restingmotion

April Books

The problem with book posts is that very often there are books about which I have nothing to say.  They may have been disappointments.  I may have enjoyed reading the books, and even felt them to be useful, but still not found them so interesting that I wish to write a blog post.   The question then becomes whether or a not a list of books is worth maintaining on this blog.  I have a list of books I've read elsewhere, but if this blog is a place to review what is actually capturing my fancy or on my mind, book lists may prove to be useless.

 

I "read" eight books in April.  The word read is in quotation marks because I listened to two of those books on Audible while I was working on embroidery or other needlework.  I spent over 60-hours on embroidery in late March and early April, more than enough time to listen to two volumes of the Robert Jordan Wheel of Time series.  I enjoyed them.  Do I have anything to say about them? No.  Do I consider listening to books the same as reading?  The answer to that really depends on the type of book and the circumstances, but generally I would say "not really", although listening to books simply to gather information, or for distraction or entertainment can be a profitable pursuit.  Do audio books count as books or not?  I remain undecided, but I am leaning toward yes, although I recognize that I do not process things I hear in the same way I process the written word.  A good book, a highly worthwhile book, may require two readings to fully absorb, and there is no reason why that first, lay-of-the-land reading could not be in the form of an audiobook.    Of course there are a lot of books that are only worth a quick once-through, perhaps even a skim.  And the number of books that really hold up to deep reading, books from which more is revealed with each pass, are few. Despite this,  all books we read, whether for knowledge or escape, contribute to who we are and what we think and believe.

 

Here I am back at the list.  To continue from my last post:

 

20.    Caesar: Life of A Collosus, Adrian Goldsworthy  (biography)

21.    Troubled: A Memoir of Foster Care, Family and Social Class, Rob Henderson (memoir)

22.    The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, James McBride (novel)

23.     The Girl Giant,  Kristen den Hartog (novel)

24.    The Vulnerables, Sigrid Nunez (novel)

25.    Winter's Heart,  Robert Jordan (novel)

26.    The Color of Water,  James McBride (memoir)

27.    Crossroads of Twilight, Robert Jordan (novel)

 

The first two books, Caesar and Troubled, were both fabulous and thought-provoking although for very different reasons.  Most of Caesar was read in March although I finished at the beginning of April.  It reminded me of a lot of things about Rome I once knew but which had slipped to the back of my memory, and I learned much about both Julius Caesar and Rome.  This was a fabulous informative, well-written, compelling biography. I do, however, understand that I need to read the book again in order to fully absorb it.  

 

Troubled was also fascinating and thought provoking, a faster read but well worth thinking about.   The book is well written, but the prose is a bit terse and guarded, no grandiose memoirist Henderson.  Still the story was both sad and thought-provoking.   I may disagree with some of Henderson's theories and agree with others, but agreement with the author's premise is never a prerequisite for liking a book --  I would simply expect the author to make me think, and Henderson does that.  I'm not convinced the book deserves the kind of focused rereading that Adrian Goldsworthy's book does, nor do I find it as complex, but I do need to engage with the book a little further if for no other reason than to better formulate my own response.

 

Most of the fiction was read for entertainment reasons.   As mentioned above, I listened to the two novels by Robert Jordan.  I am enjoying the series, and it is actually rather complex and intellectually interesting.  I will probably read in its physical form some day.  

I read James McBride's The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store a second time, for my book club, and I although I enjoyed thoroughly, very little new was revealed.  It seems to straddle the line between commercial and literary fiction, with some literary aspects but the basic formula and neatly resolved ending that usually comes with commercial fiction.  There is probably a name for this category, I call it "book club" fiction.  Reading the novel again did prompt me to  read McBride's memoir of his mother The Color of Water, because on this reading of the novel it struck me that a number of the characters and plot points were based on McBride's own family story.  That impression was confirmed.  I suspect the novel could only have evolved out of what began with the memoir, and yet I still find the novel more fully realized and interesting.

 

Of the two remaining novels, Kristen den Hartog's novel The Girl Giant, was well written, thoughtful and somewhat engaging in a rather quiet way, but I never really connected with it.  In fact I felt it rather bland, but that is all about me.  

