A shameless book-hoarder, Mariella Hunt believes that Story will save the world. Through her newsletter, The Tearoom, she shares this philosophy—along with the books, reflections, and quiet rituals that shape her reading life.

  • ‘Remarkably Bright Creatures’ by Shelby van Pelt


    Some of the most charming novels are those that feature an animal as a protagonist, spinning their viewpoint of the world and the humans living in it. My first favorite book series was Warriors by Erin Hunter, in which a house cat runs off into the woods to join one of four clans of wild cats. It was a long series, one I intend to revisit one day.

    Remarkably Bright Creatures does something even more unusual, as it features the viewpoint of an old octopus named Marcellus. He has been trapped in a tank at an aquarium for four years, and can feel that his life is nearing its end. The only human he has grown to like is Tova, the elderly cleaning lady who comes in at night and takes the time to greet all of the creatures in the aquarium when she arrives. Marcellus sees her kindness compared to other humans, and appreciates it.

    Marcellus has grown understandably bored in his tank, so he begins to escape on nightly excursions to wander the aquarium. Tova realizes what is happening, but sympathizes with him — so much so that she prevents the aquarium’s owner from clamping the tank shut.

    When the collapse of a stool gives Tova a sprained ankle, her doctor tells her that she needs to rest in order to recover. The aquarium hires a young man named Cameron to replace her during this time. Marcellus notices immediately that there is a biological link between the lonely old lady and Cameron — Cameron, it turns out, is looking for his biological father, having fallen on hard luck and finding himself in need of money. He gets the job at the aquarium, and ends up finding more true fulfillment there than he expected; success earned honestly is so much more memorable.

    Knowing that his days are numbered, Marcellus makes a plan to reveal the connection between Tova and Cameron, as a gift to Tova for her kindness. But humans can be incredibly dense. The octopus knows it will be a challenge to make them both understand before his time runs out. He welcomes the challenge, and soon his nightly adventures have a purpose other than entertainment. Among the stunts he pulls is stealing Cameron’s license so that Tova can see his surname. Tova, for her part, must also learn to accept help from the people who care about her — we are not meant to live this life completely on our own.

    Marcellus’ personal mission is charming because many people never stop to consider that animals can understand us. We make the mistake of believing that other species are unintelligent. While an animal in real life will not have the insight and understanding of Marcellus, it is a mistake to believe that they do not feel love, longing, grief, or excitement — a mistake to assume that they do not have souls.

    The person who spends real time with animals soon realizes that we’re not so different. They also understand that this similarity is not a bad thing. We might have minds that work differently than a dog’s or a bird’s, but we still learn much about the world around us by observing them and their behaviors. There are things in this world far greater than us and our ambitions. A bird sees the world differently than we do, and can sing songs that we could never replicate. When we begin to understand the strength and wisdom of these creatures, we achieve a new sort of freedom — the closer we come to taking off in flight ourselves.

    Tova’s bond with this octopus might have been fictional, but it is still possible to become best friends with another creature — be it a beloved pet or an animal we meet outside. We are on this planet to help one another through difficult times, and when friendship with an animal exists, it can be a source of joy beyond description. We need only be able to walk outside with open hearts.

    Remarkably Bright Creatures is a tale of loss, found family, and powerful friendship. It is a comforting novel as well as a perfect summer read. Let it inspire us all to be open to connections with hearts in the wild as well as at home.

    A Personal Reflection

    We are healthier in many ways when we allow ourselves to connect with animals and nature — it is good for our mental health as well as our physical health. If it isn’t possible to go outside (in my case, for example, seasonal allergies sometimes prevent it), there are other ways to benefit from nature, such as drawing it, writing about it, and studying it. The world is so vast that I cannot understand how a person could not love it or take any interest in it.

    Reading this novel reminded me of the memoir Grayson, which tells of its author’s adventure bonding with a baby gray whale one afternoon while out on a swim. Grayson and Remarkably Bright Creatures remind us that, with patience and a lot of love, different species can come to understand one another. Love is a language I consider to be universal. And with humility comes understanding and wisdom — a person cannot learn without first admitting that they do not know.

