Books Read in 2023: Four-Star Non-Fiction

Everything seems a little bit terrible, but it is the last full week of January and I'm hoping next week will seem a little bit less terrible. I started doing yoga again and remembered how it makes me feel better being inside my body even if the body is much less than perfect. I did a sloppy snow-melty puddly walk with Lucy today and did not enjoy it overly, but it always feels better to get out and get a little sweaty before I take my shower, so that part was good. Work was good yesterday but I slept badly so I was sleepy and a little nauseated - also might be from my antibiotic pills, which are roughly the size of golf balls so they hurt both going down and staying down. I try not to take my cocaine syrup more than once a day, but I might have to double up to squash the cough now that it's become so comfortable in its new home. 

Eve has turned the corner on the sickness, but is struggling with that weird alienated feeling you get when you've been locked away sick (extra for her because she was trying not to infect her roommates, so was stuck in one room rather than just one house), so I'm trying to talk her through not being tough on herself. She's going to go to rehearsal for a bit tonight to just be there, probably not do any movement or singing, to acclimate herself to being back in the world.

I always mean to read more non-fiction than I do. I almost never reach for it without some kind of prompt - book club or a personal recommendation - but then frequently love it when I force myself. 

Four-Star Non-Fiction

Well-Read Black Girl: Finding Our Stories, Discovering Ourselves edited by Glory Edim. Synopsis from Goodreads: An inspiring collection of essays by black women writers, curated by the founder of the popular book club Well-Read Black Girl, on the importance of recognizing ourselves in literature. Remember that moment when you first encountered a character who seemed to be written just for you? That feeling of belonging can stick with readers the rest of their lives--but it doesn't come around as frequently for all of us. In this timely anthology, "well-read black girl" Glory Edim brings together original essays by some of our best black female writers and creative voices to shine a light on how we search for ourselves in literature, and how important it is that everyone--no matter their gender, race, religion, or abilities--can find themselves there. Whether it's learning about the complexities of femalehood from Their Eyes Were Watching God, seeing a new type of love in The Color Purple, or using mythology to craft an alternative black future, each essay reminds us why we turn to books in times of both struggle and relaxation. As she has done with her incredible book-club-turned-online-community Well-Read Black Girl, in this book, Edim has created a space where black women's writing and knowledge and life experiences are lifted up, to be shared with all readers who value the power of a story to help us understand the world, and ourselves.

-”As a grade-schooler, I sat at my teacher’s feet as she gave us a dramatic reading of Philip Hall Likes Me, I Reckon Maybe. I had no idea that there were black children out in the world deprived of images of themselves. Keep in mind that this was Atlanta, Georgia, in the 1970s and 1980s. This was Chocolate City just after the civil rights movement. We had our black mayor, black school board president, black police chief. As my father would say with satisfaction, ‘We have black everything down here!’ We were segregated, but prosperous. I understood that the United States was majority white in the same way that I understood that the Earth was seventy percent water. I knew it, but standing on dry land, I couldn’t quite believe it." -Tayari Jones, Her Own Best Thing.

Found this while trying to add in more non-white female writers and also fill a book bingo square that was 'A Book About Your Hobby' (note to self: consider diversifying interests somewhat). Really happy this led me to it though, because it was wonderful. A terrific range of experiences in reading and in life. Some authors had an electrifying first experience of recognizing themselves in literature, and some, like Jones, had never felt the lack of it. Some had worldly parents and childhoods rich in artistic experiences, and some came to it later in life. There are multiple points of view about the multiple ways reading and writing help to mediate the experiences of people who are marginalized by virtue of skin colour or gender or both. I could probably have highlighted most of the book, so much of it was striking and true and quotable. I always find it a particular pleasure to read about a great writer's early reading experiences.

How Fascism Works: The Politics of Us and Them by Jason F. Stanley. Synopsis from Goodreads: As the child of refugees of World War II Europe and a renowned philosopher and scholar of propaganda, Jason Stanley has a deep understanding of how democratic societies can be vulnerable to fascism: Nations don't have to be fascist to suffer from fascist politics. In fact, fascism's roots have been present in the United States for more than a century. Alarmed by the pervasive rise of fascist tactics both at home and around the globe, Stanley focuses here on the structures that unite them, laying out and analyzing the ten pillars of fascist politics--the language and beliefs that separate people into an "us" and a "them." He knits together reflections on history, philosophy, sociology, and critical race theory with stories from contemporary Hungary, Poland, India, Myanmar, and the United States, among other nations. He makes clear the immense danger of underestimating the cumulative power of these tactics, which include exploiting a mythic version of a nation's past; propaganda that twists the language of democratic ideals against themselves; anti-intellectualism directed against universities and experts; law and order politics predicated on the assumption that members of minority groups are criminals; and fierce attacks on labor groups and welfare. These mechanisms all build on one another, creating and reinforcing divisions and shaping a society vulnerable to the appeals of authoritarian leadership. By uncovering disturbing patterns that are as prevalent today as ever, Stanley reveals that the stuff of politics—charged by rhetoric and myth—can quickly become policy and reality. Only by recognizing fascists politics, he argues, may we resist its most harmful effects and return to democratic ideals.

