A Weekend in New York

A Weekend in New York

August 24, 2025

In June, I hopped back on my old pal, Amtrak's Northeast Regional, for a long weekend in New York. My friend, Erin, joined me on the train as it passed through Baltimore and we gabbed about how excited we were to be going home. 

E & I met when we taught 9th grade ELA together in Manhattan.

She's always had this effortlessly cool energy that makes me feel like her overexcited little sister. Not because of anything she does! She just has this unflappable exterior that exudes a very integral element of chill. It's (part of) what makes her a really fantastic teacher; kids love consistency, and our students knew they could rely on her steadiness even amidst the turbulence of the pandemic. 

Erin was already teaching 9th grade ELA at our school when I joined the team, and she was so patient with me, a baby-faced recent grad trying to embody any element of authority in front of the classroom. She made me a better teacher with simple, direct reflections and tips, and her creativity was unmatched when trying to brainstorm ways to engage our students in the books we read with them. 

I love gabbing with her about...anything, really, but especially books, contemporary trends in education, and what she's listening to lately. Her music taste is unparalleled, as is her sense of humor. One of my favorite memories involves the two of us laughing literally to the point of tears streaming down our faces while sitting on the floor of my classroom after school. Or the time she literally changed my life when we went to New Jersey just so we could go to the Cheesecake Factory and Erin introduced me to the magic that is their Four Cheese Pasta. (Erin's a lifelong vegetarian—another thing that's just f*cking COOL.) Needless to say, I was pumped to spend the weekend catching up and exploring our old haunts. 

Our first stop was Tacombi for piña coladas, esquites, and tacos. It's probably the nostalgia, or the insane price tag, but I feel like I can genuinely taste a difference when I'm eating back in the city. Unfortunately, I am one of those assholes that proclaim the superiority of NYC bagels and pizza dough. (It's the water!!)

On our first night back in the city, Erin & I decided to pop into The Morgan Library & Museum. Neither of us had been before, and it turned out to be a free entry day! 

The library is gorgeous, all stained glass and lush mahogany wood, filled to the brim with rich paintings and, naturally, thousands of books. Three of the books in The Morgan's collection are Gutenberg bibles—three! The Morgan is the only museum in the world to have that many copies. It was rather astonishing to come across a copy of the ancient text rather casually encased next to a breathtaking edition of Charles Dickens. 

On Saturday, Erin and I made a beeline for old stomping grounds in Brooklyn. We picked up our usual orders from Bagel Pub, took a spin through the Saturday market in Grand Army Plaza, where I sadly did not see my pickle guy (I've been yearning for his wasabi dills since I left the city over 3 years ago), and settled on our favorite bench in Prospect Park.

Prospect Park is one of my absolute favorite places on Earth. My life in Brooklyn revolved around that park. I've been witness to the countless weddings, quinceañeras, memorial services, baby showers, birthday parties, little league games, marathons, pot lucks, open mic nights, frisbee tournaments, dog shows, Bible studies, Mommy & me classes, Tai Chi lessons, roving stand up comedy shows, improv practices, photoshoots, picnics, pick-up soccer matches, & going-away parties (including my own!) held on the regs in the park.

Taking a little walk down Prospect Park memory lane...

Baby Kate's first-ever time in Prospect Park! I think I'd lived in the city for 5 minutes by this point.

I love this photo of me saying goodbye to my friend, Allie, because my face looks like a cartoon character but I was genuinely trying not to cry

Erin & I sat in the park for hours, watching the old neighborhood go by. Eventually, we got up and made our way to the Brooklyn Flea—a Dumbo mecca for all the Brooklyn hipsters. (I had forgotten in my time away that you really can clock the borough where someone lives based on their outfit...sometimes down to the specific neighborhood or cross-streets. Imagine a lineup of tote bags from people that live in Chelsea, Bushwick, FiDi, LIC, and Washington Heights and you'll see exactly what I mean.) We also popped into powerHouse books, where I picked up a copy of Brigid Brophy's The King of a Rainy Country. (Review coming soon—TLDR: WOW!!)

Even though Erin and I once literally walked home from school across the Manhattan bridge (only took us ~4 hours), neither of us are used to how much walking you do by simply existing in New York anymore. We absolutely collapsed upon our return to the hotel room and decided to settle in for a night of scary movies & pizza. 

Erin and I returned to the city for another reason besides Prospect Park: we had Sunday tickets to Gov Ball! 

