Mariella Hunt

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  • 6 Books I’d Gift to a Woman I Care For

    6 Books I’d Gift to a Woman I Care For


    Not long ago, literacy was a gift that was not offered to women in quite the same way it was offered to their brothers. Boys were more likely to receive thorough educations, preparing them for university and, in many cases, professions that would give their family name another generation of distinction.

    Daughters were often educated differently, if they were educated at all. Their lessons were more likely to prepare them for the work expected of them: keeping a household, cooking, sewing, raising children, and managing the many small details of domestic life. Go far enough back—to the eighteenth century, for instance—and the educational opportunities available to a girl could be astonishingly limited. Jane Franklin, Benjamin Franklin’s sister, had little formal schooling and taught herself much of what she knew.

    When I think about giving a woman I love a book, I am thinking about far more than the front and back covers with pages in between.

    I am thinking about the privilege of being able to open a book simply because I want to.

    I dream of giving books to my girlfriends because we have inherited something that generations of women had to fight, improvise, or sacrifice to obtain: the freedom to read.

    “But this sounds terribly boring,” a woman might protest, particularly if she isn’t a lover of literature in the way that I am. “Can’t you just get me a gift card?”

    I understand. Reading is not everyone’s idea of a good time. Some women would much rather receive something practical, or perhaps a piece of costume jewelry to complement their latest ensemble.

    And costume jewelry isn’t a bad thing. There is a place in life for everything.

    But I am of the sort who wants to give books to her friends.

    So, if I discovered that a birthday was approaching and I hadn’t yet found a present, these are six of the first books that would cross my mind. They are books about womanhood, education, friendship, family, independence, and the possibility of becoming more fully ourselves.

    A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf

    This important piece of literature is so short that it is really more of an essay. In spite of its few pages, Woolf touches on subjects that remain remarkably relevant today. Her thoughts on womanhood, and on what women needed to possess in order to live and work successfully, were far ahead of her time.

    I would think of gifting this to a casual reader precisely because of its length. There are equally important observations about womanhood tucked into Middlemarch, but for someone who does not particularly love books, it might be less intimidating to make their way through Woolf’s essay—and, in doing so, encounter the truths she lays out so candidly.

    It is a small book that asks some very large questions.

    Excellent Women by Barbara Pym

    Women have traditionally been looked at as the caretakers of a family. This is no bad thing. In a loving family, daughters and sons should be honored to care for their parents—or for other relatives—in the same way that they were once cared for, long before they could even walk.

    There is great honor in being the person who cares for aging relatives, hurting siblings, or those in need within a community. But women are also allowed to crave more, and to acknowledge that they might want more from life.

    In Excellent Women, English author Barbara Pym has such a tender understanding of women who are observant, capable, and perhaps a little too accustomed to putting themselves second.

    I’d want you to know that a quiet life is not necessarily a small one—and that you don’t have to disappear in order to be good.

    Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt

    I would give Remarkably Bright Creatures to a woman who has spent so much of her life taking care of everyone else that she has forgotten she is allowed to have a life of her own.

    Shelby Van Pelt’s novel is gentle without being frivolous. At its center is Tova Sullivan, an older woman whose life has been shaped by loss, loneliness, work, and responsibility. What I love most is the novel’s understanding that a life can change even after we have convinced ourselves that it is already finished changing.

    There is something comforting about being reminded that friendship can arrive at unexpected ages and in unexpected forms, and that loneliness does not have to be permanent.

    I would hand this book to a woman I love and tell her: there is still so much life waiting for you.

    A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft

    I haven’t actually read A Vindication of the Rights of Woman yet, which perhaps makes its place on this list a little unusual. But it is one of those books that I want the women I love to know exists.

    Published in 1792, Mary Wollstonecraft’s argument was remarkably direct: women were not born intellectually inferior to men, but were being denied the education and opportunities that would allow them to develop their minds.

    That makes it a particularly fitting book for this list. When I think about the women who came before us, and how many were discouraged from reading, writing, studying, or thinking beyond the boundaries prescribed for them, I feel a certain gratitude for the fact that I can now pick up a book simply because I want to understand something.

    I would give this one to a woman as a reminder of something Wollstonecraft understood centuries ago: a woman’s mind is worth cultivating.

    Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery

    I would give Anne of Green Gables to a woman who has ever felt that she was too much of something: too imaginative, too talkative, too emotional, too strange, or simply too different from the people around her.

    Anne Shirley enters the world as an unwanted orphan and gradually finds something she has desperately wanted all along: a place where she belongs. But what I love about Anne is that she doesn’t have to become less herself in order to earn that belonging. Her imagination, her ambitions, her temper, and her enormous capacity for feeling are not things she ultimately has to apologize for.

    There is also something wonderfully feminine about watching Anne grow up. She wants an education. She wants friendship. She wants beautiful things. She wants to write. She wants to make something of herself.

    I would give this book to a woman I love as a reminder that growing up does not have to mean becoming smaller.

    You are allowed to remain a little bit Anne.

    Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

    I believe every woman needs to encounter the March sisters at least once in her life. Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy are so different from one another, yet they remain bound by one of the greatest ties there is: sisterly love.

    There is a scene in which, in a fit of rage, Amy throws her older sister Jo’s manuscript into the fire. I don’t think this scene is talked about enough, because what follows is a quarrel of fearsome proportions. Sisters fight, and Amy and Jo certainly did. They each managed to wound the other deeply, and yet neither could stay angry forever.

    Little Women is not simply the story of a peaceful family waiting out the winter while Father is away at war. It touches on the many sides of sisterhood, including the ugly and the unfortunate. I would want you to read it so that you might know that even if you one day fight with your sister over something that seems terribly important in the moment, it doesn’t mean that the love is gone. Reconciliation is possible.

    The lessons one can uncover in Little Women are, truly, timeless.

    I Love Giving Books to Women

    A book is such a small thing to place in someone’s hands, yet it can contain an entire world. It can remind you that other women have felt what you feel, wondered what you wonder, made mistakes, wanted more, loved fiercely, and sometimes had to begin again.

    The women who came before us were not always given the freedom to read whatever they pleased. I don’t want to take that freedom for granted. I want to celebrate it by filling the hands of the women I love with books.

    So if a birthday is coming up and you’re wondering what to give your mother, your sister, your daughter, or your dearest friend, perhaps give her a book.

    And if she doesn’t like it, well—there’s always costume jewelry.

