Just read

Yesterday I finished reading Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner, a memoir about her mother dying of cancer and how she cared for her and coped with her death. I'd already read the opening chapter in the New Yorker and found it very moving. Now, after my own mother's death from cancer, I felt compelled to read it. She reflects on her relationship with her Korean mother through food. Her descriptions of hospice care for her mother at home resonated with me, although their experience took much longer than ours. I still can't believe that we lost her in one month.

I picked up (on the street) and read in one sitting The Italian Girl by Iris Murdoch, a lurid melodrama but beautifully written. I decided to take it home because it too was about a family's response to a mother's death, although that event remains a background catalyst. I had read a few of Murdoch's novels many years ago, and remember that I liked them although I can't remember what they were about at all. 

The Five Thousand and One Nights by Penelope Lively

The Five Thousand and One Nights by Penelope Lively is a book of short stories I read today on BART and the 38R Geary bus. Reading on that bus is serious business because the street from Union Square to Van Ness is cratered and the bus shakes as if it's going to fall apart. Lively is really good with a character in a situation and a place: a control freak woman and her husband stop to pick up a hitchhiker in the rain and it all goes horribly wrong; the mom from hell writes a Christmas letter and reveals all the awful ways she torments and humiliates her entire family; old loves get reacquainted at a wedding; a slimy creep hits on his ex-wife and she puts him in his place; a woman works the night shift and takes care of her family during the day, and a last minute school project blows her careful juggling act all to hell; after five thousand nights, Scheherazade and the Sultan have a fiction telling contest where she's telling plots of British women's writers and he's narrating action adventure stories and each of them is bored by the other. She's very efficient and often quite funny. I think I'd like to read her memoirs.

What We Wore: An Offbeat Social History of Women's Clothing, 1950-1980

 Ellen Melinkoff is the author of What We Wore: An Offbeat Social History of Women's Clothing, 1950-1980, published in 1984.  This was the perfect book for reading on BART, going to and from my mother's place in SF. She recounts in detail the way women in the U.S. dressed in those three decades: what we wore, how the fashion industry both dictated trends and responded to women's consumption patterns. She notes the styles, the fabrics, the undergarments and accessories worn by different groups of women, talks about the style icons that set the trends (like Jackie Kennedy or Audrey Hepburn), and the important role of peer influence, and changing relations to gender roles. The book covers the fifties, sixties and seventies but doesn't get to the trends of the eighties except to note the wider range of choices. I was too young for the fifties but we still have a few photos of my mother wearing the knock-off Chanel suit she sewed for herself, with white gloves and a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat. She sewed a lot of our clothes when we were young, but as soon as our family could afford it she started buying our wardrobes in stores.  I was in Junior High in the early seventies when we were not allowed to wear pants to school until I was in ninth grade. I don't remember having to kneel on the floor so the length of my skirt could be checked, but I heard stories about it. When we were finally allowed to wear pants to school, we would only do it if our friends were doing it too. I remember a favorite skirt that was blue and green houndstooth, which I wore with a grey sweatshirt. I also remember a brown pleather jumper that was a favorite, and a suede poncho with a zipper and embroidered flowers that was a very special item. In high school, in the mid-seventies, we could wear pants but only hippies wore jeans and were regarded with scorn by the majority; we wore color coordinated outfits, mini-skirts with matching underwear, pastel sweaters. There were micro-trends: a particular long hooded cardigan sweater in three different colors was the dominant fashion item one season. I remember wearing raspberry-colored  hotpants that were in a mini overall style. I think I had suede boots with fringe that I wore with them. We also wore ridiculous wooden platform shoes. I had a pair that were denim with rhinestones on them. When I went off to college I found that my hip urban high school wardrobe (elephant pants and big platform shoes) did not fit in either with the sorority preppie styles or the more relaxed, denim-oriented campus style. I now wore cords, painters' pants, an Indian-print wrap-around skirt. We shopped in thrift stores. I started grad school in 1980 and observed the fashion trends from the sidelines because I didn't have the money for new clothes but also didn't really need a wardrobe for work that was any different from student fashions because I was a teaching assistant and rode my bike or walked everywhere; comfort was all. I never wore make-up. I remember realizing that I was unfit for a corporate job because I would not be able to tolerate wearing pantyhose. When it was finally time to apply for a tenure-track position in the late eighties, I wore a plaid blazer over a black pencil skirt that were probably hand-me-downs from my mother. I remember struggling with how I was supposed to dress once I got the professor job. I made a vow that I would not wear anything with a stain or that was ripped. Whatever I wore was too California for my new Minnesota gig, and I had to invest in  winter coats, boots and all the necessary gloves and mittens for my new climate. The last chapter of the book is an overview of the college issues of various fashion magazines, which we studied like a textbook.

