August 2022, it requires patience, resignation, event

My friend texted me the other day something along the lines of hey how are you, is it just me or did this summer not feel like summer?

I was always a school-loving kid. Summer was magical but I was always eager to get back to it. Even though growing up I liked playing outside with my brothers and cousins and and I really liked celebrating my birthday, especially when it fit my family’s formula of the same group of people, the same dependable dinner, the individually decorated and fun cake my mom would make. Even with all of that, I preferred the start of the school year. I liked classroom agendas and having something to focus on other than pure summer joy.

The pandemic has greatly shifted my seasonal loyalty, as has adulthood in general. While it’s hard to admit I prefer summer to winter, my previously self-proclaimed favorite time of year, it’s true. Adding seasonal affective disorder to regular depression at a time where being indoors with other people requires a lot of prior thought has made me greatly dislike winter. Seattle usually sees a not-small amount of snow each winter now (and sometimes spring and fall) which only contributes to my animosity toward those cold, dark weird months. At its first fall, snow will always feel magical and I will always appreciate a collective reason to cancel plans and obligations but snow is scary to drive in and makes life inconvenient and I spend my time thinking about my brothers or friends getting into snowy accidents.

Okay but not liking winter is not a hot-take. Not liking fall, though? One of my greatest identity shifts has been becoming someone who doesn’t look forward to or even much enjoy the fall. The memes about Halloween and pumpkin spice and Practical Magic stress me out. Me, a person who used to wake up early the first day Starbucks had pumpkin spice out regardless of the temperature outside, now wants people to calm down and think about what they’re saying when the rush the end of summer. When I see a dancing skeleton or the Gilmore Girls, instead of embracing it, I think, oh cool fall is coming, which means Thanksgiving is coming which means Christmas is coming which means an abundance of uncertainty and feelings and plans and debt and inexplicable loneliness and grief.

But it’s upon us, and though I don’t entirely recognize her, I’m here to remind you there are weeks of summer left before holiday stress kicks in. Let us enjoy them. Let us pick up a book and read, a hobby that’s good-to-go in every season.

[Books I Read]

The Book of Form and Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki (2021) | Quick summary: A family suffering from the loss of one of their own results in a boy who can hear objects and his mother becoming even more unhinged as she hoards newspapers for her job.
This was fascinating and weird and original as fuck. Even though it’s not my favorite Ozeki, it had a deep effect on me. My baby brother’s father died when he was only 11-years-old. His death was tragic and shifted my entire family, individually and collectively. As much as The Book of Form and Emptiness was set in realistic-fantasy and as much as that can be a bit too disconnected for me, this worked. It worked because I can see someone I love more than anyone else in the protagonist. And isn’t that why we are all here?
[literary fiction, magical realism, written by a novelist, filmmaker and Zen Buddhist priest, medium-length mindfuck of a read]

Your Silence Will Not Protect You: Essays by Audre Lorde (2017) | Quick summary: A collection of Lorde’s works focused on creating actions from language, why silence is a form of violence, and so much important Black history.
Lorde is hands-down one of my favorite writers of all-time. That’s also not a hot-take or even an original thought but the number of times I’ve picked up a Lorde book, collection, or essay at a time that the universe was screaming at me to do so is uncanny. Though this particular essay collection is more of a pick-up-and-read-an-essay book than a cover-to-cover book, it’s deeply timeless. My entire summer was defined by some serious white bullshit and picking up this collection that’s been on my shelf for a long time was meant to be. I both want white people to read this and want to hold it close to my chest to protect it from them.
[nonfiction, essays, cultural critique, written by a self-described "Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, and poet,” longer read because you gotta let it simmer]

Acne by Laura Chinn (2022) | Quick summary: A very funny coming-of-age memoir about family, friends, partying, and acne.
I very much enjoyed this and laughed out loud a lot. There were so many things I absolutely do not have in common with Chinn, but there were weirdly so many things I do. I never did and still really haven’t done drugs, which we kinda share, but she was a party girl who drank underage and was always around drugs, which I never was because my friends also didn’t do drugs. Chinn grew up primarily in Florida and details how, until she moved to Los Angeles, she “had sort of just existed as a half-Black, half-white girl who wore nonspecific clothes and had very curly hair,” explaining that in LA she “had to pick a category and a subcategory.” That spoke to me deeply, as a mixed girl who both did not give a shit about white culture and also always felt like I had (and have) to box myself in. But maybe most importantly, I never really had to deal with acne other than one rough and stressful time my senior year of college. The memoir is called Acne and even though Chinn had an interesting enough upbringing that the book stayed interesting to me, I did clock that Acne is a misleading title. Also there’s a line in an essay about her best friend where Chinn writes, “Anything I had, she could have. If I had twenty dollars, that meant we each had ten.” It sums up my best friendship and the way I approach friendship so well that it made tears spring to my eyes.
[nonfiction, memoir, coming-of-age, written by a biracial, Black and white comedy writer and producer, medium-length, breezy read]

[Books I Heard]

The Sex Lives of African Women by Nana Darkoa Sekyiamah; narrated by Iesha Nyree, Adenrele Ojo, Deanna Anthony, Stephanie Weeks, Joy Hooper, Lisa Reneé Pitts, Karen Murray, Joniece Abbott-Pratt, Janina Edwards, M. J. Brown, Karla Mosley (2021) | Quick summary: Dozens of stories about sexual experiences, culture, love, and romance, all from African people.
Fun listen, though I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the audiobook version. Generally speaking, I find white experiences uninteresting because they are usually co-opted experiences from people of color. The Sex Lives of African Women was interesting, because sex always is, and validating in the tension I feel around a lot of white people I know starting to explore non-monogamy and polyamory. As far as audiobooks go, I prefer one narrator and I prefer it to be the author. While these were all talented narrators, it took away from individual stories for me as I adapted to the next narrator each time.
[feminist theory, written by a Ghanaian feminist writer and blogger, medium-length listen]

On Animals by Susan Orlean (2021) | Quick summary: Many fun animal facts presented in the form of musings, profiles, and historical background and context.
Whenever I log into my library app, On Animals is waiting for me to check out and it’s always available so I finally grabbed it on a semi-whim. It is read by the author but I think, like The Sex Lives of African Women, it’s probably a little better read rather than listened to. Regardless, I enjoyed it thoroughly and most enjoyed the chapter about animals working in film. Fish can only film three scenes a day! Precisely the kind of weird thing I’m trying to read about.
[nonfiction, literary essays, animal-focused, written by a white author and self-described “staff writer for The New Yorker, dog owner, gardener, parent, frequent lecturer/speaker, occasional teacher, very occasional guest editor, once-in-a-blue-moon movie inspiration, and doodler,” medium-length listen]

[What I Recommend]

• Everything I read this month is so specific. I think my only blanket recommendation is to read some Audre Lorde, if not the specific collection I did.
• And like always, question the authorities and donate to your local abortion fund.

“There was nothing she needed, nothing she wanted, but instead of feeling liberated, she just felt discouraged and cheated somehow. She’d worked so hard, surely she deserved something?” The Book of Form and Emptiness

“I am not free as long as one person of color remains chained. Nor is any one of you.” Your Silence Will Not Protect You

“Every day felt like a chaotic scientific experiment was taking place.” Acne

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