    Cover Image: Louise Tiffany, Reading (1888) by Louis Comfort Tiffany

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  • 5 Novels That Celebrate the Power of Female Friendship

    5 Novels That Celebrate the Power of Female Friendship


    Over the years, literature has blessed us with great stories about female friendship.

    These novels hit best when they offer readers a full range of color. They should not only depict happy moments, but also those of pain and grief. Light and shadow: this variety creates a strong foundation.

    Such novels acknowledge that strong friendship cannot exist without storms. We will not spend our whole lives making daisy chains together in a field; there will be arguments. In some cases, there might be years of no contact because of a misunderstanding.

    Humans are complicated, therefore friendship is complicated. Novels allow us to explore joyous moments between women who share the joys and sorrows of life. The strongest friends I have known, in real life and in novels, knew each other from childhood to death.

    What I love most about the theme of female friendship is that not all friendships look the same. Two women can love one another, yet be bound by different seasons of life, loyalties, and more.

    If you are looking for books about female friendship—perhaps to soothe a hurt, strengthen a bond, or simply remind you of the complicated beauty of having a companion—here are five I recommend.

    Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

    Some might protest that Little Women does not belong here. After all, it is a novel focused on sisters and the challenges the March girls face as they grow up together. But a person who makes this argument forgets something important: one must be friends with her sisters, too.

    I have heard of too many sisters who, for one reason or another, stopped speaking to each other. Eventually they lost contact. My grandmother and her sister died without ever speaking to one another again. I don’t know what caused the rift, and perhaps I never will. I can still urge you, dear reader, not to let this happen.

    There are plenty of important friendships in Little Women, not only female friendship. Consider the March girls’ adventures with their wealthy neighbor, Laurie. The book would not have been the same without him and his creative energy.

    Truly, Little Women has much to teach us about life—not just sisterhood or friendship, but the importance of loving people while we still have the chance.

    Excellent Women by Barbara Pym

    Barbara Pym understood that female friendship does not always announce itself with grand declarations or dramatic reconciliations. Sometimes it looks like a cup of tea, a shared confidence, a bit of gossip, or simply having someone who understands why a seemingly insignificant thing matters.

    In Excellent Women, Mildred Lathbury is a single woman living a quiet, respectable life in postwar England. She is the sort of woman everyone depends upon. People confide in her, ask for her help, and assume she will be there when needed. She observes the romantic entanglements and domestic complications of the people around her with a mixture of amusement, affection, and occasional exasperation.

    What I love about this novel is the way it honors the friendships and relationships women build outside of romance. Mildred’s life is not empty simply because she is unmarried. Her friendships give her companionship, purpose, and a place in the lives of other people.

    There is something deeply comforting about Excellent Women. It reminds us that a meaningful life can be made up of ordinary days and that friendship does not have to be dramatic to be important. Sometimes having a woman to sit beside, confide in, laugh with, or quietly observe the absurdities of life alongside is more than enough.

    The Book Club for Troublesome Women by Marie Bostwick

    There has been a delightful trend in recent years of novels centered around the idea of the book club. Why are women, in particular, so drawn to the idea of gathering around books?

    I suspect part of the answer is historical. For generations, women were discouraged from pursuing education and intellectual life on equal terms with men. Perhaps that is one reason we have seized the book club with such a fierce enthusiasm. We finally have our own tables.

    The Book Club for Troublesome Women has become a favorite among modern readers for its feminist themes and its setting in the 1960s, during the Kennedy presidency. But I think what makes this novel especially appealing is the friendship at its center. Four women, very different from one another, find themselves joined during trying times by their love of books and their desire for certain freedoms that society was only reluctantly beginning to offer them.

    That is the magic of a book club. We may walk into the room as strangers, with different histories, opinions, and personalities, but we arrive with at least one thing in common: we have all read the book.

    Many of us may never join an actual book club, but I think the meaning behind the idea matters just as much. We all want someplace to belong. A book possesses a strong enough foundation on which to build that place.

    The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim

    Sometimes the friendships we need are not the ones we expected to make. We meet someone because of circumstance, because we happen to be sitting beside one another, or because we are all desperate to escape the same dreary February.

    That is essentially how The Enchanted April begins. Four women, very different in temperament and circumstance, find themselves drawn together by the promise of an Italian castle in spring. They decide to rent it together, and what begins as a practical arrangement slowly becomes something much more meaningful.

    What I love about this novel is that these women do not have to become best friends immediately. They have their differences, their grievances, and their own ideas about how life ought to be lived. But the beauty of friendship is that it can give us room to change. In the company of other women, we sometimes remember parts of ourselves that have been neglected.

    The Italian garden becomes almost a character in its own right, but the real enchantment is what happens between the women. They begin to see one another differently—and, in doing so, begin to see themselves differently.

    The Enchanted April is a lovely reminder that sometimes what we need most is not a solution to our lives, but a change of scenery and a few good women to share it with.

    The Secrets of Flight by Maggie Leffler

    There is no age limit on friendship. In The Secrets of Flight by Maggie Leffler, we meet an elderly woman who belongs to a creative writing group made up mostly of people her own age. Then a sixteen-year-old girl with dreams of becoming an author begins attending the group. She is starry-eyed about the first story she has written—the story that has opened the door to a life of creativity—and at first, her youth makes her an oddity among the older writers.

    But stories have a remarkable way of making strangers understand one another. The young girl and the older women discover that the things that matter to us as human beings do not necessarily change with age. The desire to create, to be heard, to tell our stories, and to make sense of our lives belongs to all of us.

    The Secrets of Flight reminds us that friendship can cross generations. We need the wisdom of those who have lived longer than we have, just as we have something to offer those who are still beginning their lives. Story becomes the bridge between them—a way for the past and the future to sit together at the same table.

    We all need one another. And sometimes the person who has the most to teach us is someone we might never have thought to call a friend.

    Why I Love Novels About Female Friendship

    The best books about female friendship remind us that there is no single definition of what it means to be a friend. Some friendships begin in childhood. Others arrive later in life. Some are built around books, creativity, or shared interests. Others survive arguments, distance, and years of change.

    That may be why stories about women and friendship remain so compelling. They remind us that none of us are meant to live entirely alone.

    And perhaps the next great friendship in your life will begin with a book.

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  • Dolly Parton Could Tell a Story

    Dolly Parton Could Tell a Story


    “There is a healthy amount of dreaming that has to be done for any project to really be worthwhile. All of those doors have to be knocked on. Some have to be slammed in your face.”

