2025 Beach Week Reads

2025 Beach Week Reads

October 6, 2025

I was striving for the record this year, but I ended up leaving beach week 1 day early and that's the excuse I'll use for "only" reading 5 books this year (the same as last year).

Harriet the Spy for the 21st century

Vera, or Faith by Gary Shteyngart

I was a voracious reader as a child (unsurprising) and a great deal of the books I spent hours and hours of my young life devouring featured precocious children trying to navigate a world that didn't wholly understand them. Delightfully ignoring what that might imply about me, I experienced a renewed flush of affinity for the constant companions of my youth through Vera.

Like my pals Harriet, Pippi, Constance, Winnie, and Junie B., Vera is a bright, well-meaning, aloof little girl who finds herself much more at home in the complex recesses of her mind than with her peers. New York City is Vera's playground as she tries desperately to keep her impetuous father and exhausted stepmother from divorcing, to befriend at least one of her classmates before the end of the year, and to confront the blossoming existential crisis born of her own biological mother's highly felt absence. 

This book is charming in nearly every sense of the word. Before reading Vera, I was unfamiliar with Gary Shteyngart's work (though he did write one of my favorite travel writing pieces in recent memory). Turns out, he's a prolific satirist. That explains the subtlety of the world-building he does here. Most of the NYC that Vera explores is familiar to us, but there are elements sprinkled throughout the story that get incrementally larger as the novel goes on that blur that perception for us; things like fully autonomous cars, a talking AI chessboard companion, border checkpoints between U.S. states, federal menstrual cycle reporting, and the ongoing commentary of a proposed "5/3rds law" are background elements in Vera's world and thus do not warrant extraordinary attention or explanation, but have an impact nonetheless. 

The Tiffany problem, queer edition

The King of a Rainy Country by Brigid Brophy

When I came out to my mother, she said 2 things in immediate response. She affirmed her love for me, and parroted back what she thought I had said, her longtime strategy for demonstrating her listening comprehension. "So, you want to have sex with women." I'm confident that's what she heard, but that's not what I said. 

I've spent the many years since that first conversation endeavoring to find the words to understand & explain (to myself, to my mother, to anyone who will listen, really...) my relationship to my queerness. Queerness (at least to me) is not simply about reversing the heterosexual enforcement of gendered criteria for the person sharing my bed. My queerness is about liberating myself from the expectations and enforcements of harsh binaries, like gender, an act that carries into every aspect of my lived experience.

This book is a lovely reminder of the rich legacy to which we (queer people) belong in a remarkably quotidian way. Not to wade into the endless parade of bullsh*t that passes as "relationship discourse" on the internet, but it's incredibly easy for me to conceive of the relationships I have with friends, lovers, and partners as products of our contemporary moment instead of as honorable entries in the long history of queerness. 

All of this to say, Brigid Brophy's 1956 novel felt remarkably familiar to me. Queerness is the main feature of this book, but it's not an empty plot device. Susan and Neale are pallid 20-somethings living together in London. They are roommates who may get married but also don't sleep together but also that's not really off the table and both of them have found themselves intertwined with lovers of all genders. Susan, working as a secretary for an underground porno book publisher, recognizes a cheesecake shot of her high school paramour, Cynthia. Susan sets out alongside a languid Neal on a zany adventure through Europe to track Cynthia down, traveling through Paris, Rome, Florence, and, finally, Venice. There, the duo finally catch up to Cynthia and also encounter Helena, a queer elder, who is present for only the last quarter of the book and still manages to change everything. 

Man-writes-woman, part ∞ 

Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

A question for all the English majors out there: do we all feel like fakers, or is it just me? Tess is one of those canonical titles that made me feel like a fraudulent English major for never having read. Now having read it.....🤷‍♀️ It's a pretty generic Victorian novel in some respects, though I must give credit to Thomas Hardy for his moving pastoral elegies. His hyper focus on Tess as his main character is quite successful, too, but her character is extremely underbaked as a whole. 