    A person who can find meaning in a flower or a leaf has truly learned to see nature as a source of joy, of less stress, and of imagination. It is another way we remain healthy, and always have something to create. Nature has much to offer us. It can never be fully known, but it provides a quiet wealth worth spending a life pursuing.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • ‘Meet Cute Magic’ by Morgan Elizabeth


    Romance novels are sometimes dismissed as light entertainment, but I have long believed that every genre is capable of telling meaningful stories. A good novel does more than entertain—it offers readers a chance to recognize themselves in its characters and to reflect on experiences they may never have in their own lives. Meet Cute Magic by Morgan Elizabeth is a charming reminder that cozy romance can carry surprisingly thoughtful messages beneath its whimsical premise.

    From its opening pages, the novel evokes unmistakable Gilmore Girls energy. Set in the idyllic town of Hartwood Hollow, the story immediately recalls the warmth and eccentricity of Stars Hollow. It is filled with quirky personalities, community traditions, and the comforting atmosphere of a small town where everyone seems to know one another. Although this is not a genre I usually gravitate toward, I never believe that a book is “bad” simply because it is not written for me. Every story has its audience, and I suspect readers who enjoy cozy romance will quickly feel at home in Morgan Elizabeth’s magical world.

    One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its emotional sincerity. Rather than relying solely on romance or magical hijinks, Meet Cute Magic quietly explores themes of healing, responsibility, and personal growth. It suggests that heartbreak and disappointment, painful as they may be, often teach us lessons that no magical solution ever could. The novel never pretends that life can be fixed with a spell. Instead, it argues that growth comes from enduring difficult experiences and allowing ourselves to be transformed by them.

    Another message that stood out to me is the reminder that we are not responsible for the choices of other people. We cannot control another person’s actions, feelings, or decisions; we can only control our own. That simple truth appears throughout the story and gives the novel an emotional maturity that elevates it beyond a conventional romantic comedy. It is a lesson that feels especially relevant today, and one I have noticed appearing in several recent novels.

    The relationships throughout the story also emphasize the importance of compromise. Characters with very different personalities and interests discover common ground not because they become identical, but because they choose to move toward one another. Shared goals, mutual respect, and a willingness to compromise prove far more important than superficial similarities. The novel gently reminds readers that successful relationships are built through intention rather than coincidence.

    Equally meaningful is the book’s treatment of loneliness. Meet Cute Magic argues that no one can truly thrive in complete isolation. Even those who are naturally introverted need friendship, companionship, and moments of genuine human connection. The story encourages readers to reach beyond their comfort zones without suggesting that everyone must become an extrovert. Instead, it recognizes that meaningful relationships often begin with small acts of courage.

    The supernatural elements add warmth rather than spectacle. Phillip, the ghost who quietly influences much of the story, became one of my favorite characters. Although he initially manipulates Rosie into casting a spell that serves his own purpose, his motivations ultimately come from compassion rather than selfishness. His desire to help his aunt’s grandson Jack find love gives his actions emotional weight, and he also becomes instrumental in helping Rosie confront her fears. His presence adds humor and heart while reinforcing the novel’s larger themes of generosity and personal transformation.

    The seasonal atmosphere deserves special mention. Morgan Elizabeth captures the scents, colors, and flavors of autumn with remarkable affection. Cozy cafés, crisp air, and small-town traditions make the novel an ideal companion for a quiet fall afternoon. While the magical premise is intentionally unrealistic, the emotional experiences feel authentic enough that readers can easily lose themselves in the setting. It is the sort of novel that can be read in a single day but remembered for much longer.

    Perhaps the message I appreciated most is the novel’s insistence that asking for help is not a weakness. Many of the characters discover that healing begins only when they admit they cannot solve every problem alone. There is quiet strength in acknowledging uncertainty and accepting support from others. Likewise, happiness often comes not from controlling every outcome but from allowing life to unfold in unexpected ways. That message resonates far beyond the romance genre.

    Ultimately, Meet Cute Magic succeeds because it understands that romance is about more than finding love. It is about becoming the kind of person who is capable of loving and being loved. Morgan Elizabeth blends humor, fantasy, heartfelt emotion, and autumnal charm into a story that celebrates trust, vulnerability, and the freedom to change.

