I have worked so hard this year in every area of my life. Work (the kind I’m paid for) has been busy and, at times, unrelenting. It has also resulted in a significant chunk of work. I can only see this by looking back. Usually, I’m just toiling away on something like an essay or my book manuscript, and all I can see is the thing right in front of me, that is at that moment incomplete. I quickly forget about the already published book chapters and essays, the conference papers, the talks given, the editing of special issues of journals, and so on. What I haven’t done or have yet to finish is much more powerful. It glares at me, takes over my entire visual field, occupies too much space in my brain, and threatens to strip away all the pleasure that is there in the work that is not yet done, that is still unfolding. Today I sat in a cafe for one hour, between two appointments, and decided to work on a book chapter revision at an hour in the day when I am usually not writing, having spent all that energy up in the morning. Somehow I was able to let go of my usual impatience and spend that entire hour figuring out the sequencing of a few sentences. It was important work because it helped me figure out what I am trying to say. The very incompleteness of it is what gave me such a satisfying feeling of having rolled up my sleeves and dug in. Why would I want to hurry past that so that I can be done? How has it taken me so long to understand, truly understand, what pleasures are there in the work that is still being done? Doing the thing is the thing.
Looking back and noting what has been good, or even just that I’ve worked very hard, is a way of seeing and finding the good. One thing I’ve learned this year in the process of working on myself is that I tend to see the negative, and to give it more power. It’s part of scanning for potential threats, being ahead of things, being overly alert. It’s a response to negative experiences early in life, be they personal, world-historical or tangled somewhere in the weeds of that vast gulf between. It’s exhausting.
So this look back is a gift to myself. What were my hours, my days, my weeks? What captured my attention? What did I squirrel away in an anxious rush? What is here, right now, in the life I have?
My children, my spouse. I’ve worked very, very hard this year to be present with them in a way that challenges the urgency, the constant elsewhere of fear and anxiety. I’ve tried to remember that yesterday’s gone and tomorrow is just a thought (to loosely paraphrase a meditation from Oren Jay Sofer). People often forget that loving is also about being able to receive love, and you need to be present in your body to do that. Anyway, I’m proud of what I’m doing here, in this part of my life, though it’s perhaps the most unfinished, ongoing, never to be completed work.
A beautiful thing that happened to me this summer was that in the middle of working steadily on revising a chunk of my current book project, I had a flash of insight about how to bring together some inchoate ideas I’ve had towards a new book project. I paused to record the idea and as more potential facets of it emerged over the next few days, I created a place to collect these ideas (a document for prose, a note in Evernote for filing links & research). It is all very thrilling and though it’s far off in the future, I plan to share more of it earlier, to discuss the process, and to use this space to talk to others about the work. I can’t wait!
I wrote a lot, watched less film & television than I usually do, taught a lot (mostly courses on “world cinema” and Iranian cinema), did a lot of childcare, paid a lot of money for summer day camps, swam in lakes, baked cakes, cooked so many dinners, made a meal plan for every single week, spread peanut butter on waffles on countless weekday mornings, felt guilty about being so far from Iran, became devoted to early morning sunlight, traveled with a friend to Spain, took my children to the happiest place on earth™, walked to the beach with my dog as much as possible, listened to a lot of Tara Brach, went to the mountains with a group of girlfriends, felt irrational hostility toward one of the two CSAs I supported, hit a 430 day yoga streak, broke the streak, forgave myself, read to my children for hours and hours, found a new cooking community, bought cowboy boots, nurtured myself.
Here a few things I think you should not miss
Human Blues by Elisa Albert - I am a huge fan of Albert’s previous novels, as well as her essays, but with this book she seems to be in full possession of her power. It’s about a musician, Aviva Rosner, who is trying, and failing, to get pregnant. But it is about a lot of other things too—it’s about love, self-knowledge, desire (so much wanting!), ambition, women, the fertility industrial complex, Judaism, Amy Winehouse, being on tour, and so, so much more. The structure of the novel is nine menstrual cycles, a brilliant and original way to tell a story. I read it twice within the same month and feel enriched not only by the ideas and problems worked out in the book, but also just by being in the presence of such a text. It’s a major work. I’m in the midst of an ongoing interview with Albert that I will share here when I can.