Tess is a young woman living in rural England with incredibly impressionable and lackadaisical parents, to whom the revelation of their family's alleged previous social standing (since frittered away over the generations) imbues an unearned air of self-importance. This new grandiosity is the impetus for Tess' pursuit of the patronage of a "fellow d'Urberville," which lands her in the arms of her boorish, not-cousin, Alec. 

Obviously, this dalliance results in a pregnancy out of wedlock (bc morality). The baby is literally named Sorrow, in case we didn't get the message, and doesn't live long after birth. Tess attempts to recoup some grace in the eyes of society by becoming a milkmaid in a neighboring county. It is there that she encounters Angel, the highly educated black sheep of a local parson's family who has captured the affection of every milkmaid on the farm, including Tess. Obviously, he falls for her. Unfortunately, her uncouth past threatens to derail her "one true chance" at happiness. 

It's been a minute since I studied Victorian culture, so Thomas Hardy could very well be making nuanced arguments, observations, and critiques of morality culture that are lost on me. But goddamn! Misogyny reigns supreme in extremely overt and insidious ways in this text and is so ingrained in Tess herself that I often found myself shaking the book as if shaking her shoulders.

Call Me By Your Name if it took place in Malaysia

The South by Tash Aw

This darling bildungsroman takes place over the course of an incredibly impactful summer in rural Malaysia. Jay is our focus (mostly)—a boy in his late teens who (unhappily) travels with his family to their ancestral farm for the summer. There, he finds himself drawn to Chuan, the son of the farm's caretaker. I loved the artful evocation of quotidian existence and characters that order everyday life in southeast Asia. Tash Aw is not world-building, he's channeling reality and it casts a potent nostalgia over the entire novel. 

I think Aw's decision to change POVs every chapter hindered our story, though. We don't get enough of the various b-plot lines to make them interesting enough to divert our attention from Jay and I resented being forced to look away. And unlike CMBYN, we don't really get any glimpses of interiority on Jay or Chuan's parts, nor are we allowed into the small romantic moments between them, really. Overall, I was left wanting.

A mindfulness manual

After the Ecstasy, the Laundry by Jack Kornfield

I started this book months ago and have been savoring it. In this work, Jack Kornfield has collected countless reflections, stories, and lessons about how to live a spiritual, intentional life as part of the real world from priests, monks, nuns, rabbis, swamis, gurus, imams, mystics, zen masters, meditation teachers, and laypeople. I think I've underlined or highlighted something on nearly every single page.

Top photo credit

Watching the Sunrise on Cadillac Mountain

Watching the Sunrise on Cadillac Mountain

September 19, 2025

We spent months preparing for the Main(e) event

A few months ago, Jess, Tessa, and I were dreaming of how to escape our bleak winter surroundings. Well, they were trying to escape winter. To put it succinctly, I was channelling all of my energy into not losing my sh*t. My life felt utterly in pieces this past winter, from fresh heartbreak and apartment lease limbo to my childhood home hitting the market, ailing grandparents, academia's funding collapse, my therapist on maternity leave....you get the picture.

As two of my closest friends, J&T (correctly) surmised that planning a trip would be a great outlet for my various LARGE feelings. And the Maine roadtrip was born! In late July, we put my color-coded spreadsheet to the test and headed north.

On Sunday, Gravel and I packed ourselves into an extremely full car around 4:30am and scooped Jess, fresh off her redeye from Seattle. Off to Portland we went! (Tessa was smart enough to skip one leg of the roadtrip and flew to Portland a day early. Her official excuse was a concert on Sunday night.)

The drive, rather remarkably, was pretty easy! It took us ~11 hours in total, and we were only nearly rear-ended once during a sudden stop on the Jersey turnpike. Gravy has certainly had plenty of practice being the ideal roadtrip companion, and the time passed quickly in a flurry of yapping, singing, playing games, and cooing over Gravel's low purrs.