I've been to Gov Ball once before—it's where I discovered my undying love for MUNA. Sunday's lineup this year was stellar, including Raye, Clairo, Glass Animals (!), and Hozier (!!). The looming rain (mostly) held off and we bopped for HOURS, noshing on ice cream sandwiches and pierogis. Even the heat, which had been pretty punishing the day before, wasn't overwhelming in the massive crowd. 

I know I'm conforming to the stereotype of being yet another non-native New Yorker who lived in the city for a brief stint in her twenties and talks for the rest of her life about being "forever changed" by her time in the city, but.....oh well! I still think about the Miriam Adenay quote I used when posting the pictures from my goodbye party several years ago:  “You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.” 

I'm not itching to move back to New York, necessarily, but there is something to be said for the first place you get the chance to build your own life completely from scratch as a young adult. It's like your first kiss, first love, first pet, first anything of value—it'll always hold a special place in your heart. And how lucky for me that I still get to visit that love (alongside the people I love)?! I <3 you, New York. See you soon.

May and June 2025 reads

May and June 2025 reads

July 5, 2025

May was a delightfully busy month, book-wise! June.....was certainly a month! Managed to finish 3 :)

A(n insufferable) family saga

The Float Test by Lynn Steger Strong

I had high hopes for this book. Lynn Steger Strong wrote a beautiful article in April for The Atlantic titled "Joan Didion's Books Should Have Been Enough" that I completely agreed with. Her article was a breath of fresh air amidst the countless other takes I saw delighting in the publication of an incredibly private person's therapy notes. Alas, Lynn's writing prowess & correct Didion opinions were not enough to save this book. 

Generally, books that explore the highly dysfunctional inner workings of a family unit are right up my alley (see: Long Island Compromise by Taffy Brodesser-Akner). As a rule, the characters that populate dysfunctional stories are selfish, neurotic, controlling, or just plain bananas. But unlike the characters of Taffy's novel, for example, Lynn's characters are broken, selfish, lost...and stay that way. There is 0 character development for them. The novel is filled with insufferable people who act horribly and.....that's it. I kept waiting for even a glimpse at resolution—even if it didn't happen on the pages themselves, surely she'll give us a hint that things get better once the novel ends!? It never came. 

The perspective of this novel is very...unique. Our narrator is Jude (aka Judith), sister to Jenn, Fred (aka Winnifred), and George (the sole brother). Somehow, via Jude's narrative, we are allowed access to Fred and George's inner selves, but not to Jenn nor even to Fred herself? So maybe we're only accessing Jude's projected understanding of her siblings? Maybe....but that's never made clear. I understand—adore, even!—an unreliable narrator, but the arc of discovery of Jude's unreliability is wholly missing. Jude and Fred are quietly feuding the whole novel (I shan't spoil any details) and that just sort of fizzles out by the end without satisfaction for anyone involved. 

There is 0 examination of why Jude and Fred chose traditionally boy nicknames for themselves, or why they both follow the same career & life trajectory but somehow maintain a living grudge. The father of this crumbling mess of a family is a random character that floats in and out of scenes and is, functionally, a set piece. He had much more potential than we ever were afforded the opportunity to enjoy.

An enthralling multigenerational octopus

Do Not Say We Have Nothing by Madeleine Thien

I love a story that's crafted by the intricate weaving together of (seemingly) distinct pieces and Madeleine proves herself an absolute master at that with this novel. We follow three generations of family through the roiling change of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, culminating in the frantic energy of Tiananmen Square. 

One of the major plot lines of Madeleine's novel follows Wen the Dreamer and his wife, Swirl, in their quest to finish a never-ending love story written by an anonymous author with chapters scattered across China. As the two become victims of Mao Zedong's land reform movement, they begin writing their own installments of the story to hide in plain sight and encourage the rebels. By the end, it's impossible to tell where The Book of Records leaves off and Madeleine's novel begins, a device that reminds me a great deal of Italo Calvino's Se una notte d'inverno, un viaggiatore—one of my favorite experimental lit tales. I spent one full day enthralled in this story, and I was honestly sad to get to the end! I felt so endeared to each of the characters by the end.

A peek behind the Great Firewall

Let Only Red Flowers Bloom by Emily Feng

Even in today's hyper-connected world, the daily workings of Chinese society remain shrouded in mystery—no small feat, considering China is one of the most populated and powerful nations on Earth. Emily Feng is a brave journalist that dares to expose the chokehold the ruling Chinese Communist Party (tries to) hold on its people. Emily traverses a lot of ground—literally. She explores far-flung corners of China and the Chinese diaspora, interviewing Uyghur families, human rights lawyers in hiding, and exiles living in Hong Kong, Canada, and Taiwan.

