on March 21).
Mostly in plain-speak, with the occasional well-placed descriptor (like “irascible” or “splintering”), the prose moves readers steadily through half the story and then sprints to the end—technically, marathons. The runner clocks her progress from the starting line past the fortieth kilometre, gathering momentum in her desire to locate herself in relationship to a key absence. When is movement progress, what do we search for when we travel? How does stagnancy propel us forward, how might an embrace make us disappear?
When Laure was six, she and her mother, Claire, witnessed a tragedy; it affected them both deeply but differently. The Woman in Valencia contemplates the distance between the pain you feel and the pain you witness, the boundaries between selfhood and loved ones, what separates us and what unites us, and how we move through our lives—sometimes as though we are floating or swimming through the water, sometimes as though we are suspended or falling through the air.
(Readers who enjoy classic film, Spanish landmarks and tourist destinations, and mother-daughter stories will cheer from the sidelines. Observe infrequent metaphors, like the hotel described as a “rabbit hutch made up of perfectly aligned cages” or a tote bag described as a “brainbox”, so fully containing all the things that represent the woman who lugs it around. Poetic lapses: “Time had marched on over their skin. The cuts had closed, healed, faded.” And patterns: moles on a thigh like small pinheads in flesh and a showerhead dotted with tiny pinholes.)
Carol Bruneau’s a candidate for my MustReadEverything list; I’ve only dabbled so far, except for her 1996 collection of linked stories, After the Angel Mill, which truly is exceptional. Like Elizabeth Strout, Bruneau attends to subtle details in quiet lives, often permeated by loss and loneliness, sometimes punctuated by longing and love. She also reminds me of Amanda Craig and Joan Clark, for her astute analysis of relations between the sexes, in and out of the context of marriage. A Circle on the Surface (via Atlantic Canada’s Nimbus Publishing in 2018) is on my stack to read as background before her new novel, a fictionalized biography of artist Maud Lewis, which looks fascinating.
Having barely begun Eman Quotah’s Bride of the Sea (Tin House, 2021), all I can comment on is the complex storyline spanning from 1970 to 2018. Like Perreault’s novel above, one parent is absent, and the child separated from them constructs a life around that absence. “Spanning more than four decades and two continents, Bride of the Sea unravels and illuminates family secrets, rivalries, and estrangements against the backdrops of the Gulf War, 9/11, and a rapidly changing world.” So far the style reminds me a little of Vendela Vida and Nell Freudenberger.
I’ve already written about Antoinette Nwandu’s Pass Over (2019) here. Elizabeth Alexander’s The Light of the World: A Memoir (2015) is written in spare prose, its short chapters daring to encapsulate a life. Although written in the wake of her longtime partner’s death, Ficre Ghebreyesus, the volume is more about living than dying:
“The ones we may come to love have been born by the time we start longing for them, and so my beloved and I came onto this earth in March and in May of 1962, halfway around the world from each other. Then in 1996 we came together, one family who arrived in America as Eritrean refugees who had never been slaves, the other who landed one hundred, and two hundred, and three hundred years ago, slaves and free, from Europe, Africa, and the Caribbean.
Every beautiful day we lived, every single beautiful day.”
Alexander’s memoir and her collected poems (see below) were published by mainstream big presses, but the individual collections that predated them were mostly published by Graywolf, pride and joy of Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Amitava Kumar’s Every Day I Write the Book: Notes on Style (published by Duke University Press, 2020) showcases the author’s fondness for books about writing. Not all writers like to read about writing; even among that group, however, are writers who have been compelled to write about writing (perhaps nudged in that direction by an agent, publisher, employer, or a dwindling bank account). Kumar’s not in that club; he loves that kind of book and his love of writing is matched by his love of reading; he discusses books about writing (his favourites at length) and other books as well. He quotes often but not extensively and his magpie approach to craft makes this a satisfying read for curious writers and bookish folk.
Elizabeth Alexander’s Crave Radiance: New and Selected Poems 1990-2010 landed on my TBR thanks to “Praise Song for the Day”, which she read at Barack Obama’s 2008 presidential inauguration. I’ve written about a couple of her other poems here too. Crave Radiance is an excellent place to begin, and those readers who think they aren’t poetry readers will be surprised to find her work accessible and narrative-driven. She reminds me of Muriel Rukeyser, simultaneously personal and political.