Speedbump #1: Jess and I planned to dine at Eventide Oyster Co. in Portland that night while Tessa was busy losing her voice at the concert. I'd read rave reviews and loved the look of the menu, though I always get a little suspicious of places that don't accept reservations. The threatening sky that had so far held off on the rain opened up as soon as we headed for dinner (but of course!) and when the hostess told us (exhausted, dripping wet, starving) it was currently a 90 minute wait, Jess & I knew we were going to have to pivot. Across the street, a darling little neon-lit sushi bar named Mr. Tuna beckoned. (If you go, you HAVE to try Blackbeard's Delight. I'm still dreaming about it!)

A Day in Portland

The next day, we set out to actually explore Portland. We began with breakfast at Miss Portland—an adorable local diner in a restored Worcester diner car. The setting alone is enough to pay Miss P a visit, but the food was also delicious! Standout favorite was the buttermilk pancakes with fresh Maine blueberries, of course.

After breakfast, the three of us puttered around old town Portland, stopping at Sherman's Books, Mainely Frames, and several other of the cute shops that surround the wharf. Tessa scored a lobster sweater (because...duh), I bought a dress, some books (naturally), and a funky retro storybook art print that caught me totally by surprise in the endless basement of the map shop.

We also stopped in a place called Strange Maine, and boy was it. The music was vaguely reminiscent of being in a whale's womb and the oddities on the shelves weren't quite compelling enough for me to warrant spending significant time there, though Jess did end up with some packs of retro baseball cards. 

After a solid afternoon spent napping in front of Murder She Wrote in our Airbnb, we rallied to head to Fort Williams—home of the iconic Portland Head Light.

We walked along the cliff just as the sun was starting to set and had to stop every few feet to marvel at the brilliant expanse of blue. Though the lighthouse and museum was closed by the time we got to the park, we still got to enjoy the view and park our hinies on the top of a breezy hill as the sunset to tuck into our next couldn't-miss Maine delicacy: lobster rolls. 

As a kid, I went to Maine on a mini family road trip. We saw Young Frankenstein at the Ogunquit Playhouse, peered at the Bush family compound, and ate such huge lobster rolls that I genuinely couldn't fathom eating lobster for another 2 years. The lobster rolls from Bite Into Maine were much more appropriately sized and incredibly delicious.

Two Nights in Acadia

I swear Gravy is in this photo, too

We hit the road early on Tuesday morning (Jess' birthday!) and went north again towards Acadia National Park for two days of hiking, swimming, and camping! Or, at least, so we thought.

Speedbump #2: Last year, I spent five weeks camping in national parks as I road tripped across the country with my cat. (Re: trying to cope with my life falling to pieces.) Gravy & I camped in the snow at the Grand Canyon, slept with the bison in the Badlands, fell in love with Montana's sky, and tried to avoid rattlesnakes in Amarillo. Through it all, even at the Grand Canyon, I never felt crowded. So that gave me an entirely unrealistic expectation for our time in Acadia during peak summer. 

To put it simply, it was a NIGHTMARE trying to get around the park. We couldn't take any shuttles from the campground because they don't allow pets (understandable) and parking was utterly impossible to find. On that Tuesday, we had planned to hike from the Bubbles around Jordan Pond, stopping halfway through at the famous teahouse for popovers, before heading to setup our campsite. (I was particularly proud of this plan that incorporated hiking & snacking, our two top park activities.)

We arrived at the park before 9:30AM and found not a single free parking spot. We spent over 90 minutes listlessly driving in circles behind tour buses and other people desperate for spots before giving up. It was still too early to set up our campsite, so we decided to continue aimlessly driving around, Bar Harbor also being quite crowded and nigh-impossible to find a parking spot. 

We were driving on the road that stretches towards Northeast Harbor when we discovered an open parking lot nestled by a rocky cove! We cooled off by wading and skipping stones over the calm water. (The next day, hungry for s'mores and lacking the proper supplies, we popped into a small grocery store in Northeast Harbor. That town is just as picturesque as Bar Harbor and not nearly as crowded. I'm sure it has far fewer restaurants and stores and things, but well worth exploring when you're tired of the crowds.) 