This is a heavy read to get through, lengthy in both page count and topic. Emily is nearly absent from her pages—not entirely surprising in a nonfiction book, but her absence is notable for a topic that is so dear to her, personally. 

Pregnancy hormones meet the algorithm

Second Life: Having a Child in the Digital Age by Amanda Hess

As a scholar of contemporaneity and digitality, I love reading works that delve into any digital niches. Which is how I stumbled into this book about the intersection of cyberspace and pregnancy & parenthood. Amanda writes about period and pregnancy-tracking apps, mommy influencers, nursery robots, targeted ads, and—her strongest passages, in my opinion—she writes movingly about the experience of her child's diagnosis with a rare genetic abnormality.

As a scholar of contemporaneity and digitality, and an Aquarius (which I find probably the more likely culprit), I find myself existing in a highly reactive headspace when reading about other people's Internet use habits. Amanda describes her fixation with pregnancy and parenthood Reddit threads, message boards, and apps and the incredibly negative impact it has on her mental health. At a certain point...I couldn't help but think, "well...stop looking? Log off?" I realize this is a reaction without nuance, but I ran into that thought over and over again while reading that it became a frequent refrain.

A memoir (Chat-GPT's version)

Searches: Selfhood in the Digital Age by Vauhini Vara

If I have talked to you about books at all in the past 2 years, it's a good bet that my love for The Immortal King Rao came up. I adored Vauhini's debut novel, so I was extremely excited for the release of her latest book. Well, they say hope springs eternal....

My feelings about AI are incredibly large. I studied it while earning my MA and my thesis dealt in large part with trans- and posthuman technology, which includes machine learning and AI. So I recognize that this may disqualify me from participation in the general populace of people who pick up a common interest book like this one. I wanted to learn something new here, but my first thought at the end of this book was, "That's it?" There was nothing....revolutionary about this text. Vauhini included various interactions she had with chat bots, but I have no idea for what purpose. My eyes started glazing over at the repetition of AI's chapter-end summaries. I'm not sure what we were meant to get from those inclusions...

Much like my complicated feelings about Eula Biss' Having and Being Had, there are multiple elements of the memoir portion, in particular, that delve into Amazon and various other intrusions of tech oligarchy into our daily lives that feel overly casual to the point of complacency. Vauhini writes about an argument she had with a friend who doesn't use Amazon, on principle. Vauhini responds, "Well, one person not using it doesn't really make a difference, does it?" To her credit, Vauhini recognizes the mistread in her response and reaches back out to the friend. But then...she spends the rest of the chapter defending why she still uses Amazon? Her decision is to force herself to review everything she buys on Amazon as a kind of "punishment"? Except, as a tech journalist and author, Vauhini knows that any interaction with the algorithm fuels it further, so...? I really wanted to like this book and I'm bummed I walked away so disappointed.

If an algorithm was also a city

We Lived on the Horizon by Erika Swyler

Have you ever asked yourself, "What if a generative AI model became a physical being, and also the living structure of a town? And also, what if said AI-fueled society was on the verge of class warfare?" Apparently, Erika Swyler has, and this novel is her answer. Obviously, I am passionate about the subject matter, which I'm sure has monumentally biased my opinion....because I really like this book, which means forgiving it for issues I would not forgive in other books.

Much in the same way as successful fantasy authors, Erika manages to build a whole world with entirely new rules, social order, beliefs, and language. Unlike most fantasy novels (looking at you, Priory of the Orange Tree), Erika's novel accomplishes this without being the size of a cinderblock. Instead of magic, the society Erika creates runs on technology. Erika's novel is supremely successful at investigating the posthuman tensions that accompany the—for lack of a better term—"birth" of an AI system into a physical form.

I think the plot as a whole tries to bite off more than it can chew. We get a lot of insight into one particular class of characters—the Sainted—and very little insight into the others. So when it comes time for brewing tensions to escalate into a full-on class war, it feels really underbaked. I wish we got more insight into the motivations for the non-Sainted characters, too. (If you're interested in reading a much more well-rounded take than my brief one, William Emmons' reviewed Erika's book for the Ancillary Review and I really enjoy their thoughts.)