Riad Sattouf’s L’Arabe de futur 2: Une jeunesse au Moyen-Orient (1984-1985) is published by the independent French publisher, Allary Editions, which publishes fifteen titles a year (the fifth volume in this graphic memoir series appears in their most recent catalogue). One of the reasons this series works for me, despite my uneven French-language skills, is that many panels contain an expository sentence at the top, with dialogue below (and in a few frames to follow) to illustrate. (But even so, my struggle with nouns adds a layer of unintentional humour when I misunderstand a scene’s core concept.) Carrying on from the first volume, our narrator is six years old and confronting a series of new situations in Syria with his mother and father. He remains a sensitive soul as he begins school, not knowing the words to the patriotic songs and not wearing the proper uniform, where he is accused of being a Jew. There are so many different ways to be vulnerable in this narrative, so many variations of powerlessness, but his curiosity and determination carry readers through: life in Homs is difficult but not hopeless.
Remember Me to Harlem: The Letters of Langston Hughes and Carl Van Vechten, 1925-1964 (Ed. Emily Bernard, 2001). Through watching some videos about Hughes and other African American writers on Kanopy a couple of years ago, I learned who Carl Van Vechten was and why the letters he exchanged with Hughes would be of interest. A passionate supporter of Harlem Renaissance figures, his immersion in literary life makes the letters not only bookish but creates a sense of community that provides a remarkable backdrop and broadens the usual scope of a collection of letters. (But I enjoy reading collections of letters, even if they are more intimate and insular, so this is of interest, but not necessary for my enjoyment.)
My reading in February has been varied and sprawling. I’ve got several new books from the library now, too, so March is looking promising as well.
‘The Woman in Valencia’ sounds very interesting to me. I love the complexities in mother-daughter relationship that Elena Ferrante explores in her books. After I read the Neapolitan Quartet last year, I didn’t read Ferrante. I am tempted to read ‘The Woman in Valencia’. I specifically love the metaphors you have included here. So fascinating.
So, did you read all four of Ferrante’s novels, in that quartet? I’ve dithered about whether to read on from the first (but I do have a copy of her latest, which I plan to read, and I would like to read her short fiction too).
I am so glad you asked me. It’s such a strange story. In 2019, I listened to Elena Ferrante’s ‘The Days of Abandonment’. It was so raw and poetic that I told myself that I would read the Neapolitan Quartet. In 2020, just after India went under lockdown, I started my monthly subscription of Scribd. All the four books were available, but the app allowed me to read only on my phone, and not on my phone. With no respect for my vision, I devoured all the four books, one after the other, on my phone itself. I seemed to have read more than 1,200 pages on my phone. The friendship between Lila and Elena was compelling. As a token to remember the summer I spent with the quartet, I have got the paperback of Ferrante’s latest ‘The Lying Life of Adults’. She is terrific.
Wow, that IS a lot of reading on your phone. It’s also telling, that you weren’t even aware of the time, but, before you knew it, had read the entire quartet. I liked the first one, but apparently not enough to continue. But, I will stop thinking of the quartet as something I shan’t finish, and I’ll start thinking about the new book as a reason to reconsider whether I’ll read on with Lila and Elena’s story after all. (One other reading friend has also been rather insistent that it’s worth reading on.) I’m curious–is the televised story something you’d be interested in (or something that’s available for broadcast in Chennai)? Sometimes, when we get super attached to characters, we’d rather let them exist on the page rather than on the screen. That’s a question that would also apply to Phillip Pullman’s books/TV series, too, I guess!
Such a lovely pile of books! Indie publishers are really doing amazing work. Their books are often so much more interesting than the big publishers.
Maybe for those who have a variety of sedentary habits, not only reading, the mainstream presses offer more than enough to inform and entertain; but when you are extremely bookish and dedicated to print, the small presses play an essential role in building out our stacks! You’re lucky to be in a city with so many good books!
Not too long ago I tried reading a book with all of Langston Hughes’s letters and had a hard time with it. There were so many footnotes explaining what he was talking about because he’d reference an event, for example, that the person on the other side of the letter knew about, so he had no need to explain. But as readers, it was like, “What is he disappointed about now? What happened?” I didn’t end up finishing, unfortunately. Perhaps this book will have more go power because they are only letters between Hughes and Carl Van Vechten. What a complicated relationship black authors has with white patrons. Carl Van Vechten was one of the most famous and important patrons of the Harlem Renaissance, along with Charlotte Mason.