    Readers looking for literary realism may find its magical premise a bit whimsical, but those willing to embrace its cozy atmosphere will discover a thoughtful story beneath the enchantment. Meet Cute Magic is an inviting reminder that even the lightest romances can leave readers with lasting truths—and that sometimes the greatest magic is simply learning to trust ourselves, accept help when we need it, and welcome the person we are becoming.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • ‘A Founding Mother’ by Laura Kamoie and Stephanie Dray


    We have recently celebrated the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, making this an especially fitting time to revisit the people who shaped the earliest years of the American republic. Abigail Adams may not be the most famous figure of Revolutionary America, but I came away convinced that she—and the entire Adams family—were indispensable to the nation’s founding. Even so, she remains far less discussed than she deserves.

    I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from a novel centered on Abigail Adams. Historical fiction often walks a fine line between fact and imagination, especially when its subjects are so familiar that they almost feel like monuments. We tend to view the Revolutionary era through a carefully polished lens, shaped by generations of retelling. Yet it is worth remembering that, to those living through it, the future was anything but certain.

    One of the book’s greatest strengths is its portrayal of that uncertainty. The founders were not building a nation whose success was guaranteed. They were simply trying to create something they hoped would endure. Even Washington, D.C., now the symbolic heart of the United States, appears as a hot, unfinished city that pales beside Philadelphia. These details remind us that history was once ordinary life, filled with inconveniences, doubts, and difficult decisions.

    The Founding Fathers have long occupied a central place in the American imagination, but works like A Founding Mother remind us that the Founding Mothers also helped shape the republic. Women were deeply invested in the cause of independence, even if they were denied many of the rights they hoped the Revolution would secure.

    Abigail Adams stands apart because she refused to remain silent. Her famous request that John Adams “remember the ladies” has become one of the defining quotations of the era, but this novel shows that it reflected a lifelong conviction rather than a single memorable phrase. She understood that liberty would remain incomplete if women were excluded from the nation’s future.

    What surprised me most was not simply Abigail’s political intelligence but her practical independence. She educated herself largely through her father’s library, cultivating opinions that were unusual for women of her generation. John Adams clearly trusted her judgment, often seeking her advice while serving his country abroad.

    Yet Abigail’s influence extended well beyond politics.

    The novel highlights her remarkable financial skill during John’s diplomatic service in France. Wartime shortages made ordinary household goods unexpectedly valuable, and Abigail learned how to use scarcity to her advantage. She collected pins and sold them for profit while asking John to send fashionable goods from France—lace, shoes, handkerchiefs, and other luxury items—which she could sell once they reached America. Not every shipment arrived safely, but enough did for her to build an impressive personal estate.

    These episodes reveal a woman who understood economics as well as domestic management. Abigail was determined not to depend entirely upon her husband for financial security. Through careful investments, discipline, and business sense, she accumulated wealth that she ultimately chose to leave to the women in her family. It is a striking reminder that independence can take many forms.

    The novel also captures another side of Abigail that deserves attention: her devotion to family life. She believed deeply in the education of all her children, including her daughter Nabby, who received an education that allowed her to participate in political conversations with her brothers. At a time when many girls were denied such opportunities, Abigail quietly insisted upon higher expectations.

    She recognized the inequalities surrounding her without allowing them to diminish her vision. She believed women were capable of intellectual achievement and civic responsibility, even if the law had not yet caught up with that belief. Reading these passages, I found myself appreciating more fully just how urgent these questions were during the nation’s earliest years.

    What makes A Founding Mother particularly rewarding during America’s 250th anniversary is that it broadens our understanding of what “founding” truly means. Founding is not only the work of generals, legislators, and presidents. It is also the work of women who managed households through war, preserved families during uncertainty, educated the next generation, and quietly insisted that liberty should one day include them as well.

    Abigail Adams planted seeds whose harvest she would never live to see. Her intelligence, resilience, and conviction helped shape the character of the young republic long before women possessed political power of their own.

    That, perhaps, is the lasting message of A Founding Mother. Nations are built not only by those whose names appear in constitutions, but also by those whose influence is woven into everyday life. Abigail Adams belongs among them, and this novel offers a compelling reminder that America’s story has always been larger than the men who signed its founding documents.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • ‘Whale Fall’ by Elizabeth O’Connor


    Some stories are about ambition. Others are about the cost of ambition when it is pursued without compassion. Elizabeth O’Connor’s Whale Fall is both.

    At its heart, this is a story about the choices people make when they want something badly enough—and the regrets that follow. But it is also a powerful examination of how vulnerable communities can be misunderstood, misrepresented, and transformed into something they are not. When people are not given the opportunity to tell their own stories, they can become characters in someone else’s narrative: reduced from human beings into curiosities, symbols, or caricatures.