I was reminded of the Mad Style archive of essays by Tom and Lorenzo on the costume design for Mad Men. I found this great YouTube channel of an LA vintage store entrepreneur, Doris Raymond called The Way We Wore, and I plan to explore it at my leisure.

Here's a YouTube essay on color in the fifties from The Ultimate Fashion History channel, another find, in which we learn about "saturated pastels" and other color palettes of the mid-century:

Mo' Meta Blues

 I'm reading Questlove's memoir Mo' Meta Blues right now. He's a great storyteller. I look forward to listening to the music he talks about. Here he is, nerding out about Marvin Gaye's song "What's Goin' On":

Decoding 'Despacito': An Oral History of Latin Music

 Leila Cobo, a music industry insider, has put together a fascinating overview of songs that represent important moments in Latin music (which the industry defines as music primarily in Spanish) from the past few decades. I found out about the book through The Current's Rock and Roll Book Club. The prologue mentions a Pérez Prado mambo as one such moment, but the book itself begins with José Feliciano's 'Feliz Navidad' as an example of a crossover hit that had lyrics in both English and Spanish. The format of the book is drawn from her interviews with the musical artists, producers, label executives, video directors, and others involved in the process of turning a song into a crossover hit. The songs include hits by José Feliciano • Los Tigres Del Norte • Julio Iglesias • Gloria Estefan and Miami Sound Machine • Willie Colón • Juan Luis Guerra • Selena • Los Del Río • Carlos Vives • Elvis Crespo • Ricky Martin • Santana • Shakira • Daddy Yankee • Marc Anthony • Enrique Iglesias with Descemer Bueno and Gente De Zona • Luis Fonsi with Daddy Yankee • J Balvin with Willy William • Rosalía 

While I'm not a fan of the Julio Iglesias song and I left Feliz Navidad out of the Spotify playlist I made from the book, I really enjoyed the trip down memory lane with some of these songs. 

Los Tigres del Norte, 'Contrabando y traición' --the bass is badass:

If this was their breakout hit, it's worth listening to "Somos Mas Americanos" for the full effect.

J Balvin and Willy William, "Mi gente":

 

Rosalía, 'Malamente' (tra tra):

Ruth Reichl, Garlic and Sapphires

I reread Ruth Reichl's memoir Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise. I had read it years ago and liked it, and when I found it in a Little Free Library box, I brought it back home again. It recounts her experience as the New York Times' restaurant reviewer. She had been at the LA Times and was reluctant to move back to New York (where she grew up) at first, but took on the challenge. When she realized that restaurants all over New York had her picture and were on the lookout for her visits, she started wearing wigs and creating characters so she could have anonymous dining experiences; early on she got to see what it was like to be poorly treated when staff perceived her to be an older woman on her own.

 

The book includes some reviews and recipes at the end of each chapter. Before this book she had already published Tender at the Bone, about her childhood and experiences with food growing up, and Comfort Me With Apples, about her early years as food writer and critic. She's an excellent writer, able to entertain and communicate so effectively about the experiences of cooking and eating. I will have to read her story of her ten years as editor Gourmet before the magazine was so stupidly closed down by Condé Nast. Here's a really great interview:

Little Free Library north loop

Today I took the north loop for my walk. There are five Little Free Library boxes on this routes. At the first one, I found a book that is on the reading list of the Berkeley Public Library's book club, The Library Book by Susan Orlean.