 

The novel I did love was Sigrid Nunez's novel The Vulnerables.. This was definitely a literary novel, and in many ways a "small" novel, taking place over a short period of time in the life of a single character.  I found that a great deal of Nunez's auto-fictional musings on art, life, literature engaging and compelling.  In fact a lot of the passages I copied out in my journal reference literature, from Dickens to Brecht, not so much directly,  but the way the author uses literature as an internal framework for the journeys that encompass a life.  Due to its literary nature, there are no answers here, no pat conclusions.  It is a book I will pick up again and again to read the odd passage.

Playing With My Food 2

Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

For me this weekend has been designated a weekend of rest following a particularly busy spring.  More busy than I would prefer.  Whether or not it has actually been busier than other springs may be up for debate, although I have certainly been more stressed than usual.  Whether this is a factor of busyness or the ever-evolving, and revolving, process of change, remains undecided.  Whatever the source, I increasingly believe that doing more does not necessarily lead to a better life.  Possibly quite the opposite.

 

 

Still, one must eat.  I eat at home most of the time; for the most part I eat home-prepared meals, although a significant number of those meals were merely functional:  meat, poultry, fish and a vegetable or two.  Cooked but not cooking.  Does that make any sense?  Quality of ingredients remained important, but simplicity was paramount, as in the simply seared axis venison loin and spinach above.  I am also not above an occasional meal of cheese, olives, crackers and a glass of vermouth.  But eventually the urge to play returns.

 

In April I started cooking from Ann Taylor Pittman and Scott Mowbray's cookbook The Global Pantry Cookbook.  It was the Food 52 cookbook club cookbook of the month, and as is sometimes the case, I was initially skeptical.  Not because I was not interested in the global pantry, but because my pantry already contains many of the book's featured ingredients and I use them frequently so I wondered if there was anything new.  I shouldn't have worried.  I was also, it occurs to me now, both ready to play, but not ready to experiment.  This cookbook then, was a good place to start.  Many of the recipes I prepared were in fact, quite retro.  There is something about that I think, when we are opening the door to some new self, we also wish to hold onto the past a little more tightly.

 

I started with "Hamburger Steaks with Rich Onion Gravy".  I eat hamburgers frequently, I usually eat them on a plate not on a sandwich; hence I normally eat hamburger "steaks" even though I don't use that term.  I often sauté onions or mushrooms to top those burgers, the same way my mother prepared them when I was a child.  As a child I think I ate far more hamburgers with mushroom gravy than I ever ate hamburger sandwiches on a bun. So the question was, "How is this different?"  

 

First off, Pittman and Mowbray add breadcrumbs to their burger mix, making a burger that is, to my mind anyway, more of a giant meatball than it is a burger. I didn't do this, even though it is a common enough technique.  I simply mixed salt and pepper into my burger meat.  I did, however, cook the burgers in a cast iron skillet as recommended in the recipe.  This is classic burger technique and nothing new.  After the burger is cooked the authors add onions to the pan drippings and sauté them until golden.  Again, classic, something I have done for 50 some odd years with either onions or mushrooms.   Finally,  in the last step, their recipe shifts from my classic version.  I might deglaze the pan with wine and follow with broth or stock to make a pan gravy.  I don't usually add flour, instead cooking down the pan juices until syrupy.  If feeling generous, a pat of butter may be added at the end.  Pittman and Mowbray do it differently.  They whisk flour into their stock, which is also classic American cookery.  Their global tip is to add a generous dollop of white miso which adds richness in mouthfeel and umami to the pan sauce.  I liked the result.  I did use flour, but less than called for, as the gluten-free flour blend I had at hand included xanthan gum, which is a powerful thickener.  Frankly, I could have done without the flour altogether, but the resulting burger with onion gravy is good.  I will keep miso in mind as an alternative technique for making a pan gravy for either a burger or a steak.    I'm not sure this is as much a new recipe, however, as it is a thought variation.

Next up I did try something new.  This recipe is called "Virtuous Vegan Harissa Tofu Bowls".   Let's just call my version "Harissa Tofu" because I neither served it in a bowl or added the grains.  The recipe called for farro, which is not gluten-free; I could have substituted a number of things, but I was quite satisfied with the tofu and broccolini without the added grain.  With the requisite grains, the recipe serves 4; my version without serves 2. The broccolini is parboiled in the same water used to cook the grain.  I suppose if not cooking grains the broccolini could be steamed.  I parboiled the broccolini and saved the water for use in a vegetable soup later in the week.  