    Whale Fall asks difficult questions about who gets to tell a story and what happens when outsiders seek to understand a community for the wrong reasons. Is it possible to document a people’s history without exploiting them? Can we revisit and preserve a culture’s place in the world without turning that culture into something foreign and strange?

    Elizabeth O’Connor explores these questions through Manod, a young woman living on a remote island off the coast of Wales in 1938. The island is home to a small fishing community that has slowly begun to disappear. As younger generations leave in search of opportunities on the mainland, the village becomes increasingly isolated, its way of life fading with each departure.

    Manod has watched many of her friends leave, and she dreams of doing the same. She longs for a different life, but leaving is not simple. Her father and younger sister depend on her, and the island—despite its hardships—is still the only home she has ever known.

    Then a whale washes ashore.

    The arrival of the whale becomes a strange kind of invitation, drawing attention from the mainland and bringing two visitors, Joan and Edward, to the island. The scientists claim they want to study the community and preserve its story. They want the world to know that these people exist, recording their lives through photographs, interviews, and written observations.

    Because few people on the island speak English, Manod becomes their translator and their connection to the villagers. At first, she is excited by the opportunity. The visitors represent everything beyond the island: education, travel, and the possibility of another world. For a young woman who has spent her life wondering what exists beyond the horizon, their arrival feels almost magical.

    But gradually, Manod begins to recognize the truth behind their interest.

    Joan and Edward are not preserving the islanders’ story out of respect. They are searching for something they can sell. They are fascinated not by the complexity and humanity of the people they meet, but by how different they appear from their own world. They turn the villagers into an object of study, presenting them as strange and primitive rather than as individuals with their own traditions, knowledge, and dignity.

    The tragedy is that Manod becomes part of this process.

    She watches as the words of her community are altered and reshaped. She realizes that the stories she helped translate are not being shared honestly. Instead, they are being transformed into something more sensational—something that will attract attention but erase the truth.

    Her guilt becomes one of the most moving parts of the novel. Manod never intended to betray her people. She was simply a young woman caught between two worlds, eager to experience something beyond the limits of her island. But Whale Fall understands that harm is not always created by cruelty alone. Sometimes it happens through ambition, curiosity, and the desire to be part of something larger.

    O’Connor’s novel is a reminder that stories carry responsibility. A person’s history, culture, and identity cannot be separated from their humanity. When we take stories from people without allowing them ownership over those stories, we risk creating a version of them that is easier for others to consume—but far removed from the truth.

    There is a quiet power in the way Whale Fall explores this idea. It does not simply condemn outsiders for their curiosity, nor does it portray the island community as helpless. Instead, it examines the complicated space between wanting to understand others and failing to truly see them.

    The novel suggests that truth has a way of surviving, even after it has been distorted. False narratives may spread, but eventually the mist clears. The voices that were ignored find their way back into the story.

    Whale Fall is a beautifully written and deeply thoughtful novel about ambition, identity, and the importance of allowing people to define themselves. It is a story about a disappearing community, but more importantly, it is a story about what happens when we forget that every community is made up of individuals with dreams, fears, and lives as complex as our own.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • Capital Advice for Reading Classics


    How to Read Classics With Thoughtfulness & Ease ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡

    Reading classic literature can be a challenge, but well worth the time required. This post offers excellent advice.

  • A Linnet and a Sparrow


    “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”
    – John A. Shedd

    The Year of Reading Religiously

    My thirties have made me a different person.

    I used to find the thought of being heard and seen on video terrifying. Now, I am fascinated and excited by the idea of starting a vlog – most likely through TikTok, though I have also been looking at the benefits of a more serious BookTube channel.

    I used to despise the sound of my voice, thinking it too soft, thinking it obnoxious. I am still uncomfortable with the sound of my voice, but know that my ability to speak will improve with practice.

    If you are on TikTok and would like to say hello, follow me by clicking here.

    It will be a wonderful adventure to meet new friends there. I have been working like a bird in the spring, gathering the bits and bobs necessary to create a cozy reading corner.

    A microphone, a cookie-shaped pillow, a string of fairy lights. Everything must be perfect.