A field manual for resilience

We Were Made For These Times by Kaira Jewel Lingo

In the mornings—on the good ones, anyway—I make a cup of tea, roll out my yoga mat, and pick up a book. In May, that book was Kaira Jewel Lingo's We Were Made For These Times. This book is a balm in every sense of the word. The past few months have been full of tremendous change for me and Kaira's beautiful, thoughtful writing was a calming reminder of how adept our bodies & souls are for handling moments of transition.

Kaira's writing includes personal reflections, anecdotes, journal prompts and guided meditations. I first encountered Kaira on an episode of the 10% Happier podcast. A former Buddhist nun, Kaira is now a layperson with an inspiring practice and the ability to transmit her calm energy to you, even over the page. 

Man vs. bear

Black Woods Blue Sky by Eowyn Ivey

Back on my animal fiction game! (I need a better name for that genre...happily accepting suggestions.) This book had a similar vibe to the The Overnight Guest by Heather Gudenkauf in that the setting was as influential and present as a character. Eowyn takes us to rural Alaska in this novel, where we meet Birdie—a flighty single mother struggling to get it together, her young daughter, Emaleen, and Arthur—the town outcast. Birdie decides to move with Emaleen to Arthur's remote cabin deep in the Alaskan woods, much to the chagrin of Birdie's friends in town and Arthur's recluse father.

At its core, this novel is really about wanting. Birdie wants freedom. Emaleen wants stability. And Arthur wants more than anything to take care of Birdie & Emaleen, to prove that he can love them enough to save them from himself. This story is a refreshed version of nature-vs-nurture, and I really appreciate that Eowyn didn't try to answer any of the age-old questions she uses as a starting point. Eowyn also doesn't make this a fairytale. Her characters learn quite distinctly that wanting something isn't always enough.

A running joke for queer women

Spent by Alison Bechdel

Alison composes a truly laugh-out-loud novel that skewers the terminally online segment of our community, in a way that makes me wonder if she meant to make as many jokes as she did. (I must confess, I have not read other Alison works before, so I'm not sure of how in on the joke she is.) Alison's novel reminds me a lot of the social commentary Glynnis MacNicol makes in I'm Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself, specifically about Gen-Z.

I suspect that this novel would be more impactful if I were more familiar with Alison's characters (from other reviews I've read, it seems these characters are familiar figures). And Alison's seeming focus on capitalism doesn't really shine through...there are some random elements that pop up throughout, but they don't seem to connect to the plot. Didn't keep me from enjoying it immensely, though! 

"Cat Person," but vignettes

So Late in the Day by Claire Keegan

I remain awed by Claire Keegan's writing ability. Authors who can write engaging short stories are SO powerful—the talent it takes to evoke such depth of feeling with so few words?? Clearly, economy of language is not one of my god-given talents. In this collection, Claire creates three worlds: that of a Dublin commuter in the aftermath of his recent breakup; a writer seeking retreat finds her peace interrupted by a demanding stranger; a married woman seeking a weekend tryst finds herself in over her head (to put it mildly). 

The overall vibe of this collection is unsettling. Much like the infamous New Yorker story "Cat Person," women and men may emerge from this collection with very different things. Content warning for the last story: "Antarctica." The plot has elements similar to that of Stephen King's Gerald's Game (IYKYK).

Vignettes about the color blue

Bluets by Maggie Nelson

A book is the best gift, to give and to get! For my birthday this year, my friend Erin brought me Maggie Nelson's Bluets! These colorful vignettes are odes to Maggie's favorite color—and "favorite" may be an understatement. Maggie obsessed with blue—every shade, tint, and hue. To Maggie, blue evokes divinity, ugliness, profanity, heartbreak, connection, sex, memory, ownership, joy, love....the list goes on. And her obsession makes this collection of vignettes read like your favorite aunt's junk drawer, full of treasured stories, anecdotes, and esoteric nuggets of research. 

I really loved the way Maggie demonstrated her deft citational prowess throughout. She collects fragments that span entire schools of thoughts and eons of history, and still her writing is extremely grounded in the present. I took my time reading this one, putting it down and coming back to it over the span of several months, and each time I picked it back up, I could just slip right inside Maggie's writing. Her words are beautiful, exposing, abrasive, sheltering, and callous all at once. I think she achieved something masterful here, and I'm so grateful to Erin for bringing it into my life! (Erin is also the friend from whom I stole my utter joy of finding used books that have scribbling in them. Reading what a stranger who owned this book before you did thought was important enough to underline, highlight, circle, or scrawl in the margins is a special kind of magic, I think. And now my annotations live right alongside theirs!) 