 

The tofu is pressed, then cut in cubes, tossed with a mixture of cornstarch, salt, and garlic powder,  then shallow-fried.  The tofu is then cooked briefly with a mixture of pomegranate molasses and harissa.  At the same time, onion is stir-fried or sautéed with the broccolini until the onion is just charred, at which time the tofu and broccolini were tossed together and served.  The resulting dish was a wonderful combination of flavors -- the tofu both crispy and soft, the sauce bright, tart, with a mild heat balanced by the pomegranate molasses and the sweetness of the charred onions and the fresh vegetal flavors of the broccolini.  This combination has been added to my list of tofu recipes I will make again and again.  This is a list that remained stagnant for years, and is suddenly blossoming.  I also like the idea of adding the garlic powder to the cornstarch before frying the tofu, another small improvement in technique which yields big dividends.

 

About this time I found myself at the very end of the winter bok choy season.  The last of my crop was beginning to bolt and so there was a quick harvest and a search for new ideas using bok choy.  I remembered that I had seen a recipe for a bok choy omelet I wanted to try, and I found the recipe in Ali Slagle's  I Dream of Dinner.. The recipe is "Bok Choy - Gochujang Omelet".  It is really a rather simple omelet.  The bok choy is mixed with a simple sauce made with gochujang and lime juice.  Slagle doesn't cook her bok choy. I briefly pan sear mine before adding it to the sauce.  I also used more bok-choy to egg than the author recommends, but unless I am trying something unfamiliar, experience and my own preferences tend to lead.  What makes the recipe special is the generous amount of lime zest that is added to the egg mixture before scrambling.  What didn't work for me were the sesame seeds.  The first time I made this I was out.  I sprinkled furikake on top of the omelet for the requisite bit of crunch and loved the result.  The second time I used sesame seeds but didn't think they added anything special to the dish, which also uses toasted sesame oil.  Since then I have left the sesame seeds out and simply sprinkled the final omelet with furikake.  Currently I am using kimchi furikake. And yes, this is my current favorite omelet, I've probably made it at least once a week for the past six weeks.

 

Then I returned to new riffs on familiar foods.   The Global Pantry Cookbook has a recipe called "Ann's Smoky Pimento Kim Cheese" which is a riff on traditional pimento cheese.  I love pimento cheese.  I grew up eating pimento cheese.  I couldn't buy it when I lived in New York State so I made my own for decades.  I still make my own because I like the basic bare bones pimento cheese I grew up with, which is easy to make -- grated sharp cheddar cheese, pimentos, mayonnaise.   I've eaten gussied up versions with cream cheese.  I've eaten all kinds of store-bought versions, but I've only ever purchased one pimento cheese, which was locally made from local cheeses and is no longer available.  Even then I probably purchased it because I could purchase it in smaller quantities than I was likely to make at home. I prefer my simple at-home version to all the others, but if I make it, I will eat it. 

 

As much as I love pimento cheese, I probably love kimchi just as much.  But it had never occurred to me to combine them, an idea worth exploring.  Pittman and Mowbray start with a fresh red bell pepper, which they smoke before adding it to the kimchi.  I did that once.  It was good, but I don't like it better than the smoky jarred piquillo peppers I usually use in my own pimento cheese (instead of the standard pimientos).  I did however like the addition of the kimchi, and the small amount of grated onion, neither of which had graced my pimento cheese previously.  I don't think I would grate onions every time.  And I won't make pimento kim cheese every time either but I do like it as a regular variation.  I used jarred kimchi, and the results will vary depending on the kimchi used.  Use a kimchi you like.  I liked my first batch better than my second, but I also liked the first jar of kimchi better than the second.  This whole experiment reminds me that I need to start making kimchi again.  I miss my homemade kimchi, which I stopped making when I was going through breast cancer treatment. It really is time for a reboot in the kitchen.

 

 

In the midst of a fridge clean-out, I found just under a half-round of Sequatchie Cove Creamery's Walden, a soft reblochon-style cheese, hiding in a corner of the cheese drawer, and this reminded me that The Global Pantry included a recipe for a baked brie.  Well, I couldn't use a traditional baked brie technique, but I thought I could adapt the recipe somewhat.  I cut the cheese in quarters and placed it in a ramekin around an egg creating a kind of baked-brie/cocotte kind of dish with the egg and cheese and spiced honey topping.    The recipe called for honey, tart cherries, black walnuts and Calabrian chiles, and the entire thing made a perfect, if also somewhat luxurious, repast at the end of an unusually exhausting day. 