    Learning to Speak in Different Tongues

    Something in me is awake, and wants to branch out to different forms of media. I’ve spent my life cultivating my writing style, burrowed in the comfort of the written word, letting it fill me like a warm cup of vanilla chai tea.

    Now, I want something different. Now, I want to be heard. But I couldn’t expect to grow a serious following if I did not take the project seriously, so I have gone to a thrift store. There, I found the lighting that I need. I arranged a corner of my library to be the spot from which I will address the world.

    There is so much that I want to say. I don’t even fully know what it is yet. I sincerely think that, when I sit down on that chair and open my mouth, I will discover things about myself that I did not know.

    I hope that you will join me.

    What’s New at the Tearoom

    In other news, there is quite a lot going on at the actual Tearoom – the one on Ensorcell Avenue, which can only be found on Substack. This week’s free post just went live, and I would love to discuss with you.

    I have written an article for my newsletter about a matter that’s been present in my heart for a while. I answered the question: why do books make me so nostalgic?

    Why do I feel, when lost in a story, that I miss something I once knew?

    What is the reason for this bookish nostalgia?

    Perhaps you have answers of your own to these questions. Read the article and leave a comment; I would love to read your input.

    What I’m Reading

    I have just finished reading The Blue Flower by Penelope Fitzgerald.

    Having written a lengthy review of that excellent novel in my reading journal, I then reached for The Book Club for Troublesome Women by Marie Bostwick.

    I am also reading, on the side, The Elements of Marie Curie by Dava Sobel.

    What are you reading? Comment and let me know!

    -Mariella

  • An Invite to the Tearoom


    Writing has always been the pastime that I was most passionate about. In particular, I was fascinated by the concept of the serialized story.

    What is a serialized story? A long time ago, when periodicals were still popular, authors such as Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray would write novels, releasing them weekly, chapter-by-chapter, for an eagerly expectant audience.

    These chapters would eventually be gathered into the format of a novel, and usually (like in the case of Dickens), these novels would be enormous. They are investments of time to read, but worth every moment.

    Time passed, and the world of publishing evolved. Now it is easier than ever to publish a novel: more authors are choosing to take their stories into their own hands, publishing them on their own terms.

    Self-publishing is often spoken of as if it was inferior. I disagree. I have always favored the idea of being in control of my work, though it requires extra effort with regards to editing, formatting, and promotion.

    You’re Invited

    I am celebrating today because the proof copy of my short story, The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue, has arrived at last. You can preorder it on Amazon by visiting this link.

    What is The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue?

    For almost two years now, I have been publishing stories serially on Substack. The first story I shared in this manner was called The Graveyard House. It’s the first of a series, and needs a bit more work, but I plan to publish it, as well.

    The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue is different. Somehow, it became a self-contained world. Somehow, it became the beating heart of my newsletter – of my creative life – of who I am as a storyteller.

    Where to Find It

    Tales from the Tearoom is what I call it on Substack, and a Table of Contents can be found here where all of the published chapters are available for perusal.

    Unlike The Graveyard House, I made Tales from the Tearoom a feature exclusive to paying subscribers. Writing involves so much mental energy; I knew that I could no longer prepare a new chapter every week, publish it for free, and expect to feel fulfilled.

    Artists deserve to be paid for their work.

    But I still wanted casual readers to know what The Tearoom was about. So I decided to release Season 1, which includes the first four posts of Tales from the Tearoom, on Amazon. On May 30, you’ll be able to buy it for your Kindle, or order a paperback.

    (I’m holding a paperback in this photo. They’re adorable. Less is more; I certainly believe that to be the case with this story).

    If you would like to join the Tearoom Circle and read Tales from the Tearoom on Substack, with new episodes posted every week, click here!

    Leaving Comfort Zones

    I’m so excited by this project that I dared try something I’d never done before. I’ve taken to TikTok, because I love these characters so much – and the world that I have created – that I just need to talk about it.

    Follow me on TikTok: @TearoomPress

    If you want to hear me talk about The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue, using my actual voice, watch the following video. I’m awkward. I’m trying a new medium, and not fully comfortable with it yet.

    But I’m having fun.

    I hope that you visit Ensorcell Avenue. I’ll be posting more about it here. My heart is full – my imagination working at full speed – and I can’t wait to share this story with more people.

  • A Humbling Day at Art Class


    Last week, I did something that I had always dreamed of.

