Gently beguiling, Otter Country chronicles nature writer Miriam Darlington’s year obsessively observing the wild otter.
A plan formed in my mind. I would explore the places in this land that hid my grail. I would spend a whole year or longer, if that’s what it took, wading through marshes, hiding between mossy rocks, paddling down rivers and swimming in sea lochs; recording my journey through the seasons as I searched for wild otters.
With sumptuous, lyrical prose, Darlington takes us along her winding journey from Devon, England through the waterways of Wales, Scotland, Cornwall, the Lake District, and beyond in search of otters. Marshes, fens, rivers, woodlands — all are rich fodder for searching, seeking, spying, and contemplating a species Darlington has been fascinated with since childhood. Part Walden, part eco-guide, part meditation, and part literature survey, Otter Country gives an account of otters’ habits and habitats as graceful and sinuous as the animals themselves. She deftly winds nature observation, thoughts on conservation, ruminations on the otter’s place in modern society, and sharp commentary on human encroachment into a journey both poetic and educational. Transportive, definitely worth a read.
I had the privilege of attending a book talk and signing for Maggie Smith’s memoir You Could Make This Place Beautiful at Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena recently, with the discussion led by fellow poet Jennifer Pastiloff. I was struck by an overwhelming sense of female camaraderie in the room that evening that was so beautiful, it made me ache. (In no small part it was also thanks to my dear friend Molly who accompanied me.)
Guided by Pastiloff’s excellent questions, Smith touched on several topics, starting with being “bored with genre.” “I don’t need to classify something to make it,” she stated, setting her memoir free from genre in that quietly confident way of hers. It is a memoir, yes, but also a meditation of sorts. An unspooling. And always, always poetry.
On boundaries: “I built it my way and then I needed to be able to shepherd it into the world my way as well, in a way I could make livable.” Smith was touchingly open about her struggles with being seen as her memoir debuted. It chronicles a difficult period in her life that included — but certainly was not limited to — her divorce, and the reckoning in it’s unfurling and aftermath. For a poet who is used to the distance afforded by being The Narrator, being herself in all her raw glory was a new and painfully exposed way to be seen. Thank you, Maggie, for your courage and your willingness to be vulnerable. We have this beautiful unspooling corkscrew of musings thanks to your willingness to share, be open, and give us your “tell-mine” of a book.
On being ‘good’: “Part of being good is being liked, so what happens when you do something that makes you unlikeable?” Smith and Pastiloff both posed this question, one the question of being “bad” and the other of being “good,” both asking the same thing in the end. Are we bad people when we try to find our way to something different? What does being “good” mean for us? For women it means being likeable. Pleasant. Pliant. What happens when we choose not to be?
On perspective: “How did I let myself become so small? How did I let my writing become so small?” As women, it is almost as though we need permission to make ourselves and our work — our true creative work, not just our jobs — priorities. It is sinuous and slippery, this insidious expectation that we often don’t realize is there until a sudden shift in perspective allows us to see how small in our own lives we have truly become. It is a reckoning, but also, a light if we let it be. “I was looking for permission to do something a different way,” mused Smith. What if the only one we need permission from is ourselves?
Smith’s memoir is as poetic as you’d expect, lyrical and sharply observed by turns, musing and marvelous. Pick up a copy today, pick up a metaphorical lantern, and walk with her a while. You won’t be sorry you did.
It’s that time again! Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and there are countless beautiful ways to tell your loved ones they are special. I’ve rounded up some of my favorite picks from small, indie, B-corp, and sustainable brands below. Enjoy!
Local fave Blockshop just restocked their stunning, oh-so-soft Flock throw, plus debuted two new colorways. Perfect to cuddle up under with a special someone.
These versatile and beautiful matchstick hoops from Baleen make a sweet wink-and-a-nod gift for that hotter-than-hot person you want to spoil this V-day. Plus they are 20% off with code LOVE20 for Valentine’s Day.