 

 

Last but far from least was another reworking of an old classic.  I actually made "Damn Fine Meatloaf with Spicy Onion Glaze" twice, so there was a lot of meatloaf eating at the end of the month.    Pittman and Mowbray update a classic meatloaf mix of beef and pork by adding oyster sauce and soy sauce, and topping the meatloaf with a spicy ketchup/sriracha glaze.  The first time I made it, I did not use the recommended panko breadcrumbs, but instead dried out and crumbled up a piece of leftover homemade cornbread.  The meatloaf mixture was fairly wet, and I wasn't sure if this was the difference between using cornbread instead of breadcrumbs, or due to the fact that gluten-free and gluten breads have different absorption characteristics.  I baked the meatloaf in a bread pan, but even after adequate cooling I had trouble removing slices without the meatloaf crumbling.  If I turned the meatloaf out of the pan as a whole, the delicious glaze was on the bottom, not so desirable, but the texture and flavor of the meatloaf as a whole was wonderful.  The second time I used panko, but made the meatloaf free-form on a cookie sheet and covered with the glaze.  This worked beautifully, but I think I preferred the texture of the meatloaf made with the cornbread.  I am sure I will repeat it.  Whenever I make cornbread, there is usually some left over, and this is a very simple meatloaf which yields big dividends.

 

None of my April kitchen explorations were particularly adventurous, unusual, or difficult.  I am reminded that there is much I have neglected that I wish to do again, but that is true in all of the things that are important to me in my life.  Rebooting kitchen, sewing, knitting, garden -- each is a life-time's task.  Whatever bit I can do is enough.

 

I'm Still Here

I am still here.  And there have been a lot of thoughts flitting through my head, some new, some old. Apparently I am living through a process of settling down into myself.  I know I keep saying that, but I continually surprise myself, and so it bears repeating.

Let's start with a peony.  This is the same peony that I shared at the bottom of my last garden post, just a better picture, taken in the evening, in the "golden hour".  This peony has been thriving, with over 4 dozen blooms.  It lives on the east side of my front yard.  It is the peony whose roots are intermingled with a little lime hydrangea.  I have thought, on several occasions, that the two should be separated, but they seem to be thriving together, and so I leave them be.  All of the peonies are roughly the same age, but this one, cohabiting as it is, seems to be the happiest.  it is the one peony for which I do not have to supply support as it is propped up on those hydrangea branches.  I suspect that it thrives in the early spring sun, before the hydrangea fully leafs out, and the hydrangea protects it from the worst of the summer heat.

Most of the peony blossoms have been beaten into the ground by now, these photos were all taken last week, before torrential rains, thunderstorms and heavy winds took their toll, but the memory of peony season remain.  The peony above was the last to open,  just before the rains hit, but after a brief pause it is sending out new blossoms now.  What I thought was a fleeting moment has become something different, not just a moment but a trend. 

I don't really remember the name of any of the peonies I've shown you, but I do have a garden plan, and I do have them marked.  The same will be true for iris varieties in the other pictures I intend to put up in this post.  I could look them all up, but I'm not really sure it matters much.  There are things that do matter, but the name of the flower doesn't particularly affect my enjoyment of it.  Better, I suspect to simply accept the joy that is offered.

Things bring me joy as well, but it doesn't really matter if the thing itself has any value outside of my own feelings for it.  As far as I am concerned, it seems I have reached a point where provenance, in and of itself, doesn't matter.  If something has beauty, or function, or is meaningful to me in some way, that is all that matters. That is not to say that I cannot be judgmental, that I don't have my own biases.  I do make judgements. We all make judgements, and very often these judgements are made on incomplete or faulty assumptions.  I know that I sometimes make misjudgments, about things, and about people, mostly because of lack of information, ignorance even.  I can only hope that I am willing to change my mind when faced with additional information if so warranted.

 

Which brings me to people.  I am human, and I, like every other human, seems to have a default setting, an inbred assumption that the way I see the world is the same way everyone else sees the world.  Of course this is not true.  What seems like common sense to me might be outright foolishness to you, if not downright dangerous.  What I've found is that I don't really care about what anyone else believes, or even whether or not we agree, even on topics that are important to me.  I do not mean that I would disrespect or ignore someone else's beliefs, beliefs are important to who we are. I mean that I don't dislike someone just because they don't believe the same things I do, nor do I assume they are stupid, wrong, evil, or a host of other adjectives. I do care about people who are willing to seek out common ground, who are willing to think about their own beliefs as well as those of others, who are curious, who are willing to say "I don't know".  All I suppose I care about is that we are willing to seek those things we have in common beyond our differences, and see that are differences are a part of ourselves, that we are willing to question, not only others but the very basis of who we are, the very thing makes us human.  That doesn't mean we can always connect, but I like to hope that we can always try.   If you don't want to connect with me, I have realized that I won't dislike you, but I might not make time for you either.   If someone intentionally tries to hurt me or those I love, that is something else altogether.  That doesn't mean I can't strike out when I feel backed into a corner.  That doesn't mean there aren't days when I am more entrenched in my own views than others.  We all have good days and bad days.    I think the best we can hope for is that our good days outweigh our bad days.

