Shaina Reads

A photo posted by Julianne :: Outlandish Lit (@_ulianne) on May 14, 2016 at 8:27am PDT

All told, I walked away with 28 books and several single-issue comics. I'm glad I resisted grabbing more, because I only just managed to get them all home without shipping a thing. Yesterday, I tweeted about five that I'm particularly excited about.

Three weeks ago, in honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I had the good fortune of attending a free screening of the stunning James Baldwin documentary The Price of the Ticket. In just under 90 minutes, the film tells the story of the iconic writer's life, from his earliest days in Harlem to his death by stomach cancer in 1987, and all of the stories, essays and novels that he produced in between. The film was followed by a discussion with writer, producer and director Karen Thorsen.

    "There Are Days When You Wonder" from DKDMedia on Vimeo.
Having scarcely scratched the surface of Baldwin's oeuvre with Nobody Knows My Name and The Fire Next Time, I went into the film with a limited knowledge of the man. (Fun fact: Either it doesn't come up in those collections or I was asleep while reading them, but I had no idea that Baldwin was gay. Thanks for informing me, The Price of the Ticket!) I walked out in awe, not the least because of how much we got to see of Baldwin himself. There is a lot of archival footage and photography of James Baldwin out there, and not just from his television interviews. I guess that's what happens when you make friends with a bunch of visual artists. (Another fun fact: Baldwin agreed to be filmed for a student's thesis, which resulted in a super staged shot of him getting out of bed in his tighty whities.)

When she set out to make her film, Thorsen did not know that some of the first footage she would end up shooting would be at Baldwin's funeral. Paraphrasing the website and Thorsen's own commentary at the screening, she had originally intended to make a film with Baldwin about the process of writing his next book. They made this plan in 1986. The following year, Baldwin was dead, but not before personally mailing Thorsen a letter apologizing that he would no longer be able to be involved with the film. Instead, Thorsen crafted a portrait of Baldwin as told in his own words and the words of those he worked with and those he loved (and who loved him). More often than not, those two latter categories overlapped.

"This is a communal story. This is the story of black bodies across this country. This is not just my story." - Claudia Rankine, June 20, 2015

Last Saturday, I had the privilege of attending a free talk by poet and playwright Claudia Rankine. She came as part of New Haven's International Arts and Ideas Festival to discuss how "art teaches a poet to see." She read from her latest collection, Citizen: An American Lyric, and shared how she selected some of the art that goes along with the pieces, including Nick Cave's soundsuits and her struggle to obtain the rights to Public Lynching from the Hulton Archives.

Though slim in size, Citizen pulls together cultural and political commentary about being black in America and searingly personal moments of micro (and macro) aggression. "What happens when people get in the same space and are forced to negotiate?" Rankine wanted to know. She told us that she thinks of the book as a "community project," as she collected many of the stories in her poems from friends. She fleshed out one of her more disturbing pieces about a friend who made an appointment with a trauma counselor:

"At the front door the bell is a small round disc that you press firmly. When the door finally opens, the woman standing there yells, at the top of her lungs, Get away from my house! What are you doing in my yard?

It's as if a wounded Doberman pinscher or a German shepherd has gained the power of speech. And though you back up a few steps, you manage to tell her you have an appointment. You have an appointment? she spits back. Then she pauses. Everything pauses. Oh, she says, followed by, oh, yes, that's right. I am sorry.

I am so sorry, so, so sorry." - Citizen: An American Lyric, pg. 18   

Rankine told us that this friend kept that appointment (as she said, she'd "already gone all that way") and even made another, though she later ended up canceling it.


I've been struggling with how to write about Citizen since I read it a week ago. What I kept coming back to was that, as a young, privileged white woman, this isn't my story, and so who was I to comment on it? After seeing Rankine speak, I realized that, in a sense, it is my story. This is my story because I'm part of a society that allows people of color to be killed every single day. This is my story because I have what Rankine calls "the fluidity of white privilege," in that I'm able to feel terrible about atrocities like the Charleston massacre and wake up the next day and drink my coffee as though nothing happened. Andi made a fantastic point in her review about how Rankine's poems work "like a mirror," forcing you to grapple with not only the pain and anger of being erased, of being reviled, but also the act of negating another human being, whether out of hostility or simple thoughtlessness. Just because the story Citizen tells about me is infuriating and unflattering, I will not shrink away and say, "Not me!" because it's absolutely me. It's all of us. And the sooner we can accept that, the sooner we can do something about it.

In the interest of getting Citizen into the hands of as many people as I can, I'm hosting a giveaway. I'm going to select one lucky reader from the comments below to win a paperback or Kindle copy of Citizen: An American Lyric. (If you want to comment but don't want to be entered in the giveaway, just say so!) Leave your comment by 6 PM EST on Friday, June 27, 2015 to be entered to win. If you don't have a Disqus account, be sure to leave me a way to contact you. Good luck!