For the Goth-but-girly John Derian-esque aesthete in your life, theIn My Dreams necklace is the perfect way to tell them you’re dreaming of them. Plus, it is HUGELY marked down right now!
When you and your partner are weird in all the right ways together, it’s magic. Tell them so with this quirky-sweet card from indie printmaker Pier Six Press.
For something intimate, you can’t go wrong with a massage candlefrom Maude. Hand-poured with cruelty-free ingredients, there are three scents to choose from (I’m eyeing no.3) plus an unscented option if you’re unsure of your lover’s preference. Mood lighting can turn to pampering, and then who knows? *wink wink*
These gorgeous disc chimes are handmade by female-powered Pigeon Toe Ceramics, perfect for the tasteful homebody or décor aficionado in your life. Hang them indoors as a decorative object, or outdoors for a soft, modern windchime. They’ll think of you fondly every time they look up.
Bluebonnet soapfrom A Wild Soap Bar is my favorite shower indulgence right now. Responsibly wildcrafted and organically grown botanicals, certified organic oils, and a company that gives back — yes and please! Plus it smells heavenly and lathers beautifully. Pick up a couple and get down and dirty.. err… squeaky clean with a partner, or stock up to share with your favorite pals who deserve some self-care.
And finally, a gift of poetry to ponder alone or to share with a loved one. Kate Baer’s newest collection is on my short short list to read, and I’m looking forward to her signature blend of pathos, humor, and razor wit with bated breath. Consider it an unorthodox bouquet of flowers for your valentine that will last and last.
To get to Hell,’ he says in a low voice, ‘they take you through America. There is a door behind a door.’
My partner and I read the dreamiest, most evocative experimental novel recently, A Door Behind A Door. Yelena Moskovich has created perhaps the ideal read for this bizarre moment in time: a loose-yet-considered dreamscape that pulls together the 1991 Soviet diaspora, Jewishness and identity, queer desires, a murder mystery, romantic and familial love, and micro- and macro-level power dynamics, with a sprinkling of incarceration politics thrown in for good measure. It is neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring – Moskovitch has delivered us a compact, fragmented fever dream that is just as much a novel as it is extended poem and expansive allegorical metaphor. Gradually you will feel increasingly unmoored from reality while simultaneously honing in on every word and sentence, so deftly does she utilize nuance and precision of language. A Door Behind a Door is utterly unlike anything I have ever read. Haunting, sexy, violent, and thought-provoking, pick up this novel and buckle up for the post (post?) pandemic read you didn’t know you needed.
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Sex. It’s personal in the most intense of ways. It’s beautiful and exhilarating and deeply unique to all of us. And it can be a theoretical minefield for those of us striving to be “good feminists.” With that in mind, I submit to you a pair of articles to ponder.
Sarah Resnick explores the push-pull of control and women’s desires in the context of Miranda Popkey’s début novel, “Topics of Conversation.” She asks us about the liminal space between the simplicity of embracing another’s authority, and assembling one’s own story as a means of control and therefore, power. Modern feminists are supposed to be in control, to know what they want, to not be afraid to ask for it, or to take it for themselves. But what if we want, sometimes, to give up control? What if, sometimes, that prospect is sexier than anything? Is that bad? Are we bad feminists? Resnick visits Amia Srinivasan’s essay, “Does Anyone Have the Right to Sex?” from 2018, asking whether feminism should have anything to say about desire at all, testing the lines between creating more binds for the people it means to liberate, and excusing patterns of desire that replicate broader patterns of oppression and exclusion. If a woman enjoys sexual submission, who are we to say she shouldn’t?