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!

A Weeknight Wedding

A Weeknight Wedding

June 3, 2025

I'm not sure when I became old enough to have friends my age get married, but I digress...

Elisa was the very first person I knew in college

We first connected through the Facebook group that William & Mary setup for incoming freshman students in our class. People posted little intro blurbs about themselves in hopes of finding a compatible roommate. I have absolutely zero memory of what I wrote except for a passing mention that I'm a fan of Criminal Minds. Luckily for me, that's all it took! We started chatting and quickly realized our mutual love of food, napping, and, obviously, Spencer Reid.

The first photo we ever took together outside of our freshman dorm :') Please ignore my t*es and (melting) blue hair. (Literally, it was so hot during orientation that my blue hair permanently stained my white pillowcases. Ah, well.) 

El and I spent that whole year falling asleep while chattering to each other and giggling in our absurdly lofted beds. Coming home to a friend at the end of the day made freshman year so much less scary. Even though we didn't live together after that, we remained close.

I've always admired El for her kind, easygoing, and generous nature. She's never turned down someone in need and always has space to hold big, little, (and even ridiculous) feelings expressed by her loved ones (aka me, when I would freak out about something small). We've always just...clicked. During sophomore year, she came over to celebrate my birthday and we both ended up taking naps together, me in my (again) lofted bed and her on our guest camping mattress on the floor. Ah, dorm life.

Elisa's smile is infectious and she can make me laugh in an instant. Over the years, we've developed our own kind of ESP so that we can make eye contact from across a room and have an entire conversation without words—often ending in fits of giggles. When she FaceTimed me in the fall to share the news of her engagement, I cried.

Seniors, back where it all began...

Elisa and Driscoll have been friends at least as long as we have, if not longer. I met Driscoll in freshman year, too, when he used to come by to hang out with El or pick her up to head out for an event. Even then, I had my suspicions about the two of them. "We're just friends!!" (Famous last words.) Their relationship has always made sense—Driscoll is kind, patient, and funny, and their individual connections to their faith are made even deeper by their connection to each other.

In May, Elisa & Driscoll officially tied the knot!

I started crying as soon as El and her father started down the aisle...and honestly didn't stop for the entire ceremony. I know every bride looks breathtaking on her wedding day, but there's something incredibly special about witnessing the union of someone you've been lucky enough to grow up alongside. 

Over the past (nearly) 10 years, we've seen each other begin college, change majors 4+ times (ahem....3+ of which were Elisa's...that talented lady has a brain for science, music, and languages, and had a hell of a time figuring out which one to focus on!), graduate college amid a global pandemic, move to new cities, begin careers, and, now, get married! She is my sister and I was so blessed to watch her embark on this next part of her journey.

Elisa & Driscoll's reception was on a rooftop, where I got to reconnect with some of her family that I haven't seen in ages, befriend some spunky extended family members (my favorite part of every wedding, TBH—seat me at the crazy aunt table, please and thanks), and chitty chat the night away with fellow W&M alums. Weddings are always fun, but this one will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Cheers to the Taylors!

April 2025 reads

April 2025 reads

May 31, 2025

 

In April, the weather got nicer, so my walks to the library got more pleasant, so I read more. Who would've thought?!

A meditation on...meditation (sort of)

Aflame: Learning from Silence by Pico Iyer

As a young only child who read a lot, one of my favorite fantasies was A Little Princess-esque in that I used to imagine I was an orphan living in the attic of a small convent. (I slept under a rather ornate quilt in a very squeaky antique bed frame, which only added to the mystique.) Not since then have I thought very consciously about secluded life in a religious community or hermitage. At least, not until I picked up Pico's book. 

Pico Iyer is a lifelong spiritual seeker who has been fleeing to a remote hermitage on the coast of Big Sur for decades now. This book is a series of vignettes that reflect on his time growing in the holy silence fostered by the Camaldolese monks (and a select cast of outsiders) that call the hermitage their home. Interwoven with tales of the havoc wreaked on his life by the California wildfires, Pico's book is the closest thing a book can get to being an actual meditative experience. He writes movingly about the power of silent reflection and how the practice bolstered by such austere and simple surroundings can be brought into the "real world." (You know my penchant for materiality was absolutely singing at these points in the book.)

