Tag: books i love

The monthly roundup – it’s not supposed to rain in May edition

On By BekkiIn The Weekly Review1 Comment

The serendipity of kittens. A few weeks ago, after Princess Diamond had been gone about a month, I asked a friend if he thought any of the feral kittens he’s been feeding and partially domesticating might be amenable to a new home. Definitely not, he said, but my partner’s co-worker rescued three kittens from a storm drain a few days ago.

Acquiring the kitten was a bit like buying a TV from a guy in Brooklyn – “so you’re gonna drive to this address, and call my cousin Joey when you get there” – kinda sketch, but ultimately a great deal. And while my preference is generally not to replace a pet right away, Kit came into our life at just the right time for Z, and is the sweetest, friendliest cat we’ve had yet. If you’re local, Kit would love to meet you.

At least the tent didn’t leak. Z and I went camping the first weekend in May, with a big group of families called, predictably enough, Family Camp. The highlight of Z’s trip was an activity called the Gopher Stack, in which a kid (or adult) in a climbing harness attempts to stack and climb milk crates. It requires persistence, grit, and a fine sense for your center of gravity. The low point was when the sky opened up on Saturday and the rain started coming at us sideways. We made a mad dash for the tent, dropping Z’s burrito along the way, but found a backup lunch and, most importantly, the tent was warm and cozy and dry inside.

Mother’s Day Adventures. My mom came out to spend Mother’s Day weekend with us this year. I was a little nervous about this, as the last time my parents came out for Mother’s Day weekend I almost bled out. We had a lovely day though. We started off with breakfast at Z’s favorite bakery, and then, at Z’s request, went on a San Francisco adventure that included pizza in the North End, a detour to a playground with the most marvelous balancing swing contraption, multiple types of public transportation, and ice cream sundaes at Ghirardelli.

The Jonathon Livingston Seagull of turkey vultures. Z and I went camping in Pinnacles National Park (two weeks after Family Camp, because I’m a glutton for punishment) with a few other families. We managed to get the kids out for two short hikes, one going up into the rocks a bit, with a magical tunnel through the mountain, and one that we hoped would lead to condors. About a mile down the trail (not nearly far enough for birdwatching) the kids tapped out and asked us to turn around. The adults heaved a collective sigh, briefly considered splitting into two groups, then decided that since *all* the kids were getting melty, discretion was the better part of valor. As we made our way back, a group of birds flew over the pinnacles, including one holding its body and its wings very differently than the rest. For a moment we all held our breaths in collective wonder. Then it turned, and we realized it was just another turkey vulture, although perhaps a more advanced flier than the others.

Oh well, said the same friend who helped us acquire Kit. I guess you’ll have to go back.

If I were a dragon, books would be my hoard. I recently acquired signed copies of The House in the Cerulean Sea and Babel and they are very, very pretty. House in the Cerulean sea is a queer love story about found family and belonging. Babel is a heartbreakingly cruel examination of colonialism and revolution. I highly recommend both.

Links and Things

Most of the signed books I buy come from Subterranean Press and Grim Oak Press. I don’t love that Sub Press still tends to focus on white male authors, but the quality is amazing and the fact that they keep picking up books like Babel gives me hope.

I’ve been reading Jonathan Haidt’s Substack After Babel, which focuses on kids and smartphones. I’ve particularly enjoyed the guest essays by folks like Freya India, who talks about what it was like to be a teenager as algorithms were taking over social media (spoiler: not great).

On the lighter side, Z has been tearing through Phoebe and her Unicorn, a comic about a sarcastic ten year old (who kinda channels Daria) and her unicorn companion.

“Teenage Dream”

On By BekkiIn Musings & Ramblings1 Comment

I met up with one of my CP’s yesterday (see Dahlia’s excellent post for more on CP’s).  We had a lovely time, discussing all sorts of topics, including what I think of as the elephant in the publishing room:  YA.

YA is hot.  It’s where publishers are buying, and where authors are selling.  It also seems to be where the writing community on the internet is hanging out.  Most of the writerly people I follow on Twitter write YA.  Contests, even if open to adult authors, tend to heavily skew toward kid lit.  Most of the agents I follow rep it, if not exclusively.  A “YA ______” seems to be the top of most agent wishlists.  And quite frankly, this isn’t anything new.  YA has been a trend in publishing for so long I’m starting to wonder if it’s now the norm.

What I’ve been noticing about YA lately, and what makes me a little frustrated with all the hype, is that very few of the YA books I’ve read have been good.  Good like Gone Girl good.  Good like it hits you between the eyes and doesn’t let you off the floor for several days good.  And I like to read good stories.  It doesn’t bother me if what I’m reading is hard core SF aimed at astro-physics nerds, or romance novels aimed at bored housewives, or YA contempts aimed at teenage girls.  What I look for is a book that stays with me after I read it.  That gives me something to think about after I’ve turned the final page.  That worms its way into my consciousness, coming up at odd moments.

Very few of the YA books I’ve read recently have done this.  I remember reading Madeline L’Engle’s Arm of the Starfish and House Like a Lotus as a teenager.  I went back to those books again and again, each time finding another layer of meaning.  I bought Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising (although arguably more MG than YA) a few years ago, and was delightfully surprised to find that it held up.  By contrast, what’s being published today seems more like candy.  It’s deliciously sweet, easily consumed, and has very little substance.*  Even the dystopian novels all seem to have (relatively) happy endings.

This worries me.  What does it say that the books written for the “me” generation are, for the most part, easily digestible bits of fancy that avoid the hard questions?  Is it that kids these days aren’t willing to put any work into reading?  Or is it that the industry has decided to keep throwing softballs on the grounds that any reading is better than no reading?

I write adult fiction.  I write about hard questions, and choices where there is no right answer, and the intersections between love and selfishness.  I write flawed characters who make poor choices and don’t always learn from their mistakes.  It’s going to cause difficulties for me down the line, once I get past the writing into the selling.  And I’m okay with that.  But a part of me has to wonder whether, in writing about the dark and the gritty and the adult, I’ve closed myself off from the audiences who’ve grown up reading today’s YA.

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* I’m not saying that this is true of all YA books, not by a long shot.  And I’d welcome suggestions for YA books left you sitting on the couch, stunned, when you finished them.  For that matter, I’m open to suggestions for good books, period.