At the third box I found  Judith Butler's Senses of the Subject, a collection of essays on our "embodied existence."

I decided not to take any of the books I found in the other boxes on my route. As it is, I only dropped off one and picked up two, so the pile is increasing.

 

Little Free Library book crawl

 I have been trying to take a walk every day during the past year. I had originally started  because I was so out of shape from being ill for so long. As I got stronger, I continued because I wanted to be in better shape for the times I traveled: I had been brutally surprised the first time I went to Japan with Rosemary when I got wiped out and had circulation problems due to walking on pavement for so many hours. The second time we traveled there, I wore compression socks and was in better shape but still had to rest frequently. My trips to LA and Seattle were done when I was able to walk several miles without being completely worn out, so I when I had to cancel all my travel plans in 2020, I decided that I would treat my walks like running laps on a track. Just do it every day and stop worrying about whether or not I had a destination now that all the destinations were closed or off limits. 

I have ended up with three primary walks, each oriented around the Little Free Library book boxes that my neighbors have made. The first is just a straight shot down Channing toward San Pablo and back, which is about 2.5 mile. The end point is a Little Free Library box. It doesn't often have new stock but I've found some good books there so I always check. If I go up a block for the return loop, there are three more boxes: two on Spaulding and one by the school near Milvia. Not a lot of turnover there either but still some good finds.

The second walk is a north loop up to Virginia and back down Milvia. There are four Little Free Library boxes on this loop, which is just a little shorter than the first walk. These tend to have more literary offerings, and often there are uncorrected proof books, so someone must either be a bookseller or know somebody who is. The third walk is the one I take when I'm feeling tired or crabby or the weather is not great, aka my short walk. It's the southern loop, down Milvia to a Little Free Library box that is just a few blocks from the Berkeley Bowl. This is the original destination box that I found when I went grocery shopping years ago. 

There are a couple of other book boxes that I haven't visited for a while now because I'm no longer walking in that direction for a weekly appointment, but I have too many books so I don't need to add more to the huge pile of books I've found over the last several months. I return each book as I read it, but I have not respected the one-in/one-out rule and have accumulated quite a few. My last three acquisitions are: Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones, a book I used to own but never read; John Baxter's The Perfect Meal, by an author I'd read when I was anticipating my trip to Paris; and Leif Enger's Virgil Wander, set in Minnesota so I must read it.

A Reckoning

 I just finished A Reckoning by May Sarton, the first book of hers I've read. It's about a woman who finds out she is dying of lung cancer and who resolves to meet death her way, on her own terms. As she grows weaker and more ill and as her friends and family find out, she contends with their presence as she sorts through her memories and reckons with what each relationship means to her now: her mother, her three children, the doctor, her dearest friend. The account of her decline is persuasive, although at the end I would imagine she would have been in more pain than the novel contemplates. Having witnessed a death from lung cancer of someone who ended up in the hospital, probably against his will and because his wife wanted him to fight, I know it is a painful, undignified end. At least in this novel, we see someone who is able to die at home surrounded by her loved ones. 

Reading: Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay

 Now on deck is volume three of Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan series, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay. In this book Elena has finished her university studies and published a book. She has a fiance from a good family, and has managed to make her way out of her neighborhood. Lila is doing gruelling work in a sausage factory, living with her defender Enzo and her small son Rinu. The events of the students movements and poltical turmoil of 1968 are at the forefront of Elena's mind even as she deals with the transformations that marriage and motherhood bring to her.

Before I start readin, I'm listening to a podcast with her translator, Ann Goldstein. She started learning Italian while working at the New Yorker, so she could read Dante in Italian. Her private tutor was paid for by the magazine! Wow. She already knew French, Latin, and Greek. She has also written a book in Italian, about Primo Levi, whose works she has edited in English. She uses online dictionaries after her rapid first draft. The novels are not written in dialect; Ferrante tells you when a character is speaking in dialect, but then writes in Italian. She has also translated the screenplays for the RAI-HBO series. Those are written in dialect, and the actors are Neapolitan so they don't have to imitate the language. In Italy, they put subtitles on the dialect. 