    Dolly Parton – My Life and Other Unfinished Business

    Our most beloved stars do us a great service when they leave behind memoirs. The quote above by Dolly Parton is not only relevant to those who seek lives in the music industry. It reminds us that no one can achieve their goals immediately.

    Dreaming does, and must, take place before we reach our destination, sometimes for years and years. (Many of my favorite authors did not publish debut novels until well into their sixties.) And we must learn to be grateful for the doors that are slammed along the way; they might be numerous, but with patience, we will reach the place we were meant to be all along—we will reach home.

    Storytelling Dolly

    No one could have been more authorized to speak on the topic than Dolly. She was born to Robert Lee and Avie Parton on January 19, 1946; the Partons would eventually total twelve children, of whom Dolly was the fourth. They lived in extreme poverty, but Dolly was always quick to assure her listeners that, while they did not have everything they wanted, they found ways to be happy.

    Her childhood was rich, in fact—rich in music and storytelling. These were skills that she honed very young and which would eventually earn her fame. As a child, she sang on local radio and television programs. She always knew that she was going to be a star. She had appeared at the Grand Ole Opry by the age of ten. At thirteen, she made her first recording for a small Louisiana label. After graduating from high school in 1964, she moved to Nashville to pursue music professionally.

    Following the news of Dolly’s death on August 25, I realized that while she was the type of woman I admire, I’ve always known very little about her. I had never paid attention to any of her songs. But even considering this want of information, her loss was a shock to wake up to, and a void that I—and all of us—have been feeling consistently since it happened.

    I have begun to think that, underneath all of this, what I am feeling is the absence of a great storyteller. As I sifted through some of her greatest hits, I was struck by the purity and light with which she spins her yarns.

    Coat of Many Colors

    “Coat of Many Colors” is a particularly tender song in which Dolly’s talent for storytelling shines.

    In the early chapters of her autobiography, My Life and Other Unfinished Business, she dedicates several pages to the story behind this song. Dolly lovingly tells her audience that her mother had a gift for sewing and quilting.

    Dolly writes about one particularly cold fall, during which she did not have a coat:

    Mama began to make me a coat. … she knew me and my personality, so she decided to make my coat out of the brightest, most colorful colors she could find.

    This matches her lyrics, which say:

    My coat of many colors
    That my mama made for me
    Made only from rags
    But I wore it so proudly

    In the book, she describes her first day wearing that coat to school:

    I burst through the school doors like a multicolored whirlwind, wondering just how many people I could find to admire my coat. I was so proud of it. I wanted to be seen in it. I wanted to be noticed. ‘See my new coat?’ I said to one boy. ‘Naw,’ he sneered, ‘it looks like a bunch of rags.’

    In the book, she proclaims “Coat of Many Colors” to be her favorite song that she ever wrote or sang. The thing about songs like this is that we can all relate to it in some way. Maternal love is heavy in the lyrics, as is the value of a gift that takes time and effort to complete.

    The original coat worn by Dolly is gone; it was passed from child to child in the Parton family until it eventually disintegrated, leaving only the loving memory of it behind. Her mother made a replica years later, and that replica was displayed, along with the handwritten lyrics to the song, at Dollywood.

    Dolly, in her storytelling genius, demonstrated that beautiful art can be created using scraps of memory and the stitches of a mother’s love.

    We’re Not That Different

    It is evident in Dolly’s writing style that she was an avid reader: her tone is humorous and light, and she does not take herself too seriously. As I read her book, I felt as if I were sitting with a very dear friend, listening to her witticisms and anecdotes.

    She is honest about the struggles she experienced, but she is also able to reflect on the ways in which they made her a stronger woman.

    One of the things I loved most was encountering Dolly the reader behind the songwriter. She has spoken affectionately about books throughout her life, and some of her literary loves feel appropriate for the woman she became. She has mentioned The Secret Garden, a book about a neglected girl discovering a hidden place and, in the process, discovering herself. She has also spoken about The Little House on the Prairie books, which seems equally fitting. And then there is The Velveteen Rabbit, with its tender idea that love and experience are what make us real.

    Dolly has spent her career telling people that being “real” matters more than appearing perfect. Perhaps that is part of why her songs have such warmth to them. She understood that a tale does not have to be grand to be meaningful. Sometimes it only needs a bit of hardship and someone who knows how to tell the story afterward.

    For all the extraordinary things she accomplished, the woman behind them was recognizably human. She grew up with books. She loved stories. She made something of the circumstances she was given.

    Reading her memoir, I kept thinking about how easy it is to imagine that people like Dolly Parton belong to some different category of human being. She is, after all, Dolly Parton. But beneath the woman in rhinestones lived a girl who had very little–but, in truth, she was rich. She had a family, a dream, and a story to tell.

    And maybe that is the most encouraging thing about her.

    We are not that different.

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  • Marmee Was the Real Hero of Little Women

    Marmee Was the Real Hero of Little Women


    A North Star Called Marmee

    Little Women is one of the most famous pieces of literature in the English canon. It is taught in schools and passed from parent to child as a loving gift or family heirloom. Even those who are not deep readers have some idea of the adventures shared by Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. The many film adaptations have only increased our interest in returning to the original classic.

    We celebrate Jo’s courage and fiery personality. We laugh at the antics of Amy as she attempts to find her way in a rapidly changing world. We grieve Beth as she struggles with an illness and, ultimately, succumbs to it. But behind all of these iconic characters stands a voice of reason, a North Star guiding them all: Marmee March.

    All great novels have a Marmee March, a guide. These are the characters whose influence we sometimes fail to notice until we see how their actions have shaped the ending. Quiet as they might have been for the forty chapters of drama, by the end it is inconceivable that the novel could have taken place without them.

    In novels, as in real life, there is often a person behind the successes or failures of our protagonists. This wise man or woman offers comfort and sage advice when the protagonist finds themselves in a crisis. Sometimes they are the ones quietly pulling the strings, shaping the people around them without ever demanding the spotlight for themselves.

    Little Women’s wise woman, without a doubt, is Marmee. Whenever her daughters find themselves in one of their famous mishaps, she is ready with a word of advice or a life lesson that will ease their mortification or strengthen them to move forward with the choices they have made.

    Without Marmee, Little Women would be a very different story. Imagine Little Women if Marmee did not hold this worldview:

    “I’d rather see you as the happy wives of poor men, or even respectable old maids, than queens on thrones without peace or self-respect.”

