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, rather the ones which afford the opportunity to window-gaze between pages or single-sitting reads.

Like William Maxwell’s They Came Like Swallows (1937), which landed in my stack because of an enduring curiosity about his work in combination with the setting of this one—the 1918 Influenza epidemic. I knew the story revolves around grief, but Maxwell’s narrative begins with an account of childhood which captured my attention immediately. In the context of a nuclear family with two sons, Maxwell opens with a boy’s perspective: a world where the “washing-machine galumpty-lumped”, where he pushes “his marbles around the devious and abrupt pattern of the Oriental rug for hours” until suddenly one of them becomes “King Albert of Belgium”. Here, Bunny encounters an epidemic-shaped world: ‘epidemic’, a word “unpleasantly shaped and rather like a bed pan.” The novel changes shape to acknowledge that other characters have “knowledge and inexperience inaccessible to Bunny” and the passage below resonates with me because it hints at the deepened folds and pockets of the narrative too. This is the kind of novella one can imagine rereading every now and again.

“From his place in the window seat Bunny observed that the rug was a river flowing between the stable and the long white bookshelves; turning at the chaise-longue where his mother sat with light slanting down about her head, and the blue cloth of her dress deepening into folds, into pockets.”

Speaking of rivers, this next book landed in my stack because I really loved the volume in Wilfrid Laurier’s poetry series about Rita Wong’s work: Current, Climate. Their slim volumes not only present the poet’s work but also enough commentary to afford a degree of appreciation, if not true understanding (I’m not saying this is a new reading project, but I’m not saying it’s NOT a new reading project either. *grins*) As Ronald Cummings writes in the introduction to Make the World New: The Poetry of Lillian Allen (2021), the “compilation of a volume of selected poems is not simply an act of gathering” but a “recontextualization of the work.” Next I’m looking at Margaret Christakos, Duncan Mercredi, Louise Halfe, Fred Wah, and Jan Zwicky. Okay, that is sounding a lot like a reading project. ANYWAY, I really loved this volume, and here’s a peek into “The Poetry of Things”:

“Poets materialize something into our world
that only exists before in sameness, or in fragments
or sometimes in ugliness and in pain.

Writing poetry is work of the soul.
Poetry is that dialogue between the world inside of us
and the world outside.”

Alison Bechdel’s The Secret to Superhuman Strength (2021) was in my stack because I loved Fun Home and, later,  I watched “The Paper Mirror” on Kanopy. Then I learned that her partner has colorized the pages and that intrigued me further. But, when I heard it was about fitness? I became less interested. (I exercise daily, but I don’t want to read about doing it.) Not to worry, Bechdel admits that, from an early age, she identified as a “chain reader,” my kind of obsessive activity. The volume is organized by decades, chronological and personal: like her previous graphic memoirs, this one considers how the past shapes not only our present but also how we imagine our future. When she was a girl, she sent away for the titular secret, advertised in the pages of the comic books; it wasn’t “as advertised” and she’s still looking for the mail-in solution. Meanwhile, she’s doing the best she can—at being human. My favourite parts were the reading exercises (haha), and there were enough of them to keep me engaged, around and between the proper exercises.

Masami Tsuda’s Kare Kano series is a classic shōjo manga (1996-2005), so written with teen girls in mind, and more of a romance than a comedy (revealed by the subtitle His and Her Circumstances). There’s an anime based on the first seven volumes (there are twenty-one in total) that follows the same storytline too; both mostly preoccupied with the relationship between Yukino Miyazawa and Soichiro Arima. Like Anne and Gilbert, they were once rivals in school but soon recognized they shared more similarities than differences. Their friends pepper the volumes too, as does a boy band: there’s a lot of heady emotion with bold declarative statements about how different life will be after key decisions, reflecting teenage-life. (Mostly, things are not all that different, and mostly these decisions only seem major.) They make for gentle before-bed reading and I really enjoy the “free space” at the beginning of each “act” within the volumes (usually, five in total) where the author talks about her favourite children’s books or classics she’s rereading (The Tale of Genji here, for instance) or influential stories (The Phantom of the Opera, in particular) or what tea she’s drinking: later she shares little gifts or comments related to these themes that her readers have sent to her or she updates her interest. She also discusses her favourite foods and whether she is drawn to or pulled from certain characters: nothing fancy, and now a couple of decades out of date, but I enjoy them and plan to finish reading this winter. Recommended by Rachel.

