Good morning to you, dear reader, from my mother’s living room, and the red and black “Christmas PJs” she gently suggested that I wear. The coffee is spiked with RumChata, the belly is stuffed with Belgian waffles, and the phones are on the chargers preparing for a series of video chats with friends and family who were unable to come together in safe union.
Mom, Jake, and I quarantined for two weeks to have this time together, and it was worth it. Quarantining ahead of time for safe socialization feels pretty normal now. A side effect of living through 2020. Here’s to making it to the end of this year. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, circumstances will be gentler in 2021.
2020 pictorial highlights
(Half) a year in books
This year, I started keeping track of the books I’ve read and when. I write the title, author, and month on the inside of my journal’s front cover. Lists — they ground me.
Here I’ve taken this list one step further and enhanced each entry with a single sentence of commentary.
Gilead, Marilynne Robinson
Narrative that flows like a river and makes you think of death, perhaps in a way that’s alright.
Trick Mirror, Jia Tolentino
At first I was depressed from her poignant perspective on the internet, then I was amused by her story about being on a reality TV show.
The Husband’s Secret, Liane Moriarty
On some days, escaping reality was as simple as turning on an audio book about a few Australian moms whose lives unexpectedly intermingle in a dramatic and distressing context.
Cannery Row, John Steinbeck
This classic is set in Monterey, California, as is the television series Big Little Lies, which is based off of another novel by Moriarty, although the stories are set in two very different versions of Monterey.
(If one wanted to vacation in Monterey in the spirit of either story, it’s possible via this Steinbeck AirBnb or one of many giant, beachside mansions that give off Laura-Dern-as-Renata-Klein vibes.)
Nine Strangers, Liane Moriarty
More escapism through Australian literature read by Australian actress Caroline Lee, this time involving health, wellness, and psychoactive drugs.
Almost French, Sarah Turnbull
Enjoying images of Paris but experiencing distaste for the author’s narrow perspective, I got annoyed with how frequently this memoir contained this here sentence structure.
Bluets, Maggie Nelson
People whose taste I very much admire are borderline obsessed with this book, and I must be broken this year because it didn’t hit me right.
The Last September, Elizabeth Bowen
Revisiting this classic lit once assigned by my favorite professor made summer feel like fall on campus.
Telling True Stories: A Nonfiction Writers' Guide from the Nieman Foundation at Harvard University
It’s a helpful collection of essays from journalists and nonfiction writers, taken from the annual Harvard’s Nieman Conference on Narrative Journalism, part of my “let’s go back to school, but for free” energy.
Sex & Rage, Eve Babitz
At first I thought I loved the character, but later she became tiresome, and maybe that’s the point?
Priestdaddy, Patricia Lockwood
Cat’s Eye, Margaret Atwood
I end the year on this novel, a recommendation that’s close to a friend’s heart, but chilly enough in its tone that I might do another Moriarty audio book afterwards to warm up again.
A song for you
And while we’re on the topic of Karen O…
Who wore it better?
xo
Katya
Love the writing, love the writer.