    That single conviction changes everything. Marmee does not raise her daughters to pursue wealth, status, beauty, or even marriage for its own sake. She raises them to become women who know their own worth. Whatever happens to them, she wants them to have something that cannot be given to them by a husband, a fortune, or a place in society: self-respect.

    Who Was Abby May?

    It is natural that Mrs. March should be such an important presence in the March household. Louisa May Alcott herself had a very special relationship with her own mother, Abby May. In the biography Marmee and Louisa, Eve LaPlante explores this relationship in depth, and I believe it is an important book for any admirer of Alcott to read.

    Because Louisa’s writing career has so often been discussed alongside the work and philosophy of her father, Bronson Alcott, it can seem as though Abby May has disappeared from the story.

    But many mothers prefer to care for their children and help build their lives from a place in the shadows, allowing their sons and daughters to grow—and even make mistakes—on their own.

    Of Louisa’s two parents, Abby May was clearly the one of saner mind. While Bronson was off preaching his strange philosophy and planning the Fruitlands plantation, Abby May was worrying about how she was going to raise her four young daughters into strong women. Many times, Bronson went away on “work trips” and returned home with little to show for them.

    When, in Little Women, Mrs. March is the parent who is most present, we have to ask ourselves: Is that a coincidence?

    Louisa May loved her father, but can a woman who endured so many struggles as a child truly bear to put Bronson and Abby May on the same level?

    How Abby May Survives in Marmee

    Abby May may have disappeared somewhat from the popular story of the Alcott family, but she did not disappear from her daughter’s imagination. She survives in Little Women as Marmee, the doting mother who can keep a home in her husband’s absence—and yet is not above letting her daughters make mistakes and learn from them.

    Marmee is the person who holds the family together when circumstances threaten to pull it apart. She manages the household, comforts her daughters, disciplines them when necessary, and—perhaps most importantly—teaches them that becoming a good woman requires more than being obedient or pleasant.

    But, in my opinion, the most important thing Marmee did was allow her daughters to become their own people. We can see in each of the four March girls that they developed different passions, qualities, and tempers. Marmee never insists that one daughter must become like another. She meets her girls where they are.

    She knows that Meg does not have to be Jo, that Beth does not have to be Amy, and that each of them will have to discover her own way of becoming a woman. Marmee gives them guidance without trying to live their lives for them.

    She doesn’t only guide Jo through anger, but confesses that she can relate to it:

    “I am angry nearly every day of my life, Jo, but I’ve learned not to show it. And I still hope not to feel it.”

    Marmee understands that Jo is a soul who can lose her temper with ease, and reminds her that words said in anger cannot be taken back. Meg, who recalls a life before the Marches fell into poverty, continues to live with vanity in her soul. Marmee is sympathetic to her nostalgia, but reminds her that it is possible—and necessary—to be happy with what we have.

    Amy is spoiled and thoughtless. Beth, quieter than her sisters, must learn to confront the limitations imposed upon her by her own nature and circumstances. Each of the four girls is a challenge of her own, and Marmee takes on this challenge with joy.

    She even opens her heart to Laurie, the neighbor boy who does not have a mother figure of his own.

    We All Need Marmee

    Abby May Alcott had a unique sort of love herself. Even when her husband returned from his long business trips with little to show for them, she welcomed him into the home with tender arms. She taught her daughters to respect him and even followed him when he came up with new schemes, absurd as they might have been. Her love for him did not mean she could not see his faults. Perhaps it meant that she understood how to love someone while seeing them clearly.

    In Little Women, Marmee is absent in the first chapter because she has gone to visit her husband, who is ill in the hospital in Washington, D.C. We all remember the opening pages of Little Women: “How dreadful it is to be poor!” And we remember the lengths to which the March girls go together to ensure that their mother’s homecoming is warm and comfortable.

    In raising her four daughters to be themselves, seeing their strengths as well as their weaknesses, Marmee also saw us. We, the readers, might not have realized at the time of reading how special Marmee was becoming to us. Now I’m in my thirties, and I realize that she is one of the most sensible women I’ve ever “met.”

    Aspire to Be Like Marmee

    Perhaps this is why, as I grow older, I find myself admiring Marmee more than I did when I first encountered Little Women. As a girl, I understood that she was kind. As a woman, I realize that kindness was only the beginning.

    Marmee was patient without being passive. She was loving without being indulgent. She knew her daughters intimately—their weaknesses as well as their gifts—and she never seemed to confuse loving them with pretending they had no faults.

    Most importantly, she wanted them to become women in their own right. She did not need them to follow the same path she had followed. She did not need them to make the choices she would have made. She simply wanted them to become women who could stand firmly on their own feet, make their own choices, and live with peace and self-respect.

    We do not all have four daughters to raise, or a March household to manage, or a husband away in Washington. But we all have people whose lives we touch. We can be the person who offers wisdom when someone is ashamed of a mistake. We can be the person who reminds a young woman that her life does not have to look like anyone else’s. We can make room for people to become themselves.

    Abby May gave Louisa an example of that kind of woman. Louisa gave that example to the world in Marmee. And more than a century later, Marmee is waiting for us in the pages of Little Women, reminding us of what a woman can be.

    Marilla Cuthbert taught Anne that family can be formed from people we’ve never met before. Marmee taught her daughters that sisterhood, in this case bound by blood, can be stronger than any quarrel. Indeed, there are many ways to be a family.

    May we all have a Marmee who will give advice like this:

    “Oh, Jo. Jo, you have so many extraordinary gifts; how can you expect to lead an ordinary life? You’re ready to go out and—and find a good use for your talent. … Go, and embrace your liberty. And see what wonderful things come of it.”

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  • The Language of Butterflies: An Interview with Wendy Williams

    The Language of Butterflies: An Interview with Wendy Williams


    Wings to Please the Eye

    The natural world is full of wonders beyond human imagining. Even just a walk through a nearby park will expose us to colors and sounds that we could never imitate ourselves: wild birds and rabbits, things that swim and creep.

    Insects have an interesting place in this grand scheme. Many people revile them—rightfully so, perhaps, as an encounter with the wrong kind of spider could lead to a long and painful death. But there are other insects that are harmless, that exist to pollinate our favorite flowers or simply to please the eye.

    Butterflies are among those creatures that seem to have been made simply to give humans something to marvel at. There are not many people who see a pair of white butterflies, called Cabbage Whites (or Pieris rapae), and recoil in fear.