Chantal Gibson’s How She Read (2019) landed in my stack because it reminded me immediately of Rishma Dunlop’s Reading Like a Girl (2004). Side-by-side on the shelf, ohhh, the conversations these books would have. In her acknowledgements, she thanks both Dionne Brand and Lawrence Hill, whose cover blurb is an invite: “Gibson meditates on blackness, womanhood, betrayal, denial, resilience and freedom. How She Read flings open the back door to Canada.” But Gibson also thanks “Audre Lorde, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, M. NourbeSe Philip, Afua Cooper, Lorena Gale, Rita Dove, and generations of warrior writers” and reminds us that agitation is a powerful force.

At first glance, Christine Wong’s The Plantiful Plate: Vegan Recipes from the Yommme Kitchen (2019) seemed like it would be too fancy for me. (One of the most popular posts on her Instagram appeared to confirm this.) It’s actually a remarkably straightforward volume. Even the ToC appeals: Start, Sips, Snacks, Savory and Sweets. Whether you’re a committed cook but new to plant-based cuisine, or committed to plant-based cuisine but looking to expand your repertoire, this would make a great reference. If curry is not a staple in your kitchen, for instance, the six pages devoted to it can open the door. Maybe you’re hooked on noodles and looking for cream sauces that are heart-friendly. Or check out the Ratatian section (pictured in the link above) if you’re bored with your usual pot-luck options. There are ice pops and hot crumbles, chilled soups and a spicy mary drink, but what I absolutely love are the charts at the beginning of each section that break down the possibilities that lurk in the recipes below. Everything can be modified, varied to suit individuals’ preferences or to keep weekly menus fresh. I also appreciate that Christine Wong nudges me toward different ingredients (e.g. zucchini in oatmeal, rhubarb in refrigerator pickles) and that she inspires me to be even more aware of plastic use in the household and kitchen.

Vegetarian Celebrations by Nava Atlas was one of the first cookbooks I bought when I was setting up my first apartment; she has just reissued her first cookbook, Vegetariana, which she updated for a number of reasons (she includes fewer Shakespeare quotes and more quotes by women writers—which is how we know each other now, via her Literary Ladies database—and there are no more calls to garnish with alfalfa sprouts, for instance). The literary quotations are a huge draw for me, but her pencil drawings also add a cozy, familiar air (like you’re peering into her notebook), although this new edition has smooth, glossy pages too. Perhaps most importantly, she has updated the recipes to make them vegan (eliminating a chapter previously devoted to cheese dishes). For anyone participating in Veganuary this month, who is new to and curious about plant-based cooking, this would make a great starting point. For more experienced cooks, many of the recipes are foundational but varied enough that you could shake up your old standards: consider daikon radish, for instance, a staple for Canadian winters, and obviously in her kitchen too, but perhaps not common in every home—she suggests a simple and flavourful salad that we enjoy weekly.

I was lucky to have a borrowed copy of Renegades (2021) to leaf through in early December evenings as the holidays approached. Truthfully, I’m here more for Springsteen than Obama; I imagine most readers are drawn more by one of these men than the other, but likely there are some for whom this is a phenomenal pairing of two equally interesting men. I was expecting to enjoy the photographs, wasn’t expecting to be so fascinated by the handwritten edits in Obama’s speeches (on Springsteen’s “side”, handwritten lyrics). I was expecting to find conversations about politics interesting, wasn’t expecting to find parenting chat feel so familiar. “We were good about saying to the girls things like ‘We’re not going to sweat you on your grades, but we are going to sweat you on, did you put in some effort? We’re not going to give you a hard time about making a mistake, but we will give you a hard time if you’re lying about making a mistake, or if you mistreated somebody.’” Even though I’m not big on coffee-table style books, I can imagine returning to this one, whether to browse the images or reread the interviews.

What have you been reading lately, that’s best appreciated in smaller servings or a single-sit session?