A techie tell-all

Careless People: A Cautionary Tale of Power, Greed, and Lost Idealism by Sarah Wynn-Williams

Was I entirely surprised when reading the lurid accounts of Facebook executives' poor behavior, ranging from complete lack of cultural or social awareness (ahem Mark Zuckerberg insulting world leaders to their faces) to outright sexual harassment (Sheryl Sandberg forcing her subordinates to share her bed and buy matching lingerie)? No. Do I think this tell-all is an incredibly important tool in the hands of anyone who wishes to fight back against Meta's consuming rise towards totalitarianism? Yes. 

Sarah Wynn-Williams is the former director of global public policy at Facebook (pre-Meta) and she is currently the subject of private arbitration that aims to prevent her from promoting this book. The fact that Mark Zuckerberg (& co.) have tried so desperately to stifle Sarah's story is a rather compelling argument in her favor. Especially considering Meta's raging unpopularity, it's hard to imagine that a book populated with falsehoods would garner this much response from them.

At the same time, I am always hesitant to accept any memoir's presentation of facts as ultimate truth and that's also true here. A great deal of Sarah's justification for staying so long at Facebook—even though she was actively working for a company that helped manufacture genocide and was (apparently) populated with misogynist harassers—is naive idealism. That argument falls really flat for me, especially by the end. As Lily Janiak points out in her review of the book for the San Francisco Chronicle: "The subtext of chapter after chapter...is: 'If only Facebook had listened to Sarah!'" There are lots of open questions about fact checking as well, which is rather par for the course in any memoir. 

All-in-all, my faith in Sarah's account is not crippled by questions about her motivation and bias (especially because it is simply far too easy to see the exact behaviors she describes modeled openly by the tech bros she's writing about), but these questions have to be factored into our understanding of what Sarah is trying to accomplish here. (After all, what is a diplomat if not a politician once-removed?)

Poetic vignettes about capitalism

Having and Being Had by Eula Biss

Reading this book was extremely annoying, and I believe that's entirely by design. In it, Eula Biss examines her role in the unavoidable capitalist structures that order our world. Her writing is sparse and often ask more questions than they answer. 

Eula probes the Western ideals of labor and the very American value system of consumption and ownership, invoking a wide range of philosophical and authorly muses along the way, and there is something mildly enthralling about the way Eula lies bare her insufferable patterns of thought. It's a confidence play that sniffs of the same energy as 'barefaced makeup' routines, where people use the very tools and techniques of the trade that they're attempting to appear liberated from. She is not hiding, she insists to us. And yet...

The central feeling I had at the end of this book—I do not want to call it "the problem" of Eula's writing, because it may very well be intentional that she left us alone to grapple with whatever this book opened within us—was the fact that the best solution Eula could seem to come up with is simply....opting out? And as the entire book aims to grapple with her various forms of privilege (namely white and class), that non-answer feels extremely hollow. But again, that very well may be the point! 

The legacy of capitalism means that, as Carlee Gomes writes, "our ability to consume is the only thing remaining that's 'ours' in late capitalism, and as a result it's become a stand-in for (or perhaps the sole defining quality of) every aspect of being alive today." Eula's writing certainly revolves around the act of consuming, but she offers no ideas for how to radically shift that system, even in your own life. Perhaps the greatest tension I experience with Eula's writing is because, once again, I am compelled by tangibility. Eula's book is a commentary on the world outside her window with zero offering on how to actually interact with what she finds, which I find lacking. 

Jordan Peele meets Huckleberry Finn

James by Percival Everett

Besides complaining about the NYT opinion editors (and don't even get me started on their outdated AF style guide), the number one thing my friend Michael and I text about is books. He described Percival Everett's James as the "best book of 2024" and "one of the few NYT book recommendations I 100% condone." I'm a simple girl. When Michael recommends a book to me–especially with such high praise—I read it. 

I am oh-so-glad that I did. It took several months of being on the library waitlist for James to finally fall into my clutches and I absolutely devoured it. James is at once both classic, wry adventure and quotidian horror. A novel with a Black narrator living in the antebellum south could hardly be anything less than horror. Language, linguistics, and philosophy become a motif for the buried interiority of James—who is, in fact, the enslaved character called Jim that plays second fiddle to Huckleberry Finn in Mark Twain's earlier text. (I use the word "earlier," not "original," purposefully here. Percival's novel deserves to stand in the context of itself as a work of contemporary fiction and only considering James in relation to Twain's novel is reductionist.)

