November 2020, a good time to read

My mom has always made fun of me — actually she’s always said there is something wrong with me — because I am not an animal person. And it’s kinda true. I am not the person who needs dogs or cats in order to be happy or find companionship and I am not the person who is fine with dog hair all over everything and truthfully, I grew up in a chaotic environment and I think I’ve sought out like, calming spaces as an adult and unfortunately, pets don’t always fit into a non-chaotic life. (Neither do kids! And though I also love kids, I will not be having them.)

But it’s not really about being an animal person or not. One reason I am hesitant to have pets is because suffering their loss is a pain so insurmountable that I’m afraid of it. I grew up with pets and losing each of them shifted and changed me. I stopped believing in god when Spook, our dim but lovable German Shorthaired Pointer, was struck by a car on a busy road mere days after we moved to a new city. August’s death was paired with a lot of heavy family stuff; I lost a father figure and a dog all in the same few weeks. And when my mom had to put Penny down, our loyal family dog, it hit me in a way that felt big and horrible. She showed up for me in one of the loneliest moments of my life — a moment only she and I knew about it. Once she was gone, the lonely memory was transferred back for just me to hold.

We had to put G, my big brother’s dog, down two weeks ago. He was old and getting quite tired, physically and otherwise. His back legs had given out on him slowly over the course of a few years and in the end, Daniel had to hold him up as he ate, always eagerly. His love for a good treat never dissipated, even at the end. G was so special. Everyone says that about their pets, but I think that’s okay. Maybe they are all really special.

My brother and G live upstairs in my same building, so I was lucky enough to get to see G all the time. I’d run into them on walks, or hear a rude scrape at my door and when I peeked out, it was G. I kept treats here for him (Trader Joe’s peanut butter and banana) and he was obsessed with them. And though I know he loved me, I also knew he was here for the treats. He’d inhale one, two, three, sometimes four when I’d sneak it behind Dan’s back. As the years went on, I stopped making him sit or be nice for the treats and simply let him take them from my palm, enjoying him enjoy the tiny snack. I spoiled G too much so whenever I’d run into him, he’d nip at my hand, assuming there was food in it. I sliced my thumb open on a cake pan this summer and when I saw G the next day, he chomped down on my injured thumb, all because he expected I had something for him.

G lived for nearly two years past the time a vet (a not great vet) told my brother he had one year left. He wasn’t about to do anything on anyone’s watch but his own. A few months ago, we rushed him to the vet when he had some weird eye thing, which turned out to be totally normal conjunctivitis and not a sign of something else. He beamed in the car on the way home, happy to be able to see, happy to be with us, happy to have the sun beat down on his silly little head for another day or two.

I had never taken a pet to be put to sleep. I didn’t know how to do it. I sat on my couch after working a half day, trying not to cry just yet, a ball of anxiety and sadness welling up in my throat. I watched the new episodes of Superstore, and cried very much at Amy’s last episode, though I didn’t feel particularly moved by her departure. I love the show but I think sitcoms go on too long and America Ferrara should go on to other things, and yet, I cried thinking of how we all have to say goodbye and it almost never feels fair and it almost always feels too soon.

I accidentally irritated G a few times as I touched his front paws to make sure he was comfortable — something he always hated that I always forgot — no one could touch his front paws. I got to hear one last classic G grumble as the vet situated his back leg in a way he didn’t appreciate. He was always grumbling — an endearing, cantankerous old man.

I held G’s head as my brother held his middle, both of us ensuring we loved him, that it was okay, that he’d be okay. I didn’t even know if I meant it. What is “okay” once you’re gone? In many ways, I envy those that no longer have to exist on this hell planet, but it feels different with dogs. Dogs seem to exist to emit joy and goodness, against all odds. And while G’s purpose was not to bring me joy, specifically, he did it every day anyway. And I will miss him so much.

There was also the election and Thanksgiving stress and I truly detest the month of November and I am happy it is gone, but here are books that made it better! Except the one I didn’t like.