    I had recently blogged about my desire to become an artist, and the slow process of learning to see the world from a different angle. It is a journey that I’m glad to share with you.

    Read that post here.

    Having long been interested in taking up watercolors, this year I’ve been collecting material, teaching myself with YouTube and Instagram reels, and acquainting myself with colors and how they behave.

    Wondering how the painting experience would differ when surrounded by fellow artists, I attended a watercolor class on Tuesday.

    It was an Intermediate Watercolor class. I do not consider myself a beginner. But the pressure of being surrounded by more experienced artists, I think, made it difficult for me to participate.

    The environment at the art school is amazing. I can only compare it to the excitement, to the high, that I feel when I’m going into the bookstore.

    It’s calming as well as motivating to see beautiful things that have been created by human hands, images and ideas that originated in human minds.

    While our world is becoming flooded with AI and subpar work, there are still creatives who dedicate their lives and time to creating beauty.

    But when the actual class began, and it was time to follow along with what the instructor said, I found that my own mind—usually so full of enthusiasm to set brush to paper—couldn’t keep up.

    I felt very small—my own painting looked nothing like the piece that she was creating.

    I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised. As the instructor, she’s probably been painting all her life, and I’ve only been exploring the art medium seriously for a few months.

    All the same, I felt humbled—and, frankly, disappointed in myself. Why couldn’t I keep up? At home, I’m able to make nice things in my sketchbook.

    Why was it suddenly so hard to mix purple on the palette?

    Impostor Syndrome kicked in.

    What if I’m not meant to be an artist, after all? What if I waited too long, and I am now past the point where I could train my brain to capture things beautifully on paper?

    I’m not going to give up. It’s true that I waited a long time to really become serious about this dream to pursue art, but there’s no time like the present to begin.

    If I allow Impostor Syndrome to discourage me again, it’s likely that I will never have the motivation to resume this quest. I have already made enough progress on my own that it would be a shame to put my sketchbooks away because I could not keep up in a class.

    We all need to begin somewhere. Perhaps I will continue learning from Instagram reels until I’m confident enough to retake an Intermediate Watercolor class in person. Perhaps I’ll go back, anyway, out of pure spite.

    This is the year that I will become a visual artist – an illustrator – even if I am the only person who will ever enjoy my creations.

    It will be worth it.

    Art always is.

  • 3 Lessons We Learn Rereading Old Books


    Why have I decided to reread old favorites in 2026? I believe it will satisfy an emotional need.

    Venturing back to The Secret Garden will make me reminisce about childhood. A trip to Hogwarts will remind me of my teenage years, when the Harry Potter books made everything around me vivid.

    Too often, a brand-new book does not offer the same sort of comfort. Could it be that the types of books marketed to me have changed? Or is it that I now need different things from the pages I lose myself in?

    This year, I’m not looking for anything new or exciting. I’m looking for something cozy—a warm cup of tea, a flavor that I already know is my favorite.

    We learn certain things when we reread old favorites:

    1. Life might change, but the books that formed us remain unaltered. And while it’s true that a book hits differently on a second read, that’s because we have become different people.
    2. You develop new opinions about characters as you mature. A protagonist that you thought heroic as a teen might get on your nerves now with their choices, because you know better. You might also find yourself relating to the person you once believed a villain, because you understand their scars.
    3. Nostalgia changes how we react to a story. You might not be revisiting that old book for the plot or characters. Instead, you’re drawn to it because it stirs a positive emotion. This might be a picture book a grandparent read to you, bringing to mind sensations of safety. It could be a novel that calls to mind good times with a friend.

    When we reread books, we know that there is more going on than the story described on its pages. This book is comfort. This book is growth. It can be the cup of tea you need—or the long-awaited hug.

    Tell me about a book that you’ve reread recently. Did it hit different? Did you learn new things from it?

  • The year of reading old books


    This year, I am doing something that feels unnatural to me. Instead of going out and looking for new books to add to my shelves, I’m going to look at those shelves for books I already own. It is not necessarily in the spirit of anti-consumption, for if I won the lottery, I would still spend all of that money on literature. Rather, it is a matter of wishing to honor the titles that I already own, an effort to try and enjoy them more than once in my lifetime.