I read this after a spirited argument in which someone I knew claimed that fascism was by definition a phenomenon originated and deployed exclusively by the political left, based on a book they had read from the 1940s. Um.... ? Realizing that I wasn't as able as I assumed I would be to articulate a robust defense against this argument, I read this book. Holy crap, it is a lot. Not to say it isn't readable, and I did feel much more able to state my case, but this book probably requires frequent rereading and consolidating. The historical perspective, put together with more recent examples, put together a well-analyzed and supported argument, bleak as it is. 

I'll Show Myself Our: Essays on Midlife and Motherhood by Jessi Klein. Synopsis from Goodreads: In New York Times bestselling author and Emmy Award-winning writer and producer Jessi Klein's second collection, she hilariously explodes the cultural myths and impossible expectations around motherhood and explore the humiliations, poignancies, and possibilities of midlife. In interconnected essays like "Listening to Beyonc� in the Parking Lot of Party City," "Your Husband Will Remarry Five Minutes After You Die," "Eulogy for My Feet," and "An Open Love Letter to Nate Berkus and Jeremiah Brent," Klein explores this stage of life in all its cruel ironies, joyous moments, and bittersweetness. Written with Klein's signature candor and humanity, I'll Show Myself Out is an incisive, moving, and often uproarious collection.

I can see why some of the criticisms of this book were made. I felt them welling up a bit myself as I started reading, particularly since it's been years since I had baby-and-toddler issues to deal with. Then I laughed really hard a couple of times and decided not to be a judgy jerk. Parenting is hard. Even when it's privileged and you have a ton of help, it's hard. Even when it's easy, it's hard. Especially if you've had infertility issues and you're a little older than most when you finally have a baby. So yeah, Jessi Klein had a night nanny and then a day nanny, and paid someone to install her carseat, and some of her problems seem trivial when put against the problems of others. Who cares? Everyone's problems seem trivial when compared to someone's, until we find that mythical person who literally has it the worst of anyone ever. Parenting is hard, and she is funny about it.

Run Towards the Danger: Confrontations With a Body of Memory by Sarah Polley. Synopsis from Goodreads: These are the most dangerous stories of my life. The ones I have avoided, the ones I haven't told, the ones that have kept me awake on countless nights. As these stories found echoes in my adult life, and then went another, better way than they did in childhood, they became lighter and easier to carry. Sarah Polley's work as an actor, screenwriter, and director is celebrated for its honesty, complexity, and deep humanity. She brings all those qualities, along with her exquisite storytelling chops, to these six essays. Each one captures a piece of Polley's life as she remembers it, while at the same time examining the fallibility of memory, the mutability of reality in the mind, and the possibility of experiencing the past anew, as the person she is now but was not then. As Polley writes, the past and present are in a "reciprocal pressure dance." Polley contemplates stories from her own life ranging from stage fright to high-risk childbirth to endangerment and more. After struggling with the aftermath of a concussion, Polley met a specialist who gave her wholly new advice: to recover from a traumatic injury, she had to retrain her mind to strength by charging towards the very activities that triggered her symptoms. With riveting clarity, she shows the power of applying that same advice to other areas of her life in order to find a path forward, a way through. Rather than live in a protective crouch, she had to run towards the danger.

Read for a book bingo square called 'A Cup of Tea'. It's a little reductionist to call this 'dishing the dirt', but a lot of it really did read that way - behind the scenes of filming The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Road to Avonlea and doing Alice Through the Looking Glass at Stratford. As usual, I came away convinced that no children should ever be in show business of any sort - the protections that are supposed to be put in place seem to be almost never enforced, and parents are too easily swayed by the cult of celebrity. This poor woman had a tumultuous and unsafe childhood on a number of fronts.

We read this in book club, and a few of us, although we really enjoyed reading the book, felt that calling these 'essays' was imprecise, since a lot of it was mostly recounting with not a whole lot of analysis. That doesn't mean Polley isn't self-critical or self-aware, and it was definitely eye-opening about a lot of things. The parts where she talks about her Jian Ghomeshi experiences and the guilt she still feels around them are particularly upsetting. Also, she has a daughter with the same name as my daughter - apparently I've told my daughter this more than once, as if it's brand new information every time. So just a fun little connection to me losing even more of what remains of my mind.

Frida Kahlo: An Illustrated Biography by Zena Alkayat, Nina Cosford (illustrator). Synopsis from Goodreads: Step into the world of one of history's most celebrated artists and feminist Frida Kahlo. This beautifully illustrated biography is full of colorful details that illuminate the woman behind the artwork, including excerpts from Kahlo's personal letters and diaries on her childhood dreams of becoming a doctor, the accident that changed the course of her life, and her love affairs with famous artists. Featuring handwritten text alongside lovely illustrations in a charming case with foil stamping and debossed details, Library of Frida Kahlo provides a captivating window into the vibrant life, work, and creative vision of the beloved Mexican artist.

I found this at the giant booksale in the gym of my Thursday school last spring. It is a beautiful, colourful little book and I was elated to find it in a giant pile of otherwise unassuming volumes. I have long found Frida Kahlo to be a fascinating character, and the bright, eclectic illustrations seemed to really fit with her artistic, messy, painful life. 