    Cabbage White Butterfly

    Instead, myths have been dreamed up surrounding them. While in truth they are likely mating, some believe that the sight of a white butterfly signifies the visitation of a deceased loved one.

    There’s a Study for That

    There is a word for the study of butterflies and moths: lepidopterology. An entire branch of science exists dedicated to these surreal bursts of color—the butterflies and moths that punctuate our otherwise uneventful lives. A walk to the mailbox on a heavy summer afternoon suddenly becomes magical at the glimpse of a monarch butterfly.

    The love for butterflies is universal. In the first chapter of The Language of Butterflies, author Wendy Williams explains how these creatures have influenced society for many, many centuries, remarking that during the Victorian era, everyone—men and women—participated in the quest to collect and name these creatures:

    “Throughout Europe and North America, insect collecting was considered not only a healthy activity, but a way to honor God and His earthly works—and was therefore acceptable even in dour cultures where play was frowned upon.”

    She adds something poignant that paleontologist Richard Fortey wrote in his personal memoir, Dry Storeroom No. I: “Indeed, humanity had a ‘duty to inventory.’” It was a duty based in Biblical texts, recalling that God formed every living thing on Earth—then gave Adam the privilege of naming them.

    Everything Needs a Name

    Butterfly enthusiasts reasoned that, of course, they must be collected before they could be named. Williams adds a list of other things that the Victorians considered worthy of collecting and naming, quoting Jim Endersby in Imperial Nature:

    “From shells, seaweeds, flowers, and insects to coins, autographs, books, and bus tickets, Victorians of every class collected, classified, and arranged their treasures before exchanging unwanted finds with other enthusiasts.”

    The Language of Butterflies is one of the few books that I’ve read more than once. Each time, it reminds me of the beauty and sheer poetry that can be found in nature, the wonder that is available to us if we should only step out of the door.

    For this reason, I took a risk and wrote to Wendy Williams herself, asking if she would be willing to answer some questions about this piece of nonfiction, this memoir that I considered so important. I was greatly honored when she replied in the affirmative, and I am delighted today to share my conversation with Wendy Williams.

    The Interview

    Q: When you were writing about butterflies, did you ever feel as though you were also writing about attention itself—about what it means to truly notice something small enough to be overlooked?

    A: Yes. Of course, I had seen butterflies all my life. Taken them for granted. Because they were so common in my childhood, I never really noticed them. Never paid attention to them. But when I started to notice them in a deeper way, I began to experience nature in a deeper way.

    There’s the old saw about stopping to smell the roses. I’d now say stop to take a look at the seemingly nondescript all around you. Consider the wildflowers that you might have been taught were “just weeds.” Now we know that these “weeds” are an essential foundation to the web of life and beauty we see all around us. So there may be more there than meets the eye.

    Q: Was there a moment during your research for The Language of Butterflies when a particular species or behavior surprised you so deeply that it changed the emotional direction of the book?

    A: What surprised me—truly surprised me—was the history of human passion when it came to the colors on a butterfly wing. Poor old Herman Strecker. He was so lost and alone and perpetually sad. Somehow butterflies filled that void. When he finally acquired a butterfly he’d only seen in books, his life was made whole. Why? I only wish that he could have seen the magnificent Ornithoptera actually flying, with its wings glinting in the sunlight.

    Or consider the passion of Maria Sibylla Merian. She was so struck by a large blue butterfly that she embarked on her very own self-funded scientific expedition to the Western Hemisphere just to learn about its life cycle. And this was centuries ago. Of course, I fell in love with her. She just had to know.

    Q: Butterflies move between fragility and resilience in a way that feels almost contradictory. Did you find yourself drawn more to their vulnerability, or to their endurance?

    A: Both. Because the phenomenon begs the question: How can vulnerability and endurance co-exist in one single organism? How can a tiny insect that lives for only a few days also migrate over the Himalayas in freezing temperatures? Sometimes those of us who seem most fragile in the world turn out to be the most enduring.

    Q: In the Tearoom, we often think about the way books teach us to slow down. What did writing about butterflies teach you about slowness, if anything at all?

    A: I remember one time I was walking up a mountain path in a national park. The path was so crowded, and everyone was hurrying to get to the top of the mountain trail—just so they could get back down. It was a stunning day, sunny and bright and warm but not hot. Butterflies were everywhere, but no one stopped to look. They were all absorbed in their own little worlds.

    When we have the opportunity to be in an extraordinary place, I’m often surprised by how few people take the time to notice—really notice—where they are. I’m gonna kvetch here: The phenomenon of competitive trail running is just a mystery to me. You get to the other end, but have no idea where you’ve been. What’s the point of racing like that?

    Thoreau, of course, would be horrified: You go into the woods to live deliberately.

    Painted Lady Butterfly

    Q: If a reader closes The Language of Butterflies and carries only one quiet thought into their day, what would you hope it is?

    A: While researching my next book, about dogs, I was recently walking through a small village on the remote Greek island of Amorgos. Meandering down a side alley, I noticed some handmade bronze earrings displayed in a glass case just outside a tiny shop. The earrings were of butterflies. Of course I had to go into the shop. It was filled with butterfly earrings. I bought a pair, which is very unusual for me. I’m just not a “buying” kind of person. Now I wear them everywhere. They remind me of the specialness of nature.

    As I’m sure you know, psyche is the Greek word for butterfly—and for soul. The human love for butterflies is universal. As I explained in the book, it stopped a high-altitude climber making his way over the Himalayas, “conquering the mountain” (as if we mere humans could ever do such a thing), who never expected to see butterflies glinting in the sunlight in that frozen world.

    Butterflies teach us: Expect the unexpected.

    Conclusion & Beginning

    It would not seem, at first glance, that humans could have much to learn from butterflies—but as Williams pointed out in our interview, certain butterflies have such determination, such an ability to respond to wind and weather, that they can fly over the Himalayas.

    Our world is rapidly changing, and one could understand why some take a negative attitude toward it. Animals are going extinct, climate change is destroying some of our most beautiful places, and humans never quite figured out how to get along with one another.

    But the final paragraphs of The Language of Butterflies offer words of wisdom that I believe can give us hope through all of this:

    “When a five-year-old girl releases a butterfly into the air, and when that butterfly is seen by other people as it flies to its winter destination, that, to my mind, is the real butterfly effect: the joining together of countless people of many different nations, across generations, in a united effort to protect at least one small joyful piece of the natural world to which we belong.”