    For many of us, 2025 was a rough year. If you’re anything like me, books were a source of comfort. When things became heavy, I escaped into cozy mysteries or romances. When craving something more substantial, I had nonfiction to choose from. Plenty of history books wait on my shelves, waiting patiently for their time. Due to the sheer thickness of most of them, it was unfeasible that I could have read them all between January and December,

    Every true reader knows that just because we buy the book does not mean the time’s yet right to read it.

    Again, this is not anti-consumption or Marie Kondo nonsense. It is true, though, that by the end of the year, I faced a specific crisis. I began to feel overwhelmed when, at the end of 2025, I sat in my room and realized…I couldn’t even find the books that I did want to read. It’s not that I thought I had too many books, because to me that isn’t possible. I only wished that I had a system, or an additional shelf, or photographic memory to offer me aid.

    I adore buying new books, but it defeats the purpose of a homemade scholar if I can’t find the book I’m thinking of when I need it. 

    For example, I spent half of Sunday looking for a thin book called Tulipomania. I’d been struck by a whim to write about that magical time when, in the Netherlands, tulips were valued like gold. Alas, I still haven’t found that book. I looked into my cedar chest, I checked the back rows on all of my shelves, and even had a glimpse in the garage. 

    I know Tulipomania will make its appearance when I no longer have an urgency for it. 

    Something pleasant did happen when I was searching for Tulipomania. While digging through my dragon’s-hoard of books, I came upon titles I’d forgotten were in my library. They had been lost in the chaos, so when I picked them up on Sunday, they were like new. I might as well have gone to an eclectic, used bookshop and tossed them all in a shopping basket. 

    Therefore, Sunday was not completely fruitless. I kept forgetting that I was searching for Tulipomania. Instead, I made a new, backup TBR pile (which I still probably won’t get to for quite some time).

    Now, I must face the sobering reality: If I want to enjoy my library, I can’t keep all the books I’ve stuffed into the corners of my room. I need to sort through my collection and pick the ones I’m most likely going to enjoy in the future. The rest will be donated, as I am sure other people will enjoy them far more than I. 

    A few days ago, I filled a box with some YA Fantasy that I enjoyed as a teenager—and donated them. Already, I see an improvement in my room, space-wise! Work remains to be done, however, before I actually find Tulipomania.

    This bringss me back to my resolution for 2026. I can’t say that I’m not going to buy any new books, because that’s not realistic. I am going to make an effort to find books I’ve already read. I’m going to sit down with them at my favorite chair and enjoy them once again. 

    Years ago, these volumes taught me things about the world, helping to shape me into the woman I am now. How much more can they teach me this year? After all, I have now lived longer, experienced more of life, and I have more perspectives from which to consider these stories.

    Until I find Tulipomania, I am reading The Language of Butterflies by Wendy Williams. I’m also reading Beatrix Potter: A Life in Nature by Linda Lear and The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. The book by Dostoyevsky has already surprised me for its density and wisdom. I’m taking to it with a pencil, hoping the Russian master’s words can shape my own writing style. 

    It’s not for nothing that these books earn the title of classic: centuries after publication, they continue to shape literature, immortalizing in the minds of future generations the power that words can have.

    Reading past favorites is a sign of loyalty to those books. I’m revisiting old friends, assuring them that I haven’t abandoned them in favor of new publications that might be ‘trendy’ or ‘more relevant.’ 

    It’s loyalty to myself: I know that I can reach for a complicated book with confidence. I will find something from within its pages, an idea to equip me for the rest of my life. Choosing the books that I know are my favorites proves I know myself. I am confident in who I am and what I will enjoy. 

    For the past decade, the only book I’ve read every year consistently was A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. This year, I’m branching out; this year, I’m taking a deeper dive into more complicated works. These books are often quoted in great speeches, mentioned in school, or referenced in cartoons and other forms of media. 

    It is good to honor them in this way, but my desire is to understand, to the best of my ability, the impact these words had on the world at the time of their publication. So, though The Brothers Karamazov is going to be a difficult read, I’ll spend the entire year—longer, if necessary—allowing it to transform me. 

    When is the last time that you reread a favorite book? Are you willing to take up the challenge this year, reading a classic that might require more active reading, perhaps even highlighters or a pencil? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

  • Things I’m letting go of


    Originally published on Substack

    In the first week of January, 2026, I got my hands on a few new journals.

    One is going to be used for Bible notes and prayer. The other is a bulleted journal, and I have decided to use it for short daily notes, as well as ‘sidebars’ where I will be jotting quotes that I like.