Her translation relationship with Ferrante is through the publisher, and is fairly hands-off. I realized this when Rosemary's book was being translated; there isn't necessarily any collaboration, even when the writer speaks both languages. She did read the translation, and likes it, but there's not necessarily any feedback process.

Goldstein doesn't know who Ferrante is and is happy to turn away any inquiries. Ferrante's desire for anonymity predates her success and fame, and now is a statement about the market. Goldstein started as a proofreader at Esquire in the seventies, a job she got from an ad in the New York Times (those were the days!). Back then, there was more time to work on stories at the New Yorker. Writers chose to write on what they were interested in and Mr. Shawn approved or disapproved. A lot of freedom! Her work at the New Yorker today is as steward of copy. An editor, a fact-checker, legal, the editor-in-chief all read a story. Then it is put into type and reviewed by a copy-editor, to do line-editing. There's another pass by the editor to deal with queries, then it's reread by the copy-editor and a second reader as well.  This process has become more compressed, with computers to aid revising. And pieces that are being published directly online are not subject to the same process, although there is copy-editing and fact-checking.

Goldstein says that she wants the final copy to read as if it were written in English.

Reading: The Story of a New Name

I just finished The Story of a New Name by Elena Ferrante, book two in the Neapolitan Novels series. I'm about to start watching the next season of the series on HBO. My mother says she wanted to shake all of them. I get it, but it's gripping even if you could sum it up as men are shit and bitches be crazy. Each book ends on a cliffhanger.

Reading: Elena Ferrante, My Brilliant Friend

Elena Ferrante's first novel in her Neapolitan cycle, My Brilliant Friend, fell into my hands last week. I'm almost done with it. I quite like it, but my mother really disliked it, something about not liking any of the characters. She was unhappy that all her book clubs wanted to read Ferrante novels. I wonder if it hits too close to home.

 It has been made into a mini-series on HBO, which is adapting all of the novels in the series. Apparently Ferrante collaborated on the show, and it stays faithful to the book. I'll need to get the next book in the series before I watch the second season.

Reading: Zadie Smith essays

Reading in progress: Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays by Zadie Smith. Seventeen essays are grouped in five sections: Reading, Being, Seeing (on film), Feeling, Remembering. I started reading the book straight through, but ended up jumping to the middle to read her essay on her writing process.

"That Crafty Feeling" is a lecture she gave when asked to speak "on some aspect of your craft" and it's funny as hell.  When I was working on my one and only book (not a novel), I was definitely in her "Micro Manager" category: endlessly rewriting the first chapter, finishing the last half of the book in a few months.

Reading all the books: a project

I have so many unread books, I have run out of room for them. This was never a problem in my place in Minnesota where I had space for lots of bookshelves at home, and an entire office with floor-to-ceiling shelves for all my books for work. When I moved I got rid of almost all of them. It was a huge project; I sold as many as I could, donated more to graduate students, put a lot in the Little Free Library boxes near my house, and carted off the rest to Good Will. I only saved 9 boxes that I shipped to California when I moved.

Now I live in a small apartment with small bookshelves, and all of them are full. I've been using the library a lot, and I'm ruthless in giving away books as I read them; very few make the cut for permanent lodging.  Right now, in addition to the unread books on my shelves, there are at least 50 or more books stacked on my living room table.  I've decided to adopt a strict one-in, one-out policy I can't bring home any new books until I've read something from the book pile and returned it to one of the Little Free Library boxes that are the destinations of my daily walks. 

One in: just yesterday, I brought home is Our America: A Hispanic History of the United States (2014) by Felipe Fernández Armesto.
He's an engaging writer who is able to bring precise scholarship to big picture essays. I used some of his work in my classes, and I am sure I'll enjoy this book.

 One out: my most recent read, which I thoroughly enjoyed, is a memoir with recipes called Cakewalk by Kate Moses.

Before I return it to circulation, I want to choose one of her recipes to try. I don't have a mixer so my baking style is a little limited, but I'm sure I can make some of her brownies!

Next up: Zadie Smith, Changing My Mind: Occasional Essays.