Which brings me to something else that struck me along the way.  The other day I was a part of a conversation about Mahler symphonies.  Several symphonies were discussed and I found the conversation fascinating -- the person who loved #3 or #5, the person who liked 7 more than 5.  The person who found 7 difficult.  I would listen to snippets of each in my brain.  And then I was asked which was my favorite Mahler symphony, and I drew a blank.  Not because I didn't know the symphonies, but because right now, I don't have a favorite.  I love them all.  I can imagine them each.  Once upon a time I would have said the ninth, a popular choice that, or the 5th.  I did say I am leaning more toward the late symphonies now than I was when I was younger, which is true.   But I also realized that I no longer really play favorites with music.  Perhaps this is an outgrowth of my project to be less judgmental when listening to music, to just allow myself to experience the moment.  If so it is an unexpected consequence, and yet, ultimately, a rather good one.  I don't need a desert island symphony.  Actually the sea is probably symphony enough.  Whatever I am listening to is enough. 

Certainly this hasn't been always true.  I've had favorites, I've held grudges.  But at the moment neither one really plagues me much.  The book I am reading is the book I am reading.  The person I am talking to is enough.  The music that surrounds me in this moment. I wonder how long this will last. Is this a permanent change? or a temporary bubble?

But it struck me, this week in particular, that this is where I am now.  I love the blooming roses as much as the chive blossoms.  I love the new green buds on any tree.  I've long loved all kinds of music, all kinds of books, all kinds of art.  I love the five dollar purse I bought at Target as much as the fancy designer bag George gave me. I suspect whether I love something, or someone, or not depends entirely on my ability to engage with that thing or person on some level.  There are no limits.  

 

Today I am tired.

Today I am reading a Daniel Silva novel.

Today I am listening to Zemlinsky. 

Tomorrow will be different.  All of it can be good.

Poetry, Drama, And Yes, One Novel: March Books

Still playing catch-up.  These are the books I read in March:

 

14.     Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice In Her Head, Warsan Shire (poetry)

15.     How I Won A Nobel Prize, Julius Taranto (novel)

16.    The Hidden Lives of Tudor Women, Elizabeth Norton (non-fiction)

17.     How to Know a Person, David Brooks.  (non-fiction)

18.     Anon(ymous): A Drama, Naomi Iizuka  (drama)

19.    Julia Hungry, Hannah Louise Poston (poetry)

 

Look how nicely balanced and aligned my reading was in March!  I don't believe I noticed this until I typed the list out, just now.  The list aligns as if it were a survey of the various types of books I read, which is interesting.  The list is also interesting because, about half of these books I read fairly quickly.  The  shortest books were the books I spent the most time with, namely the two volumes of poetry.  The two non-fiction books,  at the center of the month, were the quickest reads.  I shall start there.

 

Both The Hidden Lives of Tudor Women and How to Know A Person were entertaining, easy to read and informative books. Neither book requires an investment of more than a couple (perhaps a few) hours.

 

I would certainly recommend Norton's book, The Hidden Lives of Tudor Women,  to anyone who doesn't know much about Tudor England, but would like to learn more,  and who is interested in the lives of women.  Norton provides a well-researched survey of what is known about the lives of women, both of the upper and lower classes.  She can be commended for spending time on the lives of the elderly, of servants, and of women who do not often show up in history books.  However, much as I found this a refreshing survey,  I found nothing new here, nothing that I had not already learned from other histories of the Tudor period.  But then, I have long been fascinated by Tudor England, by its history, its politics, its religious struggles, and its literature.      