James is a novel about agency and Percival carefully frames every scene, a direct contrast to the (apparent) carelessness of Twain when it came to James; Percival's omissions are alive with as much meaning as his inclusions. I did not read James in close parallel to Huck Finn—indeed, I have not revisited Twain's novel in well over a decade—though I imagine that approach to reading would reveal further insights about both texts. You do not need a handy understanding of Huck Finn to appreciate Percival's achievement here, and I can confidently echo Michael's apt adulation of the novel.

A light for the midnight hours

Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor

I first encountered the sage wisdom of Barbara Brown Taylor on an episode of "On Being with Krista Tippett" that I listened to while solo driving across the country in desperate search for myself. I am eternally grateful that the journey brought me to Barbara (and, eventually, back to myself). 

Barbara was an Episcopal priest for years that left ministry for career in higher education and as an author, undertaking all things in her pursuit of staying "alive and alert to the holy communion of the human condition, which takes place on more altars than anyone can count." In this book, Barbara embarks on a journey through darkness, both spiritual and physical. Her quest sees her venturing into a cave, into the woods, into the hospital, and her recounting is so moving and unadorned that I found myself tempted to turn from the final page back to the very beginning to read it all again. (Alas, another library book that had to be returned.) I do not practice particularly ecumenical beliefs, and still I found a great deal of purpose and comfort in Barbara's writing.

A visit with the bard

William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream

Another one of Michael's influences on my literary life lately has been through the influx of plays on my bookshelf. I picked up Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? late last year and it changed my life (not an exaggeration). Since then, I have a little ritual of seeking the plays in every used bookstore I step into! I've been delighted to find that most bookstores carry plays that were actually used as a script in a production at one point, so they're scribbled over with random notes and stage directions. There's something incredibly endearing about picking up a book that has been so clearly a part of someone else's life before finding its way to my hands. 

For an English major, I am remarkably under-versed in Shakespeare's works. So this was actually my first time reading Midsummer! (I'm ashamed to even admit that.) It's a classic for a reason. 

Camping in Ocracoke

Camping in Ocracoke

May 27, 2025

Over Memorial Day weekend, Gravy and I escaped to Ocracoke, one of the southernmost islands in the Outer Banks chain. Even though I grew up on the Outer Banks, I've never been south of Chicamacomico before! I was excited to explore this new territory (and test out all the new camping gear I received over the holidays).

Friday, May 23

After work, Gravel and I headed for my childhood home. Mom & I moved to North Carolina with my grandparents when I was six, and I spent a solid chunk of my childhood running around the sand dunes and being scared of the ocean. (Once, Mom sent me to a weeklong surf camp alongside my friend, Gracie. While Gracie was learning how to paddle out past the break with the other campers, I was sitting safely on the sand making castles. Even as a kid, I was highly demand avoidant.) 

Even after Mom & I left the OBX, it remained my home. Until recently, my bedroom still had all of my childhood memorabilia on the walls—notably, rows of swim ribbons, faded Michael Phelps posters, and a giant pink butterfly. I lived with my grandparents for consecutive summers in college, lifeguarding at the local waterpark and working as a camp counselor at a local yoga studio, and our family has celebrated most of our Christmases over the past 15 years there.

My grandparents, now blessed to be well into their 80s, recently decided to move closer to family. That unfortunately means my beloved childhood home has hit the market. Gravel and I spent Friday night sleeping on the four seasons porch where I used to pretend to host royal tea and try to avoid my piano practice. I fell asleep to the sounds of waves lapping against the rocks and woke to mourning doves cooing.

I'm grateful I got the chance to say a proper goodbye to the bedroom that saw me grow up, the kitchen where my grandmother fried chicken for my visiting friends and flipped more pancakes than I could ever remember, the boat dock out back where I confessed my first love, and my grandfather's beloved koi pond and pepper garden. It was also a useful starting point for Gravel & I's journey to Ocracoke on Saturday morning!

Saturday, May 24

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Navigating the OBX is delightfully easy. There is, in effect, 1 road, and you can either go north or south. So, Gravy Boat and I got in the car and went south. And south. And south some more. We eventually made it to the southern tip of Hatteras, where we got on the ferry to Ocracoke. Gravel's first time on a boat!