    We can still work together to protect our beauty, our joy, and the people we love. Thank you, Wendy Williams. You are an author I have admired for a long time, and you have written a memoir that reminds us of this great truth.

    If you enjoyed this conversation about butterflies and the marvels of nature, thank you for reading. I’d appreciate it if you would consider buying me a coffee to support my continued reading and research.

    However, if you’re unable to contribute, I appreciate your fluttering in to spend a little of your time with me!

  • The Correspondent: The Book That Made Me Think Differently About Sight

    The Correspondent: The Book That Made Me Think Differently About Sight


    One of the greatest fears in my life is that I will one day, in my old age, lose the gift of sight. Without my sight, I would lose the sacred thing that gives my life most meaning.

    If I could no longer read books, if I couldn’t see hallowed words on pages, what would become of the impressive personal library I have spent so much of my life building?

    I could not even think of passing it down, because no one I know loves my collection of books quite as much as I do.

    But, as much as these deeper themes resonate with me, the book is not about me. It’s about a popular novel called The Correspondent by Virginia Evans.

    In The Correspondent, the protagonist is a seventy-three-year-old retired lawyer named Sybil Van Antwerp. Her story in this novel is told through letters she sends and receives. She is faithful in this habit: every morning she sits at her desk and writes missives to friends, family, and even authors she admires, such as Ann Patchett and Joan Didion.

    The first time Sybil experiences a loss of vision, the description is terrifying:

    I couldn’t see! But how? That stretch of time, was it a moment or was it minutes? It was as if my life was a movie and went black, meant it, but I’m not certain, and that’s what’s troubling me. I’m not certain it was my vision that went black. It was as if I’d closed my eyes; it’s as if the space of time has been deleted from my memory, up until I crashed.

    Sybil’s failing eyesight leaves her vulnerable to dark memories of a tragedy that took place long ago, when one of her sons tragically died. Writing, the great comforter, forces her to confront a profound sense of guilt that, like a monster, has peered over her shoulder ever since.

    Terrible accidents happen all the time to many, many people. The grief that must fill the world is incomprehensible. Our small dose felt as large as the sun, didn’t it?

    Writing has an ability to calm a storm. It will not undo the grief that is “large as the sun,” but when words and stories are turned to truth and trust, they help certain scars to heal.

    The process of sorting through our stories can be painful at first, but sometimes it is the only way to understand what they have done to us.

    Sybil’s fear of going blind intensifies:

    What has my life been, really? I’ll go blind, and then? I wonder — the letters. All the letters. I wonder if all of it was a waste. Pages and pages of letters. I wonder what has it all been, really. I’ll go blind, and they will be nothing to me. It will be as if they aren’t there, and does that mean, in a way, they were never there?

    And then, as the novel nears its end, her tone changes:

    I thought when I started to lose my sight in this way, when it actually began to slip away, I would cling to it with all my might, but that isn’t the way I feel now. Now that it’s become such a strain, I almost find myself ready to let it go.

    What appears on the surface to be a melancholy admission is truly far more than that. Sybil is conceding that, even without the ability to see book pages and mountains and butterflies gliding in pairs, life goes on.

    There is more to the experience of living out our own stories. And while I still live in dread that I could one day wind up blind, it does help to witness Sybil’s struggle — and realize that, while she is tired from it all, she is not defeated.

    Migraines aren’t new foes in literature.

    In this post, we discussed the character of Marilla Cuthbert in Anne of Green Gables. In Montgomery’s first Anne book, Marilla is seen frequently struggling with debilitating migraines which make it difficult for her to go about her day and manage her many household chores.

    In Chapters 37 and 38, she finally consents to see a doctor, in the hopes that he might provide some relief. The news is bleak: her headaches are caused by a progressive condition which threatens her vision.

    Knowing that Marilla is vulnerable and cannot manage things on her own, Anne makes a sacrifice for her — a touching scene when we recall all that Marilla has done for her.

    But Marilla is still fearful.

    Marilla expresses panic when she is given the diagnosis:

    “If I wear the glasses he’s given me and give up all reading and sewing and fine work of any kind — if I keep out of the twilight and don’t cry on any account — my eyes may not get any worse and my headaches will be cured. But if I don’t, the doctor says I’ll certainly be stone-blind in six months.”

    She then mourns all that she will have lost:

    “To think of me sitting here tied hand and foot and completely helpless!… My eyes have always been so good. I can’t read, nor sew, nor do anything in the twilight. I’d rather be blind altogether than just sitting around doing nothing.”

    Sybil and Marilla might not have had the same disease, but they are remarkably similar in this respect. Their panic echoes one another, except that Marilla has Anne to help her through the dark days, while Sybil is, by choice, alone.

    Humans have always lived in fear of darkness, of the inability to perceive beauty when standing in front of it. Books offer us perspective and — dare I say it? — peace. Even if we do face the trial of blindness, medicine has evolved, and we do not need to bear the burden alone.

    More importantly, there are so many different ways to hear and tell a story. We may lose our ability to see the words on a page, but that does not mean the story — or the beauty that first drew us to it — has disappeared.

    Perhaps that is one of the comforts of being human: the things we love continue to live in us, even when we can no longer experience them in quite the same way.

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  • Why You Keep DNF’ing Books

    Why You Keep DNF’ing Books


    Literature gives us so many different paths to take: adventures that would never have been possible in our own lives, and lessons we might never have learned in quite the same way.

    Those of us who cannot imagine life without books know that a shelf full of them can be a source of comfort all by itself. Even when we aren’t reading everything we’ve purchased, there is something reassuring about knowing that those books are waiting for us. And yet, every reader has gone through seasons when none of the books we reach for seem to hold us.

    It is the old dilemma of “I have nothing to read!” when, in fact, we have hundreds of books waiting on our shelves. It is the purgatory of reaching for bestseller after bestseller, skimming the opening chapter, and setting it aside with a resigned sigh. Eventually, you may begin to wonder whether you even enjoy reading anymore. Surely there must be something wrong when the book everyone else loves leaves you completely cold.

    But there are many reasons we might keep putting down books we expected to love. I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about this, particularly during those periods when I felt guilty for abandoning books I desperately wanted to enjoy. Sometimes, no matter how beloved a book is or how much you want to love it, you simply cannot turn another page.

    Perhaps you’ve found this article at precisely the moment you needed it. If you’re in the middle of a reading dry spell, I hope some of what follows will make it feel a little less troubling. Because I promise: this will pass. Eventually, you’ll pick up a book that meets you at exactly the right moment and wonder why you ever felt guilty for putting the others down.