We decided to try our hand again at popovers and, another mercy, found a rare parking spot in the lot by the teahouse! Things were looking up when we encountered Speedbump #3: the teahouse was jammed with people (the theme of Acadia, turns out) and their signage was nearly nonexistent, so everyone was all kinds of confused. You could sit at a table on the lawn for their full service restaurant, if you were willing to wait 2 hours. Or you could go upstairs to their roof deck restaurant that usually has sandwiches, salads, and other to-go lunch items, but, turns out, only had popover sundaes that day. There was also a champagne bar(?) somewhere...? 

Needless to say, we were all overstimulated and underfed, Gravel was tired of being in her backpack, and we did not stay long at the adorable-in-theory Jordan Pond Tea House. We did get to sample their famous popovers, though! I found them underwhelming, TBH, but I can't tell if the frazzled energy of the day is clouding my judgment.

We finally got to our campsite, setup our tent, and enjoyed blissful quiet for the rest of the evening. Jess is a closet pyromaniac, turns out, and built us a roaring fire. Tessa and I cooked campside crunchwraps on the little stove I found hidden in a dark corner of my dad's basement last summer. I taught J&T how to play Peanuts, one of my favorite card games, and we settled for bed soon after dark because we had a very early date the next morning.

Catching the earliest sunrise in the U.S.

That little speck of orange is Jess getting much closer to the edge than Tessa & I cared to, TYSM

Trying to soothe Gravy, who was upset AF about being awake so early

On Wednesday, my alarm went off at 3:15 AM. Using an alarm while camping was already jarring enough for me—I prefer to sleep with the rain cover off so dawn rouses me. The special combination of the ungodly hour, the cold air, and trying our best to not wake our neighbors while we desperately made some hot chocolate made for a very...unique morning. Spoiler alert: it was worth it!

Seeing the sunrise from the top of Cadillac Mountain has a long tradition for the people who have inhabited Acadia for generations, the Wabanaki people. Wapuwoc, the name by which the Wabanaki people know the mountain, is the tallest point along the Atlantic Coast in the U.S. and the first place in the continental U.S. to see the sunrise, at least from October to March.

The experience of being on top of Wapuwoc at dawn was incredibly moving, even with gentle cloud cover blowing in from the ocean. The entire crowd of strangers huddled together in small groups under blankets was awed by the sight, you could feel it. A hush fell over us all when the sun first appeared, and there were audible gasps of wonder. It was entirely worth the stupid-early wakeup call and one of my absolute favorite memories from the entire trip.

Some brave people get up even earlier than Jess, Tessa, Gravel, & I and hike the summit to watch the sunrise. I have no doubt that experience is incredibly moving and worthwhile. The four of us chose to try our hand at securing car tickets to the summit road for sunrise and snagged 'em over a month in advance.

After (reluctantly) coming down from the mountaintop, we swung by camp for a quick change of clothes and promptly went back to the park in our desperate attempt to find a parking spot. We nabbed one of the last spots near Sand Beach around 7:30AM and headed out on a light hike along the Ocean Path Trail.

We joined the crowd admiring the famously clamorous slap of Thunder Hole along the path, but otherwise enjoyed little company on the trail. For the first time in Acadia, I didn't feel surrounded by people. Each vista was more beautiful than the last and we made quick, delighted work of the ~4 miles. 

Of course, it was only fitting that we then encountered Speedbump #4. After hiking, we'd planned to spend the afternoon lounging on Sand Beach—one of the only sandy beaches in the area. It happened to be the hottest day of the trip, so we were so ready for the sweet relief of a dip in the ocean. We dropped our hiking gear, grabbed our towels, and wound our way down the brambly path to the beach, only to encounter a large "NO PETS" sign at the very edge of the sand. I swear Gravel and I both gasped in surprise. 

