Book Snob
The fear-inducing stories of low rates of early and late adult reading habits correlating to failed humanity are a self-fulfilling prophecy. So what if kids aren’t reading books anymore. They’re flooded with terror. Let them have Tik Tok. Humanity is failing and therefore we aren’t reading. It’s audacious to suggest the problem goes the other way around. End war. Let us get healthcare. Then maybe we’ll all group-read Ferrante together with our unwashed hair braided together in harmony again.
Iiiiii (that’s “me” with emphasis) on the other hand, need to read books because I am a pathological snob, and snobs are liars. A person who might veritably have all the knowledge of the world, who is an embodiment of Alexandrian museyon, would never dare to rub it in your face. That person would qualify as an inquisitor; a person with curiosity, not a defensive possessiveness of the one or two things they’re obsessed with. Snobs are afraid to admit that what they crave makes them painfully un-whole. And what little truth is left has to be shared with such obnoxious fervor you can’t address the lies anymore.
I am that person. I talked about the whispers yesterday. That seems endemic to pedantry. Today I am going to talk about its counterpart: the shouts. The shouts include my willful endorsements of John Le Carré spy fiction despite his sometimes profoundly problematic depictions of the subaltern. My shouts also include the opposite: disavowals of people like Lauren Berlant and Thom Yorke (LOL), purely because some people, once upon a time, forced their lecture upon me like a revelation, only to tell me these were the philosophers who instructed them to accuse me of feeling too much.
I’ll have you know John Le Carré does a better job explaining the US invasion of Panama than any documentary or history has, and who cares what a hermit has to say about love. (I will soon share an essay that got canned before press, though, where I let Berlant make a brief appearance, but otherwise don’t bother coming for me. I’m out of touch with them.)
Anyway all that to say, here’s some stuff from the bedside table I remember:
The Sellout, Paul Beatty. I got this a few years ago and LOVED how it brought me in from Page One, but then set it down somewhere halfway through and physically lost the copy. Recently re-discovered it while cleaning my office and ripped through it anew. The phrase “LGBTDL” alone deserves a Mark Twain award. Speaking of…Beatty’s anecdotal parody of Huckleberry Finn a third of the way into the book has me wondering if this was riffed from a conversation he’d had with Percival Everett about JAMES (also an incredible book I can’t recommend enough).
Television People, Danzy Senna. Feel obliged to mention her because I read it after James, written by her partner (I think, still?). I like almost everything by Senna and I wanted to like this more, but it was good.
How to Tell When We Will Die, Johanna Hedva. WOWWWWW go get it and read it. Not just because of art and family and trauma and disability justice but the writing is a pure exposition in poetic narration with both a finesse and a selvedge I haven’t yet read in contemporary memoir.
Daydreamers, Alvin Lu. Alvin’s an incredibly talented friend and I can’t wait to dig into this meta-fiction really soon. Support your talented friends!
Hurricane Envy, Sara Jaffe. This was a point-of-sale book at Brickbat, a store where nothing has disappointed me, and this was really great; bite-sized. Reminded me of Sophie Calle.
Emerging, Maria Popova. Kind of a meh book for me, except for the first chapter. Wow.
Kraken, China Mieville. I mentioned this one in my last post. Loved it. Makes me want to dive back into sci-fi.
Klara and the Sun, Kazuo Ishiguro. Hated it but also: can’t explain why, but also: who cares, but also: is anyone else worried about Kazuo Ishiguro?
Bright Young Women, Jessica Knoll. I kept confusing this with The Girls by Emma Cline. Was that by design?
City of Quartz, Mike Davis. This was like drinking Pepsi after reading the Mexican full cane Coca-Cola full of rum that was Blood Orchid, by Charles Bowden.
Psychopolitics, Byun-chul Han. Popular philosophy feels fad-ish, but I am into it. He compares “liking” posts to marking beads on a rosary and I love a good metaphor.
Who Paid the Piper, Frances Stonor Saunders. Another book I picked up years ago and read voraciously that I keep referring to and needing to re-read. I don’t care if its substantiations are questionable. The history of the CIA in the arts is too fascinating not to get into. Also visit: Soundtrack to a Coup D’Etat.
SUB-PLOT: John Le Carre: I read Night Manager and Tailor of Panama for unserious fun, but really am glad he wrote as much about espionage as he did. His writing is a civic service.
Homie, Danez Smith. Uhhhhhhhghgggghhhh I absolutely adore this collection of poems. Ashamed I got to Homie so late but better late than never.
Hope is hard, and I have it.City of Coughing and Dead Radiators, Martín Espada. I resurrected this oldie for research purposes and remembered why he’s so important. I could hear simultaneously, almost literally, Roberto Bedoya yelling about the fall of democracy to a group of arts administrators which is a very appropriate backdrop.
I am remiss not to cite any comic books but that is pretty much only because the books I am hoping will fuck me up, have yet to be cracked open. That list includes Michael De Forge and Lee Lai among others.
FOOD BOOKS—I’ve never been much for cookbooks but something switched on inside me in the past year and I now own three whopping Nü Cookbooks (i.e. beyond Joy of Cooking and COOKING by Patterson) and a food writing collection.
Taste Makers, Mayukh Sen. I got to interview Sen about his books (the more important title in his repertoire is Love Queenie, a biography of Merle Oberon), and it’s bittersweet how he got into and out of food writing, but this is a beautiful collection of biographies of immigrant women who essentially put the words and morsels in our mouth to be in touch with the diaspora.
Salad for President, Julia Sherman. I was ready to hate this but it’s so good. Starts out extremely strong with an introduction by Robert Irwin (?!?!?!?!?!), which prompted me to re-read Seeing is Forgetting by Lawrence Weschler (about Irwin and the Light and Sound movement).
Naturally Vegan, Julius Fiedler. Amazing book of vegan cuisine that naturally exists in the international lexicon. Mung bean jelly with chili oil! Bread with tomato sauce! Skordalia!
Pakistan: Recipes From Home, Maryam Jillani. Recommended strongly by my friend Zainab, and filled with so much care for a culture that represents so many but is looked at as so much less in this country.