    Tiredness of the Mind

    It’s tempting to believe that our minds are somehow above such weaknesses as might make it difficult to complete a novel. Are books not supposed to transport us to places beyond imagination?

    But the truth is that reading—truly reading, in order to comprehend and remember—requires a complete engagement of the mind.

    Much of the time, it isn’t the fault of the novel itself that you aren’t being pulled into it. The most gripping story ever written will be little more than mist if a reader lacks the mental bandwidth to comprehend what it is trying to do.

    And no, drinking more coffee isn’t necessarily the solution. It may give you an adrenaline rush, but for most people, good reading is slow reading. We can skim our way through a novel, but will we remember any of it by the time we reach the final page?

    If your mind is too tired to enjoy books the way it once did, there are a few things you can try before deciding that you’ve lost your love of reading altogether. They may prepare you to enjoy your next book without suspecting that you are doing it an injustice—or wasting your own time.

    • Put the phone away. Give yourself even twenty or thirty minutes without notifications, scrolling, or the temptation to check what you’ve missed. A mind accustomed to constant stimulation may need a little quiet before it can settle into a novel.
    • Take a walk. Reading doesn’t always begin when you open the book. A short walk can give your mind somewhere else to wander for a while, leaving you more capable of settling into someone else’s imagined world afterward.
    • Do something with your hands. Make tea, water your plants, sketch, tidy a small corner of your room—anything that doesn’t demand much intellectual effort. Sometimes the best preparation for reading is giving your mind permission to stop working so hard.
    • Read less. If you’re exhausted, there is no virtue in forcing yourself through fifty pages when ten would be enough. Read a chapter. Read a few pages. Read a poem instead. You aren’t failing at reading because you lack the energy to consume a novel at the pace you expected of yourself.

    Sometimes the kindest thing we can do for our reading life is to stop demanding that our tired minds over-perform. Our books will still be there when we are ready for them.

    Sometimes, Breaks Are Good

    I know it sounds like sacrilege for a book creature like me to suggest that it might be good to take a break. But it is possible to take your TBR list so seriously that it begins to feel less like a source of pleasure and more like another chore.

    If reading a book becomes akin to doing the dishes or mowing the lawn, of course some of us will begin to dread the time that we have set aside for it.

    I can think of at least two reading dry spells that have punctuated my life. The most recent occurred when my paternal grandmother died. Words cannot describe how much her death unsettled me, making even the things I loved most seem to lose their luster. I read very few books during that time, but I remember two of the handful that did guide me through it: Marilla of Green Gables by Sarah McCoy and The Court of the Air by Stephen Hunt.

    As an aside: if you can remember two novels from a difficult time that made your trials more bearable, you may have identified part of your lifetime literary canon. When you are old and necessarily selective about the books you spend your final years with, these might be the ones you’ll gravitate toward naturally.

    Marilla of Green Gables will be a comfort to me when I am seventy-six and my eyesight begins to fail me. It has become an old friend. If you have books that have taken on the same significance for you, cherish them. And please tell me about them in the comments. I would love to know their titles, and why they are close to your heart.

    In my experience, by the end of these reading slumps, it felt as if a dam had broken. All of a sudden, I would find myself in a bookstore, not knowing where to begin and not having the slightest desire to stop. I was fascinated by every cover and every blurb, ready to spend the next few months exploring the worlds waiting between the covers.

    Perhaps that is what we forget when we are in a reading slump: the desire to read can return. We don’t have to force it back. Sometimes we simply have to give it room to find us.

    Let Yourself Be a Reader

    Perhaps the most important thing to remember when you find yourself abandoning book after book is that you are not required to prove that you are a reader.

    You do not have to finish every book you begin. You do not have to enjoy the books everyone else is talking about. You do not have to keep reading a novel because you think you ought to be. And you certainly don’t have to turn something that once brought you pleasure into another task on your list.

    Sometimes you are tired. Sometimes you are distracted. Sometimes life has become too loud for the concentration that a good novel requires. And sometimes, quite simply, the book’s not right for you.

    There will be other books.

    That, to me, is one of the great consolations of being a lifelong reader. There is always another shelf, another bookstore, another library somewhere. A reading slump may feel strangely permanent while you’re in the midst of it, but it’s not.

    Your next beloved book may already be sitting unread on your shelf.

    Some books will come at the right time. For me, Marilla of Green Gables was one of those books.

    I found my way to it during one of the most difficult periods of my life, when I had little appetite for reading at all. It reminded me that sometimes we don’t need to force ourselves back into reading; we simply need to stumble upon the right book at the right time. You can read my full review of Marilla of Green Gables here.

    So put the book down if you need to. Take a walk. Make tea and let your mind wander. Read something completely different—or don’t read anything for a little while.

    When you are ready, open a book again. I have a feeling you’ll know the right one when you find it.

    Cover Image: The Bibliophile (1896), Johann Hamza

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  • Marilla Cuthbert Was Already a Whole Woman

    Marilla Cuthbert Was Already a Whole Woman


    I believe that Marilla Cuthbert is one of the best-written characters in the literary canon, and also the most mysterious. So little detail is offered about her that she can easily be misunderstood or judged as harsh.

    For example, in Anne of Green Gables, Marilla isn’t as welcoming to Anne’s presence in her home as Matthew. Through the eyes of young Anne Shirley, who has been swept by train from one crisis to another, Marilla appears to be an unloving and cantankerous woman.

    However, readers who look closely at L.M. Montgomery’s original novel can immediately tell that there is more to Marilla Cuthbert. Today, creative license gives modern authors the freedom to try to fill in the blanks, allowing us to imagine backstories for characters like Marilla and, in doing so, enrich the reading experience.

    One of the books I believe does this best is Marilla of Green Gables by Sarah McCoy. In this lovingly written tribute to Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables series, McCoy gives us a plausible backstory for a character who is, in truth, far more profound than she initially appears.

    Understanding Young Marilla Cuthbert

    As readers of L.M. Montgomery’s traditional series, we only know Marilla Cuthbert as she was in later life. We recall her fondly as a woman who, by nature, cannot abide idleness. In Marilla of Green Gables, Sarah McCoy describes Marilla’s childhood and gives us an entirely different perspective.