This conversation broadens beyond control and desire and asks the question of where and how our desires — often perceived to be innate and even perhaps immutable — are actually shaped to a certain extent by social conditioning. How much is our gravitation towards a certain “type” simply our own preference, for example, and how much is subconsciously ingrained racism? From perceptions of beauty and attractiveness to reevaluating our values, Schwartz takes us on a thoughtful journey that circles down to the idea that “maybe we shouldn’t worry too much about how to shift what we want but instead… recognize that we may be wrong about what we think we want, and embrace the possibility of wanting something different.” And then we loop back again to control: “Vulnerability entails risk… and sex is never free from the dynamics of power. That is what makes it scary, and also, sometimes, wonderful.”
As scary as it can be to probe and question our own desires and wants, clearly it can also be wonderful. From a place of discomfort or the kind of ambivalence Srinivasan encourages us to dwell in, perhaps we can find a more expansive version of pleasure — and of ourselves. And isn’t that the kind of liberation we want from feminism in the first place?
Read, ponder, and enjoy. I hope you find these selections as thought-provoking as I did.
On a less theoretical note, tomorrow October 2nd is a chance to mobilize and defend reproductive rights and a woman’s right to choose. Visit https://womensmarch.com/mobilize to find events near you.
A very dear friend recommended this book recently, and I am so grateful he did. The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune is the kind of book you pick up and don’t want put down, just from the sheer heartwarming loveliness of it. I read it over a few days while on a short vacation, and the sweetness of both my trip and this story will be staying with me for a long time.
Meet Mr. Linus Baker. He is a case worker for DICOMY, or the Department in Charge of Magical Youth. His job is to visit orphanages for magical children and produce strictly impartial reports on their efficacy. His days are largely the same: dull grey and tedious, and he is remarkable in only his studious self-effacement. That is, until a unique assignment from Extremely Upper Management puts him on a collision course with love, joy, purpose, and his very first glimpse of the ocean. Intrigued? I was, too!
The titular house is actually Marsyas Island Orphanage, a secluded place run by a Mr. Arthur Parnassus. It is full of children who will tug at your heartstrings as much as they make you laugh out loud. Nothing has prepared Mr. Baker for whatever a Chauncey is, much less a six-year-old Antichrist, and their antics drive him to apoplexy. The children are as magically unique as they are uniquely magical, and their caretaker is both mysterious and delightful. I belly laughed, I teared up, and I came back for more even as my nights turned into the wee hours of morning. Beyond the beautifully developed characters is a story about finding oneself, making space for joy, and how even one of us can help bring positive change. Oh, and love. Most of all, this story is about love. It feels like a hug down to the very last page, and I hope you love it as much as I did.
Congratulations to Justina Blakeney on her new book, Jungalow: Decorate Wild! In her most personal book to date, Jungalow is alive with Blakeney’s signature bold colors and patterns, mixed textiles, and plants galore. She centers her adventurous designs squarely amidst her own beautifully mixed heritage and encourages all of us to do the same. I found this to be not only a delightful design perspective, but a timely reminder amidst increasing polarization that we are all enriched by the “magic of mixing.” Cross-cultural food, art, music, design? Yes and please! Her mixes are artful, collected, and so stylish (amazing!) while also being grounded and respectful of deeply rooted traditions. As she shared in a book talk recently, she believes strongly in respecting cultures and supporting artisans. Her seriousness in this regard is matched only by the playful exuberance she brings to decor, and her earnest belief that we can all thrive, grow, and express our creative selves in the home we cultivate for ourselves. Bravo, Justina! I couldn’t agree more.
Jungalow is a feast for the eyes, full of Dabito’s stunning interior photography along with shots from Blakeney’s own travels. The colors are saturated and exuberant — such a delight after a dreary year! Pick up a copy and you won’t be disappointed, I promise.
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Three great new books have graced my shelves over the past couple weeks, and I just have to share!