EDIT TO GIVEAWAY TERMS: I realized that I can open this up to international readers by offering a Kindle copy or $15 Amazon giftcard instead of a paperback. U.S. residents will have their choice of paperback or Kindle.

As I mentioned before, my boyfriend's mom came for a long visit last weekend. After a delicious Mother's Day brunch on Sunday, she asked if we could go find something for her to read on the plane back to Oregon. (Did I mention that I love my boyfriend's mom?) She specifically requested a used bookshop, so we took her by The Book Trader Café, a local shop specializing in cheap reads and good eats.

Of course, I couldn't pass up a chance to grab a new book or two myself. I found Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie for a mere $1.50 on the clearance cart outside.

While I was away at my conference two weeks ago, I realized that my stressed-out traveling brain just isn't great for appreciating certain types of books. (Ahem.) Too many things going on? Nope, too relevant to my present state. Too philosophical? Nah, no attention span for that, and it might be all I need to pass out on the train. Too sad/serious/otherwise distressing? Once again, really not what I need while I'm fumbling with my luggage and wishing Google Maps would get its act together already.

Enter The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry. This unassuming little book had been sitting on my Kindle since I got it over the holidays, but I'd never cracked it open (or, you know, clicked on it), despite my love for curmudgeonly characters and book-themed books. (For a great list of those, check out M's at Backlist Books.) A.J. Fikry is super cranky and owns a bookstore. Why did I wait so long to read this one?!


In fact, I probably waited just the right amount of time, because I think this book was best read while I needed a respite from the madness around me. Here's why:

1. It's short, but not too short. The whole story clocks in at 260 pages and took me just two days to read while I was on my business trip. I think anything too far over the 300-page threshold would require just a smidge more attention than I have to offer during travels, and it might bleed over into reading time once I'm back home. With something A.J. Fikry-length, I was able to enjoy myself for a couple of days and feel the accomplishment of finishing a whole book.

2. The writing was light. This isn't to say the book was entirely fluffy—there are actually a surprising number of particularly devastating moments for a novel so short—but the story trots along at an easy, engaging pace and caught me off guard with its humor more than a few times:

"Re: their date. For a time, the novelty of the circus had distracted from the fact that they had nothing in common. By the end of dinner, the greater truth of their incompatibility had been revealed. Perhaps it should have been obvious from their inability to reach consensus on an appetizer or from his main course admission that he disliked "old things"—antiques, houses, dogs, people. Still, Amelia had not allowed herself to be certain until dessert, when she'd asked him about the book that had had the greatest influence on his life, and he'd replied Principles of Accounting, Part II." - pg. 6

3. It wasn't full of big ideas. At its core, this is the story of a prickly man, beaten down by the world, who allows the twists and turns of life to melt his heart. Not exactly original. In fact, if I'd been reading it during a quieter moment in my life, I might have dismissed its overall simplicity and its less likely moments and enjoyed it far less. Combined with the chaos of my trip, however, this story was just the familiar comfort I wanted to bask in at the end of a stressful day or the middle of a long train ride.

Overall, I highly recommend this book for anyone who enjoys romance, clever literary references, or needs a quick, easy read when life becomes just a little too hectic.

On the subject of travel reads, here are a couple of other books (one I've read, one I haven't) that I think would be excellent for throwing in your carry-on the next time you go away, for business or otherwise:

• Where'd You Go, Bernadette—I read this one over the winter holidays and loved it for a lot of the reasons I enjoyed A.J. Fikry. Check out my review here! As a bonus, Trish of Love, Laughter and Touch of Insanity recently listened to this as an audiobook and absolutely loved it. Perfect for if your travels include some driving!


• A Man Called Ove—I haven't read this one myself, but Amanda over at Gun in Act One really enjoyed it. It's possible I'm just including this one here to fit the curmudgeon theme, but from Amanda's description, it sounds like this would be another funny, charming story to lose yourself in when real life gets crazy.

Last weekend, my boyfriend and I visited our local art museum to see their exhibit called "Odd Volumes: Book Art from the Allan Chasanoff Collection." Fully curated by students, the display was dedicated to art that highlighted the multi-faceted relationships that humans have with books, particularly as our reading becomes increasingly digital.

"The act of reading books is an inherently sensory process ... We flip through pages, leaving physical reminders of our progress. Dog-eared corners and cracked spines serve as evidence of our interaction with the content. Yet in an era dominated by digital technology, the role of the physical book is in flux. Words are no longer bound to the page but are weightless, accessible to anyone with an Internet connection. Thus when content does appear in book form, this relationship is increasingly meaningful."

