Shaina Reads

The Monday After Readathon Weekend ought to be declared a biannual international holiday. I don't have room to complain—I passed out halfway through Hour 17—but it's the principle of the thing, you know?

In addition to making me feel all sorts of lovey-dovey feelings for the book blogging community, I think Readathon helped me bust out of a semi-slump. It wasn't that I wasn't reading, but nothing I was working on was really 100% grabbing me. Sometimes I think that reading that feels too routine can be worse than not reading at all. Happily, the event helped me clear a few (enjoyable!) stragglers off my plate, and the prospect of a clean slate has me feeling energized.

For now, I'm going where my gut takes me, and so far I've been plowing through the audio of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I got through more than half of it over the weekend and fully expect to plow through the rest. This is some of the most literary nonfiction I've ever encountered, and I can't wait to learn more about what Capote's research process was, besides the fact that he had freaking HARPER LEE help him with it.

Also, a group of very, very insistent folks on Twitter have persuaded me to give Maggie Stiefvater's Raven Cycle a shot. I'm not one to pick up young adult on a whim, but all the jubilation over the forthcoming The Raven King has got me curious. I picked up the audiobook of the first installment from the library and am hoping it eases nicely into my current fiction vacancy.

T'was the day after Readathon, and all through the street, not a reader was stirring, not even to tweet...

Another Readathon has come and gone. So, how did I do this year? Pretty well, if I do say so myself! I finished two in-progress books, Neurotribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity by Steve Silberman and Some Possible Solutions by Helen Phillips. I also took a chunk out of At the Existentialist Café: Freedom, Being and Apricot Cocktails by Sarah Bakewell and got through nearly half of the audio of In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. All told, I read 82 pages and listened to eight hours of audio, but I've got more on my mind than specific stats today.

I remember when I first found out about the Readathon back in October 2014. In an effort to fill my life with more great reading suggestions and bookish folk, I'd joined a subreddit dedicated to people trying to read 52 books per year. Some wonderful human posted a link to the Readathon website, encouraging people to participate, and I was instantly intrigued. I had nothing going on that weekend—my boyfriend was out of the country for his work, and I was still in the process of cobbling together a social group in Connecticut after moving a little more than a year before. Besides, a whole day devoted to reading? Nothing sounded better. I stocked up on some munchies, built a stack and dove in headfirst.

It's hard to believe that was just a year and a half ago. Just eighteen months ago, I didn't have a book blog. I didn't tweet about my reading and I didn't post book covers on Instagram. I hadn't experienced the joy of being approved for my very first review copy, nor had I experienced the stress of having too many books to review. I also didn't know anything about the book blogging community and hadn't met any of the lovely people whom I'm so happy to count among my friends today.

And the people, man. That's what Readathon is really all about. Having dedicated reading time is wonderful, and I am a huge proponent of snack planning and eating. Unexpectedly scoring a prize is a joy. But really, at the end of it all, I'm just so grateful for the people whom I know are just a tweet or text away on Readathon day, ready to talk books, the universe and everything. I'm even more grateful for the people who stick around the other 363 days of the year.

So here's to you all. Thank you for being such an important part of my life, one I never could have imagined when I signed up for my first Readathon all those months ago. Let the countdown to October—and my fifth Readathon—begin!

The Readathon is just two days away! Can you believe it?


ScarJo is the cutest and I will fight whomever disagrees.

After I Storified my ten reasons that you should participate in the Readathon, I got bit by the bug and had to make another Readathon-related graphic for y'all. Behold: my scientifically-validated dos and don'ts for building yourself the perfect Readathon stack.

A disclaimer before we start: you do not need to build a stack. I repeat: you do not need to build a stack! I've built them in the past, but this year I will be flying by the seat of my comfiest pajama pants. I have a handful of books I'm currently reading and oodles of other options hanging around the house (ahem). I'll be going wherever the wind takes me on Saturday.

For those of you who want to build a stack? Read on!

In case you missed my rapid-fire tweeting about why you should participate in Dewey's 24-Hour Readathon yesterday, I've compiled all ten reasons and added commentary and GIFs (naturally).