You might find this collection suits you better because there are succinct and directed comments at the end of each individual letter, for general context, which also seem to fill the gaps for ongoing conversations. It also has a fantastic resource at the front of the book, several pages of short biographies (just a few lines for each) of the individuals whose work will be discussed or referenced in the letters. Straightaway, in the earliest letters, Langston is frequently asking if particular people are in the city and available to meet. (Rebecca West and Zora Neale Hurston come up early, although I don’t think he gets to meet them as soon as he asks, so maybe later exchanges result in their meeting.) But I don’t really feel as though I need to absorb all the details about what they’re discussing; it’s the ease and energy of their conversations that I am enjoying, the sheer bookishness and writerlyness of it all.
Ahhhh. And see, the letters that I read almost didn’t make sense at times.
That doesn’t sound like fun at all!
It sounds like you’ve got some great books on the go, and some reviews upcoming in publications-congratulations! My review of Pasha Malla’s Kill the Mall was finally released in Quill and Quire this month-I wrote it a year ago, but the pandemic pushed back the publication (ugh). In Q&Q’s credit though, they paid me upon acceptance which was nice of them 🙂
I’ve heard good things about that Carol Bruneau book about Maud Lewis!
Spoiled for choice, when it comes to reading that’s for sure, and thank you! Congrats back to you, for the Quill & Quire review, and isn’t that ironic, when you were so excited abut it and then had to wait extra long to see the results. Pasha Malla’s new book looks really good; I’ve enjoyed his others, so I’m looking forward to it (and to reading your review as well).
Wonderful selection of books and indie presses. The more you dig the more seems to be available, I find – it’s wonderful to have our eyes opened up to all these publishers!
Especially when you go looking for subscriptions, which I recall you’ve made a point of doing, to try to help with the reduced sales/support as a result of the various lockdowns in different places. Good on you! (And, of course, it’s a delight too.)
I read another book by Scholastique Mukasonga from Archipelago books last year. The one I read was The Barefoot Woman, so if you read Igifu I will be interested in hearing about it as I definitely want to read more by her. The Woman in Valencia also sounds like a novel I would like. Some great indie books there in your stack, happy reading.
That’s another of hers that I definitely want to read. Maybe I marked it after your review! Archepelago’s books always sound so interesting, don’t they.
So much goodness here! I have the Woman in Valencia, so I’m looking forward to that. And one of my highlights in February was Bruneau’s book about Maud Lewis. You’re so right about her ability to write about the relationships between men and women. I found the way Maud viewed her husband Ev fascinating. There has been so much speculation about their marriage.
Elizabeth Alexander sounds good, and so does Kumar’s book about writing.
I didn’t see your comment here when I was mentioning to Susan and to Rebecca that you’d really enjoyed the Bruneau!
I know I’ve asked you this, but I can’t remember where, and I don’t remember your answer: did you see the movie “Maud”? Also, I am going to request some non-fiction about Maud Lewis from the library and I wonder if there are any you’d recommend (Nimbus has several and almost all of them are in the library here fortunately).
I was thinking about you with the Elizabeth Alexander poems; I think you’d enjoy them. You could watch a couple of her videos online if you’re considering her.
I haven’t seen the movie. I had every intention to, but then it just didn’t happen. I’ve heard good things about it, but I’ve also heard that it’s not accurate, which has local people grumbling. Ha!
You’ve probably got all the nonfiction you need by the sounds of it. Is there one called The Heart on the Door by Lance Woolaver? That one’s probably the latest, but is also really long and has a lot about Everett and the Poor House and Digby County as well as stuff about Maud. (Although, I am almost as curious about Everett as I am about Maud.) I own it, but have only skimmed through it at this point. (I bought a copy when he came to speak at our library.)
That’s so interesting. I feel like it was more about feelings and situations than about facts, but maybe that simply reveals how few of the facts I actually know.
Yes! I’ll let you know when I finally get to it (not until late spring/early summer), in case you are in the mood to read along. That’s definitely the most substantive volume in the collection here. There are a few around 150 pages long, including one about her house in particular (which I won’t say much about, as I guess it’d be considered a spoiler for anything who doesn’t know her story). And a couple that are shorter, still, which may even be intended for children. The only one I’ve read previously is the one about her works with Christmas in mind.
I’m itching to read your review now – even though you haven’t written it yet! Lol
No pressure! 😀 And I haven’t even touched her backlist yet. Are you interested in reading any of her early works? (I wouldn’t be touching them until April.)
Sure, I’d love to!