[Books I Read With My Eyes]

Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami
They say not to judge books by their cover or wine bottles by their label but here I am at 33 years old, still doing both. Obviously the title Breasts and Eggs grabbed my attention when I came across it in some book recommendation list. This story is so funny and unique, introspective and original. The child-free protagonist Natsu, her sister Makiko, who is obsessed with the idea of breast enhancement, and her niece Midoriko make up this book, split into two separate stories. Each character is weird and interesting and I really always appreciate a good conversation about what’s expected of women when it comes to things like, well, breasts and their eggs.
[psychological fiction, written by a Japanese cisgender woman, medium read]

A Girl is a Body of Water by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi
It took me some time to break into this one but once I was in, I was in. Makumbi’s prose is gorgeous and she has created a fascinating and bold character in Kirabo. This is a story about feminism, women, witches, rebellion, and Ugandan folklore. A truly good read that has stuck with me throughout the month.
[cultural heritage fiction, written by a Ugandan cisgender woman, longish read]

Sisters by Daisy Johnson
Daisy Johnson is younger than me so a true congratulations to her for writing books like this. I know age really has nothing to do with anything and a bunch of young people have written good books but you know when you find out someone is your age and you’re like ????? Anyway, this book was suspenseful and very fun and dark and good! And short!
[psychological family thriller, fiction, written by a white cisgender woman, short read]

Kim Ji-young, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo
This is really a phenomenal novel, and it’s phenomenal because it is completely ordinary. For Kim Ji-young, ordinary means she has to do everything for and give everything to her brother, because sons are precious and daughters mean nothing. She gets a job in marketing, marries, and has a son — the things we are told to strive for (job, marriage, kids) — and is still riddled with microaggressions and mocked for simply existing as a woman. This book came out in South Korea in 2016 (translated to English in 2019) and really stirred some shit up, inciting a wave of feminism in the country. The story is so well crafted and familiar and even cites real life statistics, and though this is a work of fiction, is it really?
[feminist fiction, satire, written by a South Korean cisgender woman, shorter read]

A Burning: A Novel by Megha Majumdar
This novel has one of those covers that every book seems to have these days, you know the ones. And for some reason, I’m still drawn to them, which annoys me. This was a very interesting story though, and maybe the first fictional novel I’ve read that uses Facebook (and its part in the destruction of society) as a plot line.
[political fiction, written by an Indian cisgender woman, medium length read]

Writers & Lovers: A Novel by Lily King
I just really need to stay away from fiction that focuses on the service industry. I know I have a personal, negative association with people who make working in the service industry their whole personality but I think even without my bias, it’s pretentious and uninteresting. That being said, the writing about grief — the protagonist Casey’s mother has recently passed — is considerate and beautiful. Everything else in this story seems either far fetched or obnoxious, sometimes both.
[fiction, written by a white cisgender woman, medium length read]

The Shark Club by Ann Kidd Taylor
This is the very last physical book that I had to return to the library. It has been on my cute lil’ book cart since March and I almost didn’t think I’d get around to reading it, but then I realized I had a four day weekend and nothing to do. I am so glad I picked it up. What a cute, satisfying novel. And I have had multiple people ask me this so I will say it here too — it really is (also) about sharks!
[romcom style fiction, written by a white cisgender woman, shorter read]

[Audiobooks]

I actually did not listen to any audiobooks this month because I was finishing up the last of Bingemode: Harry Potter. However, I accidentally left off a book in October, so here you go.

Coming to My Senses: The Making of a Counterculture Cook by Alice Waters
Alice Waters is the owner of Chez Panisse, a fancy restaurant that people know if they are into stuff like that. Okay, I know what I just said earlier about the service industry but I don’t mind real life service industry stories and I happen to be quite interested in food so it’s different! A chef’s memoir is interesting to me, a fictionalized story of a struggling server who makes a bunch of bad life choices is not. Anyway, this book was fine. Alice Waters has a nice voice and it was a soothing listen and she seems like a really nice and compassionate person.
[memoir, nonfiction, written by a white cisgender woman, long listen, read by the author]

[What I Recommend]

Honestly, Breasts and Eggs, A Girl is a Body of Water, and A Burning have all come out in the past six months and are still kind of buzz-y and all of them are good, so I’d recommend any of those if you want to be up on what people are reading and talking about.

December is a weird month even when we are not in a pandemic, so I wish you good health and hopefully a bit of warmth and joy.

“We’re all so small, and have such little time, unable to envision the majority of the world.” Breasts and Eggs

“Even the meaning of ‘prison’ is different for rich people.” A Burning

“It’s strange, to not be the youngest kind of adult anymore.” Writers & Lovers

“And you ask yourself, what should I do while I still can? And you answer yourself, Let me see my life first.” A Girl is a Body of Water

“Because only a woman knows how to love a woman properly.” A Girl is a Body of Water