A prominent thread tying many of the pieces together was the "decay" of books, both literally (burned, torn, or otherwise deteriorating books abounded) and metaphorically (many of the books were blank or other illegible).

This book is actually covered in live fungi.

Worn-down tomes.

Book  chasm.

According to the curators, this might encourage one to think about books as more than vessels for communicating the written word.

"In an age of Kindles and iPads, the 'wordless' books in this exhibition could be read as examples of the book's impending end. Yet they may instead offer other modes of knowledge. Relieved of their original function, they emphasize construction and compel the viewer to consider the book beyond its content." 

These three below were some of my other favorite pieces. (Sorry if the formatting's wonky!)

I like how this one captures how vividly books can "come alive."

Really intricate paper-cutting.

This mat has the entire text of Moby-Dick on it. Really.

If you want to see more of the pieces and read more about the artists themselves, check out the exhibit website here!

Which of these is your favorite? Have you guys ever seen any cool book art? Happy Saturday!

During the week, I persuaded my parents and boyfriend to help me find an independent bookstore in Sarasota, FL. Because, really, what would a vacation be without a bookish expedition (or four)? After a few queries to Google, we stumbled upon A. Parker's Books & Book Bazaar on Main Street.

The place was small but had loads of charm, including an outdoor patio at the front of the store (because Florida). While it had a decent selection of more contemporary work, the shop seems to deal more in older and rare collections.

I gleefully browsed through their collection of first-edition classics in all their leather-bound, gilt-edged glory before abandoning the $75 Alice in Wonderland for a $3.50 copy of Passage by Connie Willis. I'm not sure how Passage compares to the other work I've read (and adored) by her, but at a rate of a buck per 200-250 pages, I figured it was worth the risk.

Their staff members were very present and eager to chat—one of them directed me to a short story (literally printed and taped to a side of a shelf in the sci-fi section), bubbling over about how it managed to fit every theme and emotion you could want in under 1,000 words. People this excited about stories never fail to make me feel at home, and, I have to admit, it was pretty good.

If you ever find yourself in downtown Sarasota, give this place a shot!

Did you visit (or do you plan to visit) any bookstores over your holiday?

I predict my couch will continue to feature prominently on this blog.

And, of course, I'm bringing a stack of books with me! As you can see, I managed to pick almost all big, clunky hardcovers. (I didn't need to bring clothes, right?) If I had my druthers, I'd be bringing more than four, but I'm trying my best to imagine that there will be moments I won't be reading.

I don't have any real goals for this stack. I'd like to finish my Ivanhoe read-along on time, but, as I mentioned over the weekend, I'm going to try to make these two weeks as low-stress as possible in terms of reading (and blogging). Whether it's a single page or all four books, whatever I accomplish is good enough for me.

So here's what's on tap:

Parable of the Sower, by Octavia E. Butler—I teased this one for you guys last Tuesday, but since then, I haven't touched it! I've been on a real spec-fic/sci-fi kick this year, particularly when it comes to women authors, and I hope to continue a great streak of reading with Butler.

Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott—If you've been following my blog for any length of time (read: even since yesterday), you'll know I'm participating in an Ivanhoe read-along with Rachelle of The Reading Wench. The laid-back reading schedule means I've been moving through this one slowly, which I have found to be both good (I only have to digest small chunks of the story at a time) and bad (it can be sloooow). The RAL ends on January 4, but I'm hoping to vanquish this tome before the new year.

The Shadow of the Wind, by Carlos Ruiz Zafón—This one comes highly recommended by Karsyn of KaKiKoJoKa (it's one of her favorites of the year!). From the dust jacket and Goodreads blurbs, this sounds like just the sprawling, fantastic adventure I need to counteract some of the heavier nonfiction reading I have been doing lately. I'm really looking forward to this one. (And, no, I have no idea why this one is in my library's teen section).

The Underground Girls of Kabul: In Search of a Hidden Resistance in Afghanistan, by Jenny Nordberg—Ah, speaking of heavy nonfiction reading... I wasn't originally interested in this one, after seeing it make its rounds during Nonfiction November. I must not have been reading anyone's synopses closely, because I thought this was a book about child prostitution (interesting in its own right, of course, but not really what I'm looking for at the moment). I forget whose review it was that finally made me realize that this book is about a whole lot of things I care about—oppression of women, problematic gender norms, and a big old "screw you" to both—and I immediately snapped it up from my library's new nonfiction shelf. I can't wait to dig in to these women's stories.

What are you guys reading over the holidays? Does anyone else take an unrealistic number of books with them on vacation?

Image source - Tin House

Image source - Travels of Adam

Image source - me!