I like seeing your stack! That’s a very sensible 10, mostly from the library it looks like. Mine ends up being more like 30, with (at the moment) 8 from the library, 4 on Kindle, and the rest ones that I own, whether ARCs or just from the shelves. I reviewed Mukasonga’s memoir, Cockroaches, for Wasafiri a few years back. Such a tough subject (Rwandan genocide). I’d be interested to see how her fiction compares. I feel like you’ve mentioned Carol Bruneau to me before, but I can’t remember in what context or which particular book. Like Susan, I’m drawn by any comparison to Strout. Alexander’s The Light of the World is a favourite of mine (in memoir, full stop, not just bereavement memoirs), and I’d like to get the chance to read more of her poetry. Yes, “varied and sprawling” sounds about right for me, too. I had a little flurry of medical/disability-themed reads from following along with the Barbellion Prize shortlist, and I’ve been reading a lot of new poetry releases that the library acquired because of them being on a prize list. Other than that, the usual mixture of fiction and non-, backlist and new. I’m going to try to make informed predictions about this year’s Women’s Prize longlist (coming out on 10th March), so I’m attempting to read at least part of a lot of eligible titles before then.
Well, as I’ve mentioned in a comment on your site, a flurry of new books, holds from the library have arrived recently (and have just emerged from quarantine today), so the stack is about to become much less stackable. Maybe less photogenic LOL. Because there are so few stories in Mukasonga’s collection, it’s a manageable project. From what I recall, from the library’s listings, Cockroaches is also a slim volume (which doesn’t make it easier to read of course). Maybe I’ve mentioned Bruneau in the context of linked stories, which I know we both enjoy a great deal. But you could also have seen mention of her on Naomi’s blog; I think she really enjoyed another novel of hers, a couple of years ago (and she’s read the newest recently too). I think one reason why my stack has been more concentrated this year, is a greater focus on non-fiction than is usual for me. Quickly scanning my log, I see there are only three literary novels for this year, so far (a lot of dystopia and short stories, though), and a varied lot of non-fiction. Maybe I just can’t spread my non-fiction reading across as many volumes, as I can with fiction! In any other year, I feel like that would have been reduced, with just a handful of non-fiction instead. I’ll look forward to seeing what you include in your women’s fiction prize predictions. And I think it’s exciting that you were so active with the new prize’s nominees. Before you know it, it’ll be the prize’s second year!
I meant to add that I would read just about everything Algonquin Books and Tin House release, if I could. And check out the cover of Friends and Dark Shapes — it’s crazily similar to Bride of the Sea (which itself is a cover style I’ve been seeing tons of this year and last, those layers of monochrome upturned faces on The Vanishing Half, The Prophets, and more).
Maybe I need to take another look at Algonquin because I haven’t had that thought but, yes, with Tin House, I just went through their catalogues a couple of months ago and found myself looking up every single author in the library catalogue. They’re exactly my cuppa.
Wow, you’re right-that cover is eerily similar. I tend to prefer covers that truly seem to be uniquely designed for a specific book, but I don’t dislike this style either…
E.g. Algonquin publish the Bellwether Prize winners — not that I’ve gotten on with all of those so far. But I support the principle! From this season’s Algonquin offerings, I’m most keen on Libertie on Kaitlyn Greenidge and Hot Stew by Fiona Mozley.
What an interesting set of reads! I’ve read a real variety this month and am catching up on reviews today. I’d say “Miss Carter and the Ifrit” has been a highlight, but also the catalogue of the Grayson Perry’s Art Club exhibition.
How lucky are we, to be able to read such a variety while coping with lockdowns, on either side of the pond. Art books would be great for browsing just now!
I do like the sound of The Woman in Valencia. The words ‘like Elizabeth Strout’ also have a siren call about them so I’ll be putting Carol Bruneau on my list
You’ll be hearing more about Bruneau, soon, from Naomi, I believe; she’s recently finished the newest book (and, I believe she’s read at least one other, and a different one than I’ve read, too). As if you needed further tempting.
A fascinating set of reads. Mukasonga was already on my radar, though I haven’t read anything yet. But now I’m also interested in the Hughes-Van Vechten letters. I can well imagine those would be quite interesting.
They’re densely satisfying letters; I can imagine you would enjoy them a great deal (but, be warned, they will spark all sorts of related reading projects)!
Although I have a book group that has been going strong for 20+ years, I joined the De Grummond Library discussion group this week to read and talk about Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson and really enjoyed that. For my graduate school class on Information Technology, the lectures and reading are extremely dull but we have a bibliography project that we could select the subject ourselves. I originally wanted to do something children’s fantasy related but couldn’t find something both narrow enough and sufficiently written about, so I think I have decided to look at portrayals of female athletes in children’s and YA fiction. It is hard to find a topic that hasn’t been done to death!