One of the small perks of this “new normal” is the plethora of book talks available online, and I was delighted to be able to attend a talk with Kate McDermott on her new book, Pie Camp. Besides being a wizard with all things pie, she is a gem of a human being who finds so much fun and enjoyment in what she does, it is hard not to share her enthusiasm. I am always a fan of people who enjoy what they do, and McDermott is no exception. I had no less than three, “wow, that is genius!” moments in the charming hour we spent together, including this: McDermott tossed together an incredible-looking berry crostata in the last 7 minutes, with which she encouraged everyone to just have fun with fillings. Marionberry preserves, fresh raspberries, and (what?!) dried blueberries tucked into the center of each raspberry, JUST FOR FUN? Genius.
If her previous book, Art of the Pie, is the “why” of pie, then Pie Camp is indubitably the the “how.” Over three hundred pages of methods, recipes, tips, and beautiful photography make for as thorough a primer on sweet pies as anyone could ask for. Fruit pies, custards, creams, crisps, crostatas — oh my! Lattices, braids, and crimps, too! I am more of a cake baker, myself, but I hit the checkout button before I even got halfway through her chat. Now I am looking forward to a pie-filled holiday season — and beyond.
Poet Maggie Smith of “Good Bones” fame has delivered us her genre-defying book, Keep Moving, at just the right moment in time. Originally spurred by her divorce, Smith’s “notes on loss, creativity, and change,” are precisely what many of us need to hear as this pandemic continues to turn our lives inside-out and sideways. Many of the entries are tweets to herself, encouraging reminders to “keep moving.” They are interspersed with the occasional meditation on a beautiful moment, a creative reflection or learning opportunity, or perhaps a small rumination on fear or hope. Whatever the you want to classify this book as, Smith’s grace in the face of change shines through in every page. She’s the encouraging voice reminding us, quietly, than even if all we can do is keep moving, it’s more than enough.
Finally, I could not be prouder of Henry James Garrett and his book, This Book Will Make You Kinder. Garrett may be better known to some as the artist behind Drawings of Dogs on Instagram, with his delightful art and his knack of piercing to the heart of so many social issues with a wittily observant caption or pun. (If you spend even just a couple minutes watching his Instagram stories, you can see what a genuinely kind and lovely person he is, and why I am so proud to hold his book in my hands.)
Now, building on his academic studies and keen interest in ethics, kindness, and morality, Garrett has graced us with an “empathy handbook” — a guide to developing our moral kindness and confronting cruelty in our world. His animal cartoons are peppered throughout his well-considered tome, but he goes far beyond his online art presence to bring us a book I think everyone can and will benefit from reading. Part philosophy, part sociological observation and critique, and entirely accessible, it is as timely as Maggie Smith’s book, but in a different way. Smith reminds us how to keep going, and Garrett reminds us that we need to do so together, with kindness and empathy. And I think McDermott has the right idea — let’s do so with a warm slice of pie.
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Yesterday I had the pleasure and privilege of hearing truly luminous readings from an incredible line-up of California poets: Dana Gioia, Garret Hongo, Robin Coste Lewis, Luis J. Rodriguez, David St. John, and Gail Wronsky. Cartography of Poets, a virtual poetry event presented by Visions and Voices at USC, centered around the ways history and place shape the poetic experience. The idea that writers and their work are shaped by their environments is certainly not groundbreaking — what would Henry David Thoreau be without Walden Pond? — but this event got me thinking about things in a more contemporary, more personal way.
Fires are still raging in the West. California is on fire, breaking records and breaking apart lives. Amidst this landscape, this small reflection by Dana Gioia reminded me of the beauty of our summers:
I can imagine someone who found these fields unbearable, who climbed the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust, cracking the brittle weeds underfoot, wishing a few more trees for shade. An Easterner especially, who would scorn the meagerness of summer, the dry twisted shapes of black elm, scrub oak, and chaparral, a landscape August has already drained of green. . . . And yet how gentle it seems to someone raised in a landscape short of rain— the skyline of a hill broken by no more trees than one can count, the grass, the empty sky, the wish for water.