    The pages that cover Marilla’s childhood reveal a girl who is not so different from the Anne Shirley we know:

    Sometimes, as sinful as she knew it was, Marilla wanted to idle the day away however she pleased. When she could steal time, she’d take to the balsam woods with her Godey’s magazine leaflets and follow the brook until it cascaded to a little pool split in half by a maple growing right up through the center. She’d sit there on her island with the water bubbling around and read until the sun slanted thinly through the trees.

    This passage establishes young Marilla as a child who was really not so different from Anne Shirley, even if Marilla would never admit it to Anne when she was raising her.

    As children, Marilla and Anne both loved Green Gables and the many natural wonders surrounding it that made the place so special. They were both devoted to reading, though Anne was more inclined to let her imagination run away with her, depending on what she was reading.

    In terms of writing style, McCoy stays true to Montgomery’s technique of using the wonders of the outdoors to establish the mood of a story. Marilla does not dramatically rechristen natural landmarks with names such as Lake of Shining Waters, but in her own way, she is able to befriend the trees, learning every nook and cranny of the land.

    In Marilla of Green Gables, McCoy offers us a means by which to understand Marilla Cuthbert.

    Reader, recall that this novel is not canon; it ought not to be read as part of the Montgomery set. But I admire novels like this—the loving projects of souls who loved a classic novel so much that they needed more of it, and then went on to write it.

    Anne and Marilla Aren’t So Different

    One of the pleasures of Sarah McCoy’s Marilla of Green Gables is seeing the connection between young Marilla and the girl Anne Shirley will eventually become.

    Anne is famous for her imagination, her love of books, and her tendency to find beauty in the natural world around her. Marilla is more restrained, but McCoy shows us that the younger Marilla possessed many of these same qualities.

    The difference between them is not that one girl loves beauty and the other does not. It is that Marilla has learned to contain the imaginative child she once was.

    That makes her eventual relationship with Anne even more interesting. In some ways, Marilla is raising a younger version of the girl she might once have been.

    Marilla Cuthbert and Motherhood

    My previous post about the novel Hello Baby raised questions about motherhood and the desire to start a family. Marilla, in this novel, does not have the great desire for children that her friend Rachel White (later Lynde) does.

    Page 219 explores this from Marilla’s viewpoint:

    Marilla liked children, but motherhood seemed outside her realm of possibility… the tariff for motherhood was too great when there was already so much depending on her.

    I do not feel like enough classic novels include the viewpoints of women who, like me, do not live only with dreams of motherhood. It’s not that Marilla—or I—dislike children or the idea of them. But there are so many women who want to be known for other things. They wish to be remembered for passions they already have, rather than the children that might come along one day—if a good man turns up.

    In fact, right after the quote about the “tariff for motherhood,” Marilla’s reverie continues, taking a turn in the old-fashioned manner of thinking:

    Besides, to bear a child, one must first have a husband… on that account, Marilla could not deny the lingering weight of regret.

    We see that Sarah McCoy’s Marilla is not opposed to the idea of marriage. She is human, and—as I pointed out recently—most humans are fascinated by the magic and warmth of a love story.

    Indeed, Marilla is in love with one man. Due to a loss of temper, she has a falling out with him. She is the ultimate romantic in that she will love no one else. She will not settle for lukewarm love or an obligatory marriage simply for the possibility of having children.

    The irony is this: though Marilla does not yet know it, a child will one day come along—just not in the way she has always expected.

    Matthew Cuthbert and Marilla’s Bond

    Matthew Cuthbert appears for a very short time in Montgomery’s novels, yet everything he does and says seems more memorable than that of many other characters. He does not stay in Anne’s story for very long, yet manages to burrow into the hearts of readers who meet him.

    In Chapter 2 of Anne of Green Gables, he is introduced as a man who can only be lured out for important quests, such as retrieving an orphan from a train station. Montgomery gives us an endearing description of this man. His presence is so fleeting that he is almost a wild creature from the woods of Avonlea:

    …he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness.

    We are told that Matthew is reclusive: he “dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an uncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him.”

    This description has always stood out to me, as it says so much about Matthew Cuthbert and yet so tantalizingly little.

    Sarah McCoy makes a beautiful effort to fill in the blanks behind this sentence. She paints us a picture of Matthew Cuthbert’s one and only true love, a girl named Johanna who led him to believe that he had a chance with her—then one day decided she did not want what Matthew could offer:

    “I’m not your sweetheart or anything else, Matthew Cuthbert. I’d rather die than be a farmer’s wife.”

    And we then see the strength of Matthew and Marilla’s bond:

    Saying nothing, Marilla put a hand on his back. He didn’t turn, and she didn’t face him…. She didn’t see him cry, but she felt it, trembling through his bones and into hers, like a tuning fork, until her own cheeks were wet with tears.

    There are not many sibling relationships in literature that hit as powerfully as that of the Cuthberts. They have grown up together in their family home, seen the years go by side by side, and, in spite of their differing personalities, need one another.

    They make choices together, as we see in the ninth chapter of Anne of Green Gables:

    “Well, now, she’s a real nice little thing, Marilla. It’s kind of a pity to send her back when she’s so set on staying here.”

    “Matthew Cuthbert, you don’t mean to say you think we ought to keep her!”… “What good would she be to us?”

    “We might be some good to her,” said Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly.

    McCoy’s most powerful Matthew quote is the following:

    “I have a voice just as much as you do. It’s a choice we make every minute. What truths are important enough to say aloud and what ones are important just to know…. You can change your mind anytime you want, but you can’t take words back. Not ever.”

    Marilla Cuthbert Was Already Whole

    Given the time in which she was born, Marilla Cuthbert’s life does not unfold according to the obvious script.

    She does not marry young to have children of her own. She does not spend her life dreaming about the family she might someday have. Instead, she builds a life with what she has: her home, her brother, her work.

    Eventually, all of this is uprooted with the arrival of a red-haired girl who has a lot to teach her. Make no mistake, though: Anne Shirley changes Marilla, but does not complete her. Marilla was already a whole woman before Anne came along.

    There is something deeply comforting about a character whose life is not presented as a waiting room for the life she is supposed to have. Marilla has desires, regrets, disappointments, and loves, but she is never merely an unfinished version of herself.

    She becomes a woman through the life she actually lives.

    Sarah McCoy’s Marilla of Green Gables gives us the pleasure of imagining all the years L.M. Montgomery left unwritten, but it also reminds me why those unwritten spaces are so compelling. The lives of women like Marilla cannot always be reduced to what they expected to become.

    Sometimes a fresh start is something we choose. Sometