Bookreview

Ernaux always makes me think about people I love. Usually, in a romantic way. But in this book, as with The Years, I thought about my mom. Growing up, I was fortunate to know several of my great-grandparents. My mom’s grandma, Bernice. My dad’s grandpa and grandma, Roscoe and Lois, as well as his other grandma, Modena. Bernice lived to be 82, Lois 92, Roscoe 92, and Modena 97. When I was born, there were pictures in the paper with some of us and however many generations were living at the time, because it was rare enough then to be newsworthy in a small town. ...

An absolute beauty of emotion, particularly jealousy and haunting. Ernaux describes the end of a relationship and the sense that she has been possessed by the ‘other woman’ in terms so raw and so relatable that you (or, I,) feel professionally jealous of the skill with which it is executed. I think a lot about sentimentality, because I am a sentimental person. Places become stained with chance meetings or meaningful silences. Forever after, I think of those moments when passing by. In warmth, these are pleasant reminders and stoke joy. Once things change, deteriorate, complicate, they’re falling icicles piercing your heart. It happens to places, films, books, songs, even whole genres of idea; anything that was important or noteworthy. ...

I picked this up solely based on the title/cover and the want to read essays, having no familiarity with Chu or her writing. I liked it a lot! I may come back and update this review with additional thoughts, but in general I had a good time. Few writers have me cackling on the metro quite like Chu did in her takedown of Bret Easton Ellis or her piece on Hanya Yanagihara. Some of my favorites: ...

“Often I have made love to force myself to write.” Ernaux writes about 30 pages (in this Fitzcarraldo edition) on a short affair-turned-relationship with a 20-something when she’s 50-something. She seems pleased to put a lot of words to, what I think, may boil down to “I wanted to fuck a young guy,” and if you can write as well as Ernaux, you should too. I don’t begrudge her, as she outlines, men have been doing the same thing with much less judgement for centuries. That said, I do wonder a bit what the point of this little essay was, other than to say, “I got my rocks off pretty good and wrote well while doing it.” I say the last part because in her ending pages she ties this affair to her work, Happening. I think this is a fine context, but I don’t feel the affair needs an excuse (I do not think she would agree that is what she is doing, and yet, she is clearly tying the affair start middle and end to that work as if it were necessary for it). ...

I have been saving the film adaptation of this short story for years. In high school, closeted, I fell in love with a cowboy-type straight boy, with his long legs and goofy grin. And so, for many years, all evidence of cowboy eroticism would remind me of him and all of those things that didn’t and couldn’t happen. But, that was years ago and time passes and memories fade. Cowboys no longer have that drastic connection to that first crush, and are safer now to think about without a full lapse into fantasy. ...

I love an eye-catching, one-word title. “Porn” is about as good a one as you could think up, though at times I wondered if “Taboo” might be a more fitting title for Polly Barton’s exploration into the scandalous arts. Through interviews with 19 people, most of whom she already knew, the author reports more about societal expectation and anxiety than the specific “oral history” of the porn industry. What is common, what is kink? What is normal, problematic? At a few points, this question comes up: “Do we fuck this way because of porn, or does porn look like this because it’s how we fuck?” ...

This book was mentioned last week in our book club’s discussion of We All Loved Cowboys. Hearing the plot, I made sure to buy a copy before I left the store. It is a short little book, and it can barely contain the emotion within it. Letters are prized and terrible things. I cannot imagine carrying a letter for decades, knowing it contains the words of the person that I love and adore, and not having means to hear those words in my heart. I can imagine knowing that a letter like that exists, and not receiving that, because that has happened to me. But this is something different and something more. ...

I read this for my Small Press Book Club. In a recent view, I proclaimed, “three stars is good,” and in general this is true. However, this is not a “three stars is good” three stars. This is a, “I have no idea what to rate this book as” three stars. I found it mostly inoffensive, but also not compelling or engaging at all. There are some passages that read to me like white noise, words on a page without meaning, meandering. Occasionally, there is an interesting line. But overall, I leave the book not knowing what to do about it. ...

I probably read one comic book omnibus or graphic novel a year. Last weekend in Philly a very chatty bartender told me that I simply had to read HoX/PoX. He was very friendly and poured heavy drinks and so while I was busy giving googlyeyes to the other bartender I promised I’d read it. For whatever reason I take my word seriously and so ordered this and read it this week. It’s pretty good! I probably haven’t read an X-Men comic in 20 years, I don’t even know what the last one was that I’d have read. The X-Men have a special place in my heart as the 2000s era films were some of the first I recall seeing in the theater, and naturally the gay/queer-analogy of it all speaks to me. The analogy is sort of present here, although it is of course all very fantastic. Who wouldn’t want a land of their own to be who they are? ...

I purchased this at Giovanni’s Room in Philly, a nice little shop, on the recommendation of a friend from a book club. It was good, though perhaps the wrong book for me right now. Still, 3 stars is good and this is worth a read if you are interested in something light, slightly romantic, and a little yearning. (slight spoilers follow…) It is safe to see I could see the ending coming for miles and miles, and I didn’t exactly appreciate that. I wonder why people read these books of romance where all of the heartbreak and the struggle boils off into reunion and tenderness. Particularly folks who are alone – doesn’t it make one feel worse? ...