The Still Point of the Turning World by Emily Rapp. Synopsis from Goodreads: Like all mothers, Emily Rapp had ambitious plans for her first and only child, Ronan.  He would be smart, loyal, physically fearless, and level-headed, but fun.  He would be good at crossword puzzles like his father.  He would be an avid skier like his mother.  Rapp would speak to him in foreign languages and give him the best education. But all of these plans changed when Ronan was diagnosed at nine months old with Tay-Sachs disease, a rare and always-fatal degenerative disorder.  Ronan was not expected to live beyond the age of three; he would be permanently stalled at a developmental level of six months.  Rapp and her husband were forced to re-evaluate everything they thought they knew about parenting.  They would have to learn to live with their child in the moment; to find happiness in the midst of sorrow; to parent without a future. The Still Point of the Turning World is the story of a mother’s journey through grief and beyond it.  Rapp’s response to her son’s diagnosis was a belief that she needed to “make my world big”—to make sense of her family’s situation through art, literature, philosophy, theology and myth.  Drawing on a broad range of thinkers and writers, from C.S. Lewis to Sylvia Plath, Hegel to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Rapp learns what wisdom there is to be gained from parenting a terminally ill child.  In luminous, exquisitely moving prose she re-examines our most fundamental assumptions about what it means to be a good parent, to be a success, and to live a meaningful life.

-”Our home, our life with Ronan, was not the definition of heartbreak. It was, to put it bluntly, the truth about life: that it exists side by side with death. Other cultures and traditions are acutely aware of this intimate pairing.”

-”For Ronan, it could be. That was the secret of unlocking his myth: that was the way to read it, the guide. He lived and always would live in those gaps of knowledge, those careful, fragile holes in the script of story and meaning.”

While looking for more Frida Kahlo books at the public library, I accidentally stumbled on the title Frida Kahlo and My Left Leg, a memoir by Emily Rapp, which will be in my five-star post. This led me to read two other memoirs by Rapp. This one is about her first child, who she lost to Tay-Sachs disease when he was just a toddler. It is, of course, laceratingly sad, and also beautifully written. Rapp draws on her studies of literature, philosophy and theology to try to give some kind of graspable shape to something incomprehensible.

Sanctuary: A Memoir by Emily Rapp Black. Synopsis from Goodreads: "Congratulations on the resurrection of your life," a colleague wrote to Emily Rapp Black when she announced the birth of her second child. The line made Rapp Black pause. Her first child, a boy named Ronan, had died from Tay-Sachs disease before he turned three years old, an experience she wrote about in her second book, The Still Point of the Turning World. Since that time, her life had changed utterly: She left the marriage that fractured under the terrible weight of her son's illness, got remarried to a man who she fell in love with while her son was dying, had a flourishing career, and gave birth to a healthy baby girl. But she rejected the idea that she was leaving her old life behind--that she had, in the manner of the mythical phoenix, risen from the ashes and been reborn into a new story, when she still carried so much of her old story with her. More to the point, she wanted to carry it with her. Everyone she met told her she was resilient, strong, courageous in ways they didn't think they could be. But what did those words mean, really? This book is an attempt to unpack the various notions of resilience that we carry as a culture. Drawing on contemporary psychology, neurology, etymology, literature, art, and self-help, Emily Rapp Black shows how we need a more complex understanding of this concept when applied to stories of loss and healing and overcoming the odds, knowing that we may be asked to rebuild and reimagine our lives at any moment, and often when we least expect it. Interwoven with lyrical, unforgettable personal vignettes from her life as a mother, wife, daughter, friend, and teacher, Rapp Black creates a stunning tapestry that is full of wisdom and insight.

-”The work ahead of me would be to find a way to live in the world – full of cruelty and beauty – that I clearly could not disavow. This, of course, is everybody’s work, to live through suffering, to search out a safe resting place, the heart’s sanctuary, although each of us is given a different task to manage – most often one we didn’t ask for. The world doesn’t care if you choose to stay alive, but it will hold you for as long as you are living. This indifference not only provides solace, I would later understand, but also is cause for celebration.”

This is all on me, but this was one too many books to read by this woman, about the tragic events of her life, in one month. I was familiar with her writing style, which is still intelligent and lyrical, but the transitions started to become more visible. I completely, completely understand the inclination to start thinking of yourself as somehow wiser and above mere mortals who haven't dealt with the same losses, and yet it became ever-so-slightly grating to have her, in one paragraph, talk about how she could still be annoyed by the day-to-day irritations of parenting her daughter even though her last child had died, and then in the next roll her eyes at the shallow foolishness of other parents for doing and worrying about 'normal' things regarding their children. I could tell when she needed to find some life event in order to segue into talking about the next great work of literature. I appreciate reading about events and conditions that make me uncomfortable, and for those of us lucky enough to have escaped this kind of ordeal it is good to have a reminder that not everyone is as lucky. Her insights are sharp and passionate, and she writes beautifully.  I'm not at all sorry I read it, I just should have left more time between books.