 

How to Know A Person, David Brooks' latest book is another easy, and sometimes entertaining, at other times maddening, foray into pop sociology.  Brooks is popular and influential; reading his books, is like placing a finger on a pulse of one part of the social landscape.  But I always find them lightweight, as if the author is willing to run right up to an insight, meeting it face to face on the surface, and then pull back, refusing to delve into anything that might be uncomfortable.  The author's trademark technique of combing research and personal narrative is intended to come across as charming, perhaps even engaging, but I almost always end up finishing the book feeling as if there is no "there" there.  Brooks begins by laying out what is necessary to actually get to know others deeply, and initially the book appears laudable.  He tells of his own struggles in terms of being more open; then he falls back into pattern, breaking people up into narrowly defined categories.  The not-so hidden message is that we know what we are supposed to do, but we are flawed. This is a feel-good book, acknowledging what we know, acknowledging that we struggle, but rather than helping us become more open, it gives us permission to fail.  And maybe that is why we (myself included) read David Brooks, he is a milquetoast for the 21st century.  David Brooks appears to have made a career of being reasonable, of reminding us of things we should know, should do, but not pushing too hard or too far.  Brooks has filled a niche as a spokesperson for an age, a group, a society, that knows it is supposed to believe something, it just hasn't quite figured out what that might be.

 

Moving out from the center, I read a novel, How I Won A Nobel Prize, by Julius Taranto.    This is an intelligent and ambitious satiric novel which revolves around campus cancel culture and the wider issues that arise in the midst of rapidly changing social mores.  On a spectrum from commercial to literary fiction, I would place it on the literary side of  commercial, blending aspects of the two, perhaps "upmarket", in that there is a lot of metaphor, a lot of insider, east-coast-elite-education references, and yet there is a very definite clearly satisfying and unambiguous ending.  The novel is very metaphor heavy, often deft in its exploration of the failings of both right-wing and left-wing ideologies in terms of cultural accountability and morality.  I often found it laugh out loud funny.  Well written, and very much of the moment.

 

Anon(ymous) is a play written by Naomi Iizuka. I read the play because it was being performed at the local Clarence Brown Theater.  I have found that I enjoy reading a play before seeing the performance, and sometimes, as I did here, I read the play again after attending the performance.  Reading plays is not like reading novels.  Plays are stories, and you need to read it as if it is telling a story, but unlike a novel, it is incomplete.  The reader must imagine it being acted out, imagine it materializing before their eyes.  Of course seeing a play solves this problem, and this is probably why many people find it easier to see a play than to read it.  I studied a lot of early English Drama in school, plays that are not really performed much today, more's the pity.  I like reading plays and this play was no exception. Anon(ymous) is a powerful play about refugees, about journey, and finding home, based on the Odyssey.  Like Odysseus, Anon left home many years before, his journey is beset by trials and tempests, and eventually he is reunited with family, overcomes suitors that would keep him from family, and triumphs.  The play is filled with characters and situations that directly echo the Odyssey and yet this is a journey for the 21st century.  I distinctly remember thinking that if young people read the Odyssey today in the way this play presents it would hit home so deeply.  It also made me think that perhaps I never considered how the Odyssey itself affected audiences in its own time.  Much to ponder there.  This is a poetic, powerful, and profoundly disturbing play, that really brings home the plight of refugees, but also our own complicity in that plight.   The production was also powerfully realized. I absolutely loved both.  The play reminds me, in terms of its power, and the way it has permanently affected my thinking, of the play Necessary Targets by Eve Ensler, and the novel Exit West, by Mohsin Hamid.  Different, its own story, but one we all need to see and hear.  It also has me wondering about rereading the Odyssey.  What would my 66-year old self see that my 20-year old self did not?

 

I opened and closed the month with volumes of poetry.  Two slim volumes, both by women, both volumes I have carried around in my purse for much of the month.   Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice In Her Head by Warsan Shire is a volume of powerful poems about womanhood, trauma, migration, resilience - poems that are striking, inspirational, that worm their way deeply into the conscience.  I love the way the idea of "blessing" runs through the book, no so much as something bestowed upon, or condoned, by God, but as a process of memory and meditation, to bless something, to take it into your heart so that it shapes who you become, alive in the multiplicity that is the world.  

 

The other volume of poetry Julia Hungry by Hannah Louise Poston is still traveling about in my purse, available to peruse whenever I am stuck waiting in line some place or another.   This slim volume is filled with incredible poetry, rhythmically, almost musically complex, moving, sometimes absurd, sometimes funny, sometimes sad or hopeful.   It has been a long time since a new volume of poetry has struck me so profoundly.   Highly recommended and worth seeking out.