from “CALIFORNIA HILLS IN AUGUST” by DANA GIOIA
We continue to shelter in place, and meanwhile, I am contemplating shelter and place, and the way we inhabit both those spaces. Our shelters — the homes we have been confined to and seek succor in. Our places — the solidarity of New York on 9/11, the orange glow of San Francisco’s skies, the hazy rain of ash in Los Angeles, and the ways we shape and are shaped by them. I think of how we are all nesting, all trying to make our homes work better for us — dining rooms becoming offices, offices becoming playrooms, kitchen tables becoming classrooms — and how beautiful the adaptability of the human spirit really is. The way we keep working, toiling, and finding joy in between.
I put up new lamps this week that I love. Something to bring a small joy in a small way. I think I am puttering, not doing much of import, and yet my friend exclaims over how productive I have been. And I think, well yes, I suppose I have. To shelter and find small joys is no small thing, today, yesterday, or tomorrow. I am here in this place, California sunshine streaming through my windows, and I think, I am lucky. I am of this place, I have shelter, and I am learning to find joy.
Back in February, when I was mulling over my own stress levels and what I wanted my future to look like, Eric Rittenberry’s essay The American Life is Killing You landed in my lap like a call to action.
“The reason you don’t feel alive is because you aren’t alive. You’re merely going through the motions in a fast-paced, consumer-centered culture that has transformed our once beautiful land into an asphalt wasteland strewed with digital billboards, fast food joints, soulless malls, and complete carnage… Your constant craving for objects and status (the American way) has robbed your life of its freedom and creative zest. You live routine and stressed and you’re chained to a sluggish and predictable way of living.”
“Yes!” I thought. This is me. 100 times this. Somehow I had begun throwing money at problems trying to make life more bearable, rather than making any fundamental changes to fix what was making it unbearable. Why hadn’t I seen this before? It seemed so obvious! Was it too obvious?
“You have to unplug from the machine and take back your life and learn to live with less and sit under trees and read the great minds and create art and listen to music and sound your ‘barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.’ Quit doing things you hate to impress the faceless people among us. Decondition yourself from culture, quit suppressing your uniqueness, travel to places that frighten you a bit, learn to embrace silence and solitude a few times a week. And most importantly — you must awaken from your culturally-induced slumber and try to find simple joy among the sacred.”
I was curious this week, though, after 7 months of a pandemic and a racial inequality crisis, how this essay has held up to where we have landed. Looking back at Rittenberry’s advice now, I realize what was irking me under the surface was the inherent privilege of his message. A mandate to learn to live with less and sit under trees is very easy to throw out there, and very, very difficult for the majority of people in this country to even contemplate. I’m not sure the millions of unemployed out there right now are choosing to live with less so much as they are being forced to, and I also don’t think they have much mental bandwidth for the kind of barbaric yawp-ing he suggests. Are a lot of people blindly trying to keep up with the Joneses? Sure! But are a lot more people struggling to keep a roof overhead and meals on the table? Absolutely.
In my case, I left my job this week and have never felt freer. But I realize this is an incredibly privileged position to be in — and it was certainly not without a lot of planning, buckling down, and streamlining our finances down to just what matters. And for me, what matters is my capacity to live in a way that allows me compassion, clarity, and bandwidth to help others. Maybe we can find a way to turn inward and decondition ourselves from endless consumption, so as to free ourselves to be more kind? And maybe instead of admonishing people for their consumerism, we can look at the system that is driving that consumerism, and dismantle it. We are only as strong as our weakest link, and we are all in this together. Self-actualization, to me, is not the end point, but rather a jumping-off point towards giving others the same opportunity. And I really hope we can try.
Stumped on where to start? May I suggest an hour to yourself to decompress, and maybe a donation to the Loveland Foundation? As someone who believes strongly in therapy and mental health, their commitment to opportunity and healing to communities of color, and especially to Black women and girls, is a cause close to my heart.
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