    Every few pages, I set aside some space in my BuJo for commentary on the books that I am reading. This allows me to quote them when the time comes to review them for this blog.

    I do not doodle; my BuJo is not Pinterest friendly. Instead, I use pretty stickers to add some color to the pages.

    Today, I am sick. I woke up with a fever and cough that make it difficult to focus on Piranesi, though every now and then I do sit down and read a bit on my phone (it’s always around, so I’ve abandoned the snobbery of ‘books only’ or ‘Kindle only’ in favor of whatever allows me to get to the story I love faster. So long as we enjoy what we are reading, I do not believe there is a better way).

    From this update, it would seem that 2026 has begun unorganized and directionless. 2025 began with me hyper-fixated on reading a specific kind of book, within a set time frame, and then attempting to compose essays about them.

    These essays would impress my readers and convince them that I did learn from what I was reading. This year, I do not feel the pressure to do that; this year, I have realized that I better enjoy what I’m doing if I relax while working on it.

    I woke up today, coughed a little, and fixed coffee. While waiting for it to cool, I sat at my piano and played O Isis and Osiris. With patience, I intend to work through my book of simplified classics, not for the purpose of impressing visitors, but because I want to read music as much as I read books.

    Last night, at a thrift store, I purchased a 6-cupcake baking pan and made a quick batch of vanilla cupcakes, sprinkling powdered sugar on them in place of buttercream. My family approved, so I am definitely going to make that recipe again.

    Oh, and despite my fear of donating books (in the past, I’ve always regretted letting go of them, because there’s always a book I realized later that I wanted to read) I filled a cardboard box with tomes for donation. It is the first of at least two donation loads. I have more space in my room; the surface of my desk is clear, so I can read Scripture, write in my diary, and sit in peaceful silence.

    I am letting go of the notion that I have to look a certain way, in order to feel productive. I am letting go of the pressure to be like other bloggers who are comfortable with niches and disciplined enough to keep schedules. I admire them so much—I hope to be like them one day. However, if in the process of acting like them, I lose the peace and joy that my hobbies ought to offer, I don’t consider it worthwhile. In time, when I am equipped and ready, I know I can reach that goal.

    Here is a photo of my books in the donation bin:

    I am letting go of the fear that ‘no one cares’ about what happens in my day-to-day life. After all, I enjoy reading personal blog posts written by others; I’ve learned so much by reading their insights.

    Writing allows us to learn the wisdom of ordinary people, folk that we can relate to, because their struggles are similar to ours. Their situations are not that different; their hobbies are such that we can relate to. If I have Writer’s Block, I can read posts by other writers who’ve experienced the same thing. If I am not sure of what to read next, I can ask people who enjoy similar genres, and they’ll offer a wealth of suggestions.

    If I’m having trouble praying, dark nights of the soul are not unique to me. If, due to my flawed humanity, my usual methods of prayer are not fulfilling, I can ask others what worked for them. Or I can accept their encouragement as I sit in that sweet silence, knowing that—surely as I stand at the door and keep knocking—eventually, I’ll hear His voice again.

    My BuJo isn’t fancy. I might not produce quite as many historical essays in 2026 as last year. I’ll still be here to make friends, meet people I can relate to, and offer support. There are different phases in life, but we all grow together, and we have things to offer one another—strength to lend when neighbors need it.

    So, my New Year’s Resolution is to let go of what I thought I needed in order to feel ‘legit.’ I resolve to sit, sip coffee, and practice my piano; I resolve to find the strength that is present in blessed silence.

    I resolve to find God, myself, and the small, sweet tastes of joy that may be found around every corner.

    I’ve read 26% of Piranesi, and am enjoying it just as much as the first time. It feels new, and the world building is enthralling.

    Have you read it? What do you think about it?

    Please drop a comment telling me what you are reading. I’d also love to hear what your resolutions are—what you plan to let go of, and what you intend to pick up.

    We are doing this life thing together, all of us; a lesson learned by one is a lesson that benefits all.

    Don’t be selfish! What have you learned in these first three days of 2026?

    The Two Lives of Martha Washington

    If you’ve been keeping up with my newsletter, you’ve seen me talking about my new project—The Tearoom: First Ladies. It’s going to be a series focusing on the wives of US Presidents.

    Read full story

  • James Madison, Father of the Constitution


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