Girls they Write Songs About by Carlene Bauer - This is a book about female friendship, set partially in the world of music journalism in NYC in the 90s. For me and a few of my closest girlfriends, this is all the information needed to read this book. But to me what was really special about this one was how it traced the way in which we can really be idiots about ourselves and who we are, and what we need. What we miss out on when we fail in these ways, and how the failing can’t really be avoided anyway. This book is not pitched at the same register as Human Blues, but it tackles equally large questions in a quieter way. Desire is also a significant part of this one, and Bauer articulates it so well. In the NYT, Molly Young described it as “reckless,” which perfectly describes it. I loved this book and am very surprised it didn’t get more attention upon its release.
We All Want Impossible Things by Catherine Newman - I put this on hold at the library because I saw it mentioned in a few newsletters and by people whose tastes I trust, but I have to admit that I wasn’t exactly racing to open it and read it. Another book about female friendship, this one takes place largely in a hospice, where one forty something woman is dying from ovarian cancer. The narrator is her best friend, Ash, who is very funny, vulnerable, scared, and about the best caregiver one could have. I’m not sure why I was slow to open this book, but I am glad I did because it is dazzling. I have no idea how Newman packs so much life—the history of a friendship, a marriage, a family—and so much humour, sex, and food, into a book about someone slowly and uneventfully approaching her final hours. I wanted to crawl into the warmth and love that Ash spread all around. I want to read another novel exactly like this one, right away. That’s such an absurd thought but it is how I feel.
Can we read? by Sarah Miller. This newsletter with recommendations for children’s books is simply wonderful. I have found so many lovely titles through Sarah’s posts, and it’s made me more intentional about what was already a very rich and robust reading life with kids. I think I would read her on just about any topic, but the one she’s chosen for her newsletter is highly relevant to my life. Strongly recommend.
The poet Solmaz Sharif’s Look astonished me when I read it. Honestly, it was almost too much for me, her crackling treatment of exile, language, the Iran-Iraq war, family. I’ve just started her newest volume, Customs, and it’s somehow even more astonishing and devastating.
I loved the cooking I did out of Falastin, I Dream of Dinner (so you don’t have to), Lemon, Love, Olive Oil, and Snacking Cakes.
Thanks for reading this far. See you in January for a year ahead post.
xoxo
I am almost done with Carlene Bauer's book -- the friends just had a rupture in a bar and this could be it for them, though perhaps there's one more showdown in store. We'll see. Decided to reread your review because I have many thoughts. Here they are, at 75% done with the novel: I absolutely loved the beginning, the early years, the buoyancy of their friendship. And the writing! Such great writing. Then it curdled for me when the women got into their 30s. Yeah, it curdled for them too so that's sort of the point, but I soured on the narrator in a big way and also on Rose (though less so.) Part of this is good to read -- bracing -- because the consequences of their mistakes are big and real and enduring and the unpleasant people they become largely stems from their choices. Bauer doesn't sweeten it. But I've started reading "against" the narrator. There's so much bitter generalization about wives, women, moms, yoga teachers and I know part of that is the narrator's sorrow and jadedness -- and while she knows this too, it's tough when you turn on a narrator you initially liked. I've stopped extending her the benefit of the doubt. I'm resisting the generalized portrait of a mass of shallow wine moms with thin-lipped smiles. I'm resisting her resentful depiction of non-artist Brooklyn couples (admittedly, probably because I'm half of one.) I think, no, all these people around you can't really be stick figure jackasses. It's you, Charlotte. I'm fascinated to see how -- or if -- Bauer manages to resolve this. A super stimulating, thought-provoking read and I haven't been bored for a minute.
I got Girls They Write Songs About for Patrick for Christmas. I keep hearing how good it is, and he loves stories about female friendship (!?), youth, music, etc. And I know he got me the Catherine Newman--the bookstore was sold out when I tried to get it a few weeks ago, so I'm excited to finally get my paws on it. Happy new year, friend!