Turns out, when I had done all of my careful research in planning our trip during the winter, it was during the time of year when pets are allowed on the beach, so the very helpful National Park website was correct in telling me she was welcome! But from June through September, pets are not allowed. Alas! 

We decided to return to camp, after making a stop at the highly recommended Sunrise Cafe in Bar Harbor. How could I go all the way to Maine without trying a slice of their legendary blueberry pie?! I'm still thinking about it, TBH. We devoured our slices at camp and the four of us promptly crashed into lovely, leisurely naps—Tessa and Gravel cuddled together in the tent, Jess fell asleep in her hammock, and I conked out on a large towel underneath the shady trees.

That evening, we popped into Bar Harbor for a spin around all the requisite souvenir shops. I picked up a Bar Harbor magnet for my friend, Daniel; an Acadia keychain; an oversized Jaws shirt (for sleeping, naturally); and some blueberry tea. We thought about going kayaking in Long Pond to watch the sunset, but our tired muscles were incredibly grateful we decided to sit by the fire and relax instead. 

Acadia, you were beautiful and I do so hope to return one day soon...in the OFF season. 

Next up from Maine: Meeting PUFFINS

July and August Books

July and August Books

September 15, 2025

 

As I was writing this, I discovered that (most of) the books I read over the past 2 months are companions—either mirror images, cousins, or horseshoe ends from each other. Completely by accident! This post does not include the books I enjoyed at family beach week this year. In keeping with tradition (I guess?), those books will have their own post. 

Pair #1: Contemporary takes on community

Atavists by Lydia Millet

I have a love-hate relationship with short story collections. I so desperately want to love them! (I've started Ted Chiang's Exhalation collection at least three times...) But for some reason, my attention always wanders. Of notable exception is my recent adoration of Claire Keegan's works and, now, Lydia Millet's Atavists. (I do wonder if the fact that Lydia's collection is an anthology so we encounter characters that interact with each other throughout each of the stories helped focus my attention...?)

"Atavism" means the act of returning to one's natural form. Lydia's choice of title, then, casts all of her characters as personae in transition/metamorphosis/regression/uncovering. All of the personalities and plot lines that populate these stories are highly familiar to anybody living in contemporary America. There's an incel bodybuilder, a professor on the verge of cancellation due to plagiarism allegations, porn addicts, adolescents acting out (and egged on by the internet)...

Much like the critiques I've lobbed recently at works by Amanda Hess and Eula Biss (2 nonfic works, which is notable that my mind is connecting Atavists so heavily to nonfiction), part of me left some of Millet's stories (and thus the collection as a whole) wanting more resolution. What point are you trying to make, Lydia? What are you SAYING about incel culture? But I also think this is an unfair expectation to foist on an author, especially a fiction writer.

I take issue with some of the critiques of this collection I've seen from NPR and the NYT. The Times review reads, "Atavists concedes ground to the disillusioned among us." I'm not convinced that's true. Ignoring the "disillusioned" that populate our culture is to ignore the vast majority of people who participate in contemporary Western culture (there's more nuance to be unpacked here, but I'm genuinely trying not to write an essay here...). I didn't walk away thinking the main affect of her writing is despair, either.

How We Show Up by Mia Birdsong

My July mat book was Mia Birdsong's beautiful instruction manual on building community. Unlike the (mostly) disconnected characters that populated Lydia's Atavists (with 1 notable exception—the young lady who unites her neighbors to better everyone's quality of life), Mia's book is full of the wisdom she's collected from the community leaders, activists, & elders she's encountered. 

Some parts of this book were reminiscent of my experience reading bell hooks' All About Love, about which I wrote: "I find that I am already familiar with (most of) the ideas & principles she's putting forth, but her language and the depth of her careful, studied, researched mastery of the topic have knocked me on my ass several times." 

Other parts of Mia's book were fresh ideas for me. One example that jumps to mind is the chapter about restorative justice. I am familiar with the larger concept of restorative justice, but to experience the concept become tangible through intentional practice in Mia's reporting of her lived experience with it was incredibly moving. That chapter provoked a lot of self-reflection about the societal, familial, social, and personal processes that I take for granted or accept simply because I don't want to upend the status quo. Who are these rituals serving? Do they actually serve their intended goals, or do they secretly uphold a system that perpetuates more harm by acting against my/our values? 

I love Mia's palpable reverence for her citational practice*, to use a seemingly bland term to describe the way she thoughtfully tends to her lineage of knowledge-making. This is something that is evident across all of Mia's work.

*I think a lot about citational practice in my work even outside of The Academy.™ I learned the term first from Sara Ahmed's sensational 2013 blog post: "Making Feminist Points", which I read as part of a Digital Rhetoric class taught by Dr. Caddie Alford. 

Pair #2: Dysfunctional families on stage

Fences by August Wilson

My infatuation with plays continued with two classics: August Wilson's Fences and Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie. Wilson's masterpiece is a tight examination of Black American life and the masculinity trap. The main character is Troy Maxson, a washed-up baseball player entrenched in his own bitterness, guilt, and shame. Of all the elements in this work to admire, I loved the way Wilson wrote the character of Rose, Troy's wife. Rose so easily could be afforded no energy in his work, the way that she is obstructed within the plot. She could've been written as a pitiable victim, and yet! In many ways, Rose reminds me a lot of Pilate Dead from Toni Morrison's Song of Solomon—she finds new ways to embody the role assigned to her and, in doing so, she reclaims the agency that could be denied her.

The flavor of familial dysfunction in Fences revolves entirely around Troy. His bitterness at being stuck in a dead-end job after having been such a promising young athlete stymies his ability to support his son, whose legacy he fears will surpass his own. He also harbors a great deal of resentment towards Rose—a projection of his own self-loathing—which (spoiler alert) fuels his long-term affair with another woman. 

The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams

And then we have the Wingfields. Reading Williams' play in concert with Wilson's was an accidentally beautiful parallel journey. This play appears to center on the man of the household, like Fences, but the real story is about the women: mother Amanda and daughter Laura. Like Wilson, Williams' play is written by a man that features male narrators and protagonists experiencing a tremendous amount of ennui and restlessness that seem to overshadow the desires of the women in their lives. I wish there were stronger shades of agency afforded to the Wingfield women, TBH. Laura and Amanda don't ever fully overcome their victim status, trapped by the generational confusion of aging (for Amanda) and by the weight of expectations, not to mention chronic illness (for Laura). 

I've discovered an exquisite kind of frustration when reading plays. There is an acute blockage that happens when you read a play because the externalization of the playwright's words and stage directions is constrained entirely by my imagination. I can only project my own interpretation of the play onto a stage of my own making, and that's kind of antithetical! To experience a play without the influence of the artistic choices made by directors, actors, and production designers is to experience only half of the work, if that. 

Pair #3: College kids confronting "The Truth" 

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Welcome to Hampden College, the small Vermont liberal arts school of your dreams. At least, on the surface it appears that way. When you look closer, you discover a cult of sorts has sprung out of the Classics department. Richard, our narrator and incredibly unreliable navigator of this story, is an outsider at Hampden—a poor, brilliant kid from the West Coast who desperately longs to join the ranks of the cool kids studying Greek with an enigmatic and highly secretive professor. Of course, Richard manages to snag an invite to the cult and all hell promptly breaks loose. 

One of Donna Tartt's talents as a writer (and I can attest to his as a fan of The Goldfinch) is her masterful ability to evoke the particular anguish assigned to those with outsider status. A common complaint I've heard about this novel is the "lack" of character growth. (A complaint I lodged very recently at Lynn Steger Strong's The Float Test!) But I think readers who make that argument are confusing Richard's core identity with lack of change. I think he does change! And it happens in very small, subtle ways, as opposed to one fell swoop. Grandiose gestures like that are certainly not Tartt's style, anyway. Her writing unfolds like a steady, maddening dripping faucet. 

I do wish we got to see more of Julian, the supposed ringleader of this band of overly intellectual assholes. The greatest influence we feel from Julian is actually that of his absence, and that's not in keeping with the plot. He is God to these kids in many destructive ways—I want to see more of him! 

Heroes of the Fourth Turning by Will Arbery

Technically, the students that populate this play are not in college (anymore). But! The play is set at the chaotic afterparty of a conservative Catholic college's presidential confirmation ceremony and the students are alumni of said school + the daughter of said new president. So... 

Arbery's play is a brilliant examination of contemporary right-wing culture's appropriation of religious belief. Set soon after the 2017 Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, the four young adults that star in this brilliant work represent four unique identities along the spectrum of political and Catholic belief. Arbery's dialogue is SO smart and quite literally made me gasp aloud at certain points. These characters—Teresa, in particular—know exactly the words to say to cause the most damage to each other, and sometimes they delight in the inflicting of those wounds. The pacing is entirely correct, the imagery is rich, and the caustic message(s) carried by each of the characters is incredibly potent for contemporary audiences. 

The standalone about technology (bc of course)

Notes on Infinity by Austin Taylor

Zoe and Jack are brilliant(?) Harvard undergrads who believe they've discovered a cure for aging. Hot on the cusp of this incredible (and potentially highly profitable) potential, they rush into the ruthless world of tech startups. Demanding VC firms, Harvard lawsuits, and viral Ted talks ensue. But when the science starts to look a little shakier than they've led the world to believe, the cofounders (and soulmates?) are faced with some extremely difficult questions they are wholly unprepared to answer. 

I really wanted Taylor to explore Zoe and Jack's internal thoughts, feelings, questions, hopes, and anxieties about (im)mortality and science-as-ersatz religion and technology as the new God. Alas, we only get little whiffs (think: a few sentences here and there) along these lines. (I recognize also that this is my own bias based on my own interests shining through.) Also, I take issue with how little page space Jack gets to develop in comparison to Zoe. He has a far more compelling backstory than she does (IMO...there was more potential for Zoe than we saw, too), and we are entirely rushed through it in the final few chapters. And then Jack's entire reason for being becomes, simply, Zoe. While Romantic, it would've been much more powerful to watch this happen alongside Zoe's complex arc of feeling-development as opposed to a breeze-through to wrap the story up. In this way, the end of Notes on Infinity reminded me a lot of my issues with Yael Van Der Wouden's The Safekeep. 

Note from Kate: Hi! If you buy something through a link on my page, I may earn an affiliate commission. I recommend only products I genuinely like & recommend, and my recommendation is not for sale. Thank you! 

Top image credit

Huzzah! A Day at the Ren Fair

Huzzah! A Day at the Ren Fair

September 8, 2025

Picture it: England, 1539.

This weekend, I checked another challenge off of my "25 Hard Things in 2025" list by taking a trip back in time at the Maryland Renaissance Festival! 

I've never been to a Ren Fair before, so I'm lucky that I have friends with some impressive Renaissance, theater, and LARPing pedigrees to show me the ropes: Tessa is a curator of historic textiles and dress and worked for years as a historic reenactor; Sam is a theater buff and talented seamstress (picture quoting Shakespeare from memory and sewing her own costume); Julia is one of the most well-read people I know, especially when it comes to Medieval and Renaissance poetry, and grew up going to the Maryland festival; and Corrine is a theater professional, playwright, and—the pièce de résistance—spent the first part of this summer working as a Ren faire cast member! They had us in stitches when they adopted their town crier persona to read the official lore of this year's festival on the drive up. (I had no idea so much happened in 1539!)

We visited the festival during Myth & Magic Weekend and tried to dress appropriately. My Celtic-ish coronet was the most overtly themed part of my ensemble, although the dried orange slices hanging from my ears felt vaguely magical(?). Tessa dressed much more on-theme as Strega Nona, replete with her magical pasta pot full of never-ending spaghetti (aka yards of stringy white yarn). Corrine and Sam stitched their own tops, an incredibly impressive feat, and I loved Sam's big purple wizard hat. 