We made it to the island in the morning and campground check-in wasn't until 3pm, so we stopped to pick up some more ice for the cooler and hit the beach. Gravy's first time at the beach! I finished the book I started on the ferry: Vauhini Vara's Searches: Selfhood in the Digital Age. I was OBSESSED with Vauhini's novel The Immortal King Rao when I first read it in summer 2023, and even though it didn't make it into my thesis, the novel was—and still is!—a huge inspiration for me. This book is part-nonfiction, part-memoir (full review of all the books I read this weekend coming soon). 

After a couple of hours baking in the sun, Gravel & I needed something to help us cool down. Into the village we went! Ocracoke is a delightfully small community and most people navigate the village on bikes or golf carts (or on foot). The tiny town is populated with the cutest pottery, smoothie, apothecary, and handmade souvenir shops, not to mention all the waterfront fresh seafood restaurants. 

I was lucky to find a parking spot outside Moonraker Tea Shop. The walls of this adorable shop are lined with jars of loose leaf tea blends and I was in heaven bopping from jar to jar, sniffing to my little heart's content. I purchased a few ounces of 2 different tea blends—a "limoncello" white tea and a coconut(!) black tea blend. I've never tried coconut tea but it smelled divine. 

I also had to try the shop's famous magic lemonade—bright purple, with glitter, and it changes color! It was the refreshing pick-me-up I needed. Then, Gravy and I popped next door into Books To Be Red, an adorable local bookshop. Gravel, ever the attention lover, likes to sing when she's in the backpack and there are other people around. She did it the entire time we hiked around the Grand Canyon and I have to admit I found it very funny to watch tired hikers question their sanity when they kept hearing a cat meow but couldn't (yet) see her. In this tiny shop, though, I was a little embarrassed about her chirping, but everyone in the shop seemed to find it adorable and cooed over her. 

I picked up a copy of Shel Silverstein's Falling Up and Donna Tartt's The Secret History. I've never read that one of Donna's, but I adored Shel's work as a kid. I remember poring over Where The Sidewalk Ends for hours, and I wanted to add him back to my collection. Over the past year or so, I've been more consciously collecting books here and there for a future child's library. Nothing crazy! I picked up a picture book at the Badlands when I was there in the fall, a beautiful fairytale anthology at the recent library sale, and now this poetry collection. 

The village is full of little gems like this, my alter ego

By the time we were done shopping, it was time to set up camp! We settled into our site quickly and I dug into my next read of the weekend: Eowyn Ivey's Black Woods Blue Sky. I've been struggling with my fiction reads lately, but this one blew me away! Set in rural Alaska, the major plot twist of this novel is revealed to us early on, but that doesn't lower the tension at all. I highly recommend it. 

Sunday, May 25

We may have reached the mid-80s during the day on Saturday, but the frequent ocean breezes made for cool nights and I found Gravel dozing in her sleeping bag on Sunday morning. We enjoyed some breakfast and morning yoga before heading just over the dune to the beach.

Sunday's read was all about one novel: Madeleine Thien's Do Not Say We Have Nothing. This tome takes place during the Chinese cultural revolution, from the rise of Mao Zedong through the massacre at Tiananmen Square. Artfully written, this one is in the running for my favorite read of 2025! 

After a few hours enjoying the sun, I was in the mood for a sweet treat. Gravy and I headed back to the village for a scoop of mint chocolate chip from Fig Tree Bakery & Deli. I'm not a regular cash carrier and Fig Tree has a $10 minimum, so I also treated myself to some of their fresh tuna salad. I cannot remember ever having said this sentence before, but...that tuna salad kinda changed my life?! It was SO good? Wow. I wish I had more, tbh. Next time you're in Ocracoke, don't sleep on the Fig Tree tuna salad.

Back at camp, Gravel and I were tuckered out from the sun and settled in for a lengthy nap. When I woke up, I dove right back into Madeleine's novel. The sun set slowly on Sunday, and Gravy & I enjoyed lazing on the grass, reading, doing sudoku, and cooking a yummy dinner. 

The campground was full, so nighttime ambiance consisted of lots of laughter, kids racing each other on bikes, dogs wagging their sandy tails as they walked their owners past, and the smell of everyone cooking on charcoal grills. In other words, pure heaven. Monday morning, Gravy and I woke to the sound of rain drumming against the tent and we quickly packed our things to begin the (I'll admit it) lengthy drive home. We spent ~9 hours in the car on Sunday, and I was absolutely dead on my feet by the time I could finally lie down in my bed again. And it was entirely worth it.

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