How to Be Famous by Caitlin Moran

read by Louise Brealey

Such a good book. I couldn’t get over how good this book was the whole time I was reading it—and that was after thoroughly enjoying How to Build a Girl. I laughed out loud so many times, I had to think twice about reading it in public. There was one, comparing a man’s parts to a turnstile, that was so good that I had to call my partner and repeat it to him and laugh all over again.

First off: no, you don’t have to have read How to Build a Girl to enjoy this book… but it would probably help. If you haven’t already, I recommend it. It’s a terrific book in itself and I’ve already reviewed it on this blog.

Second: if swearing, casual drug use, excessive drinking, and frank discussions of sex that don’t mince words aren’t your bag, this is not the book for you.

Now that’s out of the way, let me tell you a bit more about this fabulous book. It’s about Johanna Morrigan (AKA Dolly Wilde) again, but now it’s 1994. She’s 19, living in London, and a successful writer. She’s still desperately in love with John Kite, and he still doesn’t return her affections, but never mind: she has a plan. She’s going to write him into being in love with her.

Along the way, she’ll have to somehow get her marijuana-addled dad to move out of her flat, teach John to value his teen girl fans, and—and this is the whopper—decide what to do about being very publicly slut-shamed by the entire London music scene after a disastrous encounter with a Famous.

This is How to Build a Girl for the #metoo era. Tremendous fun. Read it!

Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote this book—part love letter, part polemic—for his 14-year-old son, Samori. He wrote in an outpouring of protectiveness and anguish, trying to explain to him a world—well, a country, a society—that is a constant danger to them both, in a way that his son might understand.

So that his son might, maybe, be a little safer? I don’t think Mr. Coates believes that there’s much his son, or any African American, can do to keep himself safe in this society, steeped as it is in institutional racism. So that his son can at least avoid the trap of self-hatred or internalized racism, maybe. So that his son can see the world around him more clearly than Ta-Nehisi did at his age, certainly.

And so that his son knows, now and forever, how precious and loved he is. And that there is, if not hope, at least beauty and meaning in this world—not only outside of America, though traveling to France was life-changing for Mr. Coates and his family, but also, and most importantly, within his own culture. This book is, among other things, a love letter: not just to his son, but also to his fellow black Americans, survivors all.

I am not the intended audience of this book. Nonetheless I felt it was important to read it, if only in order to bear witness to Mr. Coates’ reality. And one brings oneself to one's reading, just as I bring my point of view to this review; one can't help it. I read it as someone who hasn’t had to deal with racism on top of all the other -isms I face, but I also read it as the parent of a 14-year-old who will face -isms I never foresaw when I first became a parent. And my point of view has expanded: my eyes are clearer. I'm grateful for that.

It may be an odd comparison, but in a way, this book reminds me of Allen Ginsburg’s famous poem, Howl: it’s an intellectual torrent, beautiful and hideous and brave, simultaneously difficult to read and impossible to put down. Unlike Ginsburg's poetry, though, Mr. Coates’ prose is diamond-hard, relentless, and pitiless—as it must be. It’s also insightful and lush and lyrical and heartbreakingly full of love.

Don't let the difficulty of the subject matter put you off reading this book. It requires much of the reader, but it gives back in kind. It’s required reading for our generation.

What Love Is and What It Could Be by Carrie Jenkins

read by the author

A philosophical treatise on the nature of love—which could be dry, but it’s not. Short, super readable, peppered with pop culture references (mostly used as metaphors) which will date the book in a few more years but for now make it a very relatable read.

The author argues that love isn’t merely a social construct nor a biological process/drive, but both. As an inveterate distruster of dichotomies, which are all too often false, I am naturally inclined to appreciate the merits of this argument; but I think she really does objectively make her case. A must-read for all of us over-thinkers, and also a great book to hand to your parents who don’t "get" whatever kind of relationship you're in.

Mosquitoland by David Arnold

read by Phoebe Strole

Better than it needed to be; though plagued with the tropes you expect in a book about a teen girl dealing with mental illness, there were enough surprises throughout, many of them pleasant and all of them interesting, to keep me reading this book. A solid 4 out of 5 stars.

When the English Fall by David Williams

read by Eric Michael Summerer

So, the narrator is an Amish man living not far from Philadelphia when a massive solar storm causes civilization to fail and the “English”--that’s us--to literally fall, as in, airplanes falling from the sky. Chaos ensues, and we get to see it from the Plain People’s point of view, which is really fascinating, as really, it’s only a matter of degree. To them, our entire civilization is horrifically chaotic anyhow.

This is a satisfying and oddly surprising apocalypse tale (I do love me a good apocalypse). If you liked Life As We Knew It, say, or the opening chapters of Earth Abides, you’ll enjoy the hell out of this. Why, yes, I am trying to tell you you should read this. If you love a good apocalypse. But too short! I didn’t want it to end when it did.

My one complaint: I’m not entirely happy with the way the daughter’s epilepsy, or “epilepsy,” was used as a plot device. Again, I can’t say more without spoilers, but… hrm. A little too convenient. But, yeah. Read this book.