Admiring the costumes worn by other patrons is a major activity at the Faire. We saw vikings, plague doctors chasing plague-infested rats, fairies, princesses, knights, barons, wizards, pirates, bananas, centaurs, dragons, serfs, burlap sacks, Fiona and Shrek, and the Pope. 

Eating is another major pastime and I was pleasantly surprised by the variety available. We'd been at the festival for maybe 10 minutes before Corrine and I stumbled upon the pickle and pretzel cart. Obviously a walking pickle was in order. The heat was particularly brutal in the sun on Saturday and, as I discovered during the Cap2Cap, pickles are quite hydrating! 

Over the course of the day, we also tucked into some funnel cake fries as we watched two fools perform a pantomime, tried to stay cool with ice cream sandwiches and pink lemonade, and enjoyed a lunch of spinach and meat pies, fried jalapeño mac and cheese bites, a scotch egg, and a (quite suggestive looking, might I add) sausage on a stick. 

I've been a pescatarian for over 10 years now. Still, there is something quite compelling about the idea of a turkey leg! I was genuinely hoping one of the meat-eaters of our party would enjoy one so I could live vicariously through them, but it was too hot to eat such a large quantity of food. Sigh. Another dream deferred.

There are so many things to see and do at the festival and we only scratched the surface! We caught some of Jacques ze Whipper's midday show, lobbed insults against the King, had our fortunes read by the Mayoress, and perused as many of the adorable shops that dot the landscape as possible. Unlike some other fairs (apparently), Maryland's festival grounds are permanent, meaning the buildings and structures stay up year-round and the shops move in every year. I really like that element because it lends a more immersive feeling to the whole event. I feel like I didn't see too many people on their phones as we walked around, either, which was really nice.

My favorite event, hands-down, was the joust. Challenged by a visiting Andalusian princess, four champions on horseback vied to win a map to El Dorado, the legendary City of Gold. A campy storyline to be sure, but there is nothing staged about the action in the arena when the mounted knights actually compete for the favor of the crowd. Tessa, Sam, & I went hoarse rooting for Prince Miguel. He might've been the contender assigned to our section, but I'm completely unbiased when I laud his undeniable charisma and the enviable fruit of his haircare routine. 

Not long after we ended our food tour through Revel Grove with frozen bananas dipped in chocolate and covered with chopped Maraschino cherries, enjoyed while we took in Ses Carny's daredevil knife show, the skies opened up and sweet, cool rain drenched us. It was a welcome relief after such a hot, dusty day on our feet, TBH, and we giggled all the way to the car.

In an ideal world, we would've stayed longer. The shows get bawdier as the day goes on, obviously the weather is cooler, and the final joust of the day is, apparently, a FIGHT TO THE DEATH. Alas! We had a long drive back home to Richmond and we were all pretty pooped. There's a reason the fair apparently gets more crowded in October, when the weather is cooler (although tickets for this weekend sold out after just 24 hours!). 

What is a group of tired, hungry, rain-soaked Ren Fest goers to do but seek the nearest stack of pancakes? And so we did! 

We were about halfway home by the time we pulled into this IHOP and everyone was extremely normal about encountering four damp sorceresses from the 14th century. I can't explain why, but group breakfast-for-dinner at the end of a singular event (ren fest, choir concert, theater show, tech rehearsal, swim meet etc.) has a unique patina of hilarity, absurdity, and meaning. You can feel yourself creating a memory that you'll feel nostalgia for while you're still in it, you know? 

That night at IHOP was like that—the four of us tucked into a slightly too-small booth so we were pressed close together, cupping mugs of tea, tucking into mozzarella sticks, waffles, pancakes, and veggie sausage as we laughed, shared stories, and bantered with the bemused waitstaff. I feel so warm when people from different parts of my life come together and get along like a house on fire...I'm so grateful to know & love such cool, creative, intelligent people!

Maryland Renaissance Festival, I'll definitely be back.