Image credit goes to Michelle!

Michelle of That's What She Read takes a little time every Friday to talk about what's helping her to end her work week on a high note. Sometimes she only talks about one or two things, but I look forward to the post every time. There's always more room for positivity in the blogosphere, right?

Today, I'm taking a leaf out of her book and sharing a little bit about what makes today a fabulous Friday for me. Expect no books but a lot of good news!

I've picked a graduate school!

I'm exercising again!

My attitude has taken a 180-degree turn for the better!

Spring is (kinda-sorta, depending upon your location) upon us, guys! It poured earlier this week and promises to tomorrow. I just visited Seattle (where it was crazy sunny). What better time to discuss a book about rain? I guess this doesn't apply as well to Matt Kaplan's book—he only talks about rainstorms part of the time—but let's roll right on ahead with that introduction.

Cynthia Barnett's Rain: A Natural and Cultural History dives in to the minutiae of the weather that can make for a cozy day in or a frustrating day out (if you don't have the right gear). She covers everything from the nitty-gritty of how rainstorms develop, both the normal and not-so-normal kinds (acid, frog, etc.), to how rainfall is related to climate change and human migration. I loved learning the specifics of how devastating both droughts and deluges can be and how some of the driest cities compound their problem by letting their rainwater flow out to sea. Also, the wettest city in America totally isn't Seattle. (Spoiler alert: it's New Orleans, LA.)

Barnett goes beyond writing about rain in and of itself; she explores the people who loved it, prayed (and continue to pray) for it, and first learned to measure it. Did you know that Thomas Jefferson was a huge rain buff and that he picked the absolute worst spot to build Monticello in regards to average precipitation? I didn't. She also covers how rain may have been the subject of "the first work of modern journalism" (pg. 71), how the famous mackintosh raincoat was born, and so much more.

Barnett also explains the history of a rain-related idiom, and idiom origin stories are the quickest way to my heart:

"The saying ['when it rains, it pours'] was an ad rather than an adage, developed for Morton Salt. Prior to 1911, table salt had the notorious problem of caking in rainy weather. That year, Morton began adding the anticaking agent magnesium carbonate to its salt. Executives wanted to emphasize the idea that it would pour even in the damp. The original pitch, 'Even in rainy weather, its flows freely,' proved clunky." - pg. 148, Rain: A Natural and Cultural History

Where Rain goes for depth, Science of the Magical: From the Holy Grail to Love Potions to Superpowers goes for breadth. Kaplan takes well-known magical and mythological objects and phenomena and grounds them in past and current scientific inquiry. I learned a handful of cool things from the book, to be sure. Did you know that ancient Egyptian eye makeup may actually have been effective at staving off infections, despite being full of lead? Also, another fun idiom origin: the phrase "mad as a hatter" comes from the fact that hat makers used to inhale mercury fumes from the while treating their products. The repeated exposure caused them to become "pathologically shy, depressed, and forgetful, [and] some became permanently delirious" (Loc 1020).

Sadly, the fun tidbits and my own initial excitement could not make up for how many times I raised my eyebrows reading this. Kaplan tries for humorous and self-deprecating footnotes, but many don't land (really, you had to throw in jokes about pregnant women eating Ben & Jerry's?). Also, for a science writer, Kaplan uses far more causal language and fewer examples than I am comfortable swallowing. The results of one study might be intriguing and cause for further exploration, but definitive evidence they are not.

It might be unfair to compare these two books directly. Barnett gets nearly 300 pages, not counting endnotes, to stretch out and explore the nuances of her subject. Kaplan crams in nearly several dozen concepts in under 250 pages, notes and all. Science of the Magical's slimness might account for some of the language I mentioned earlier (we all know how misleading short and snappy science headlines can get), but I'd have preferred he covered fewer things in a better manner.

Overall, if you ever find yourself having to pick between the two, Rain gets my vote. If you want to learn a little about a lot and have a keen eye for picking out the good science from the bad, Science of the Magical may get the job done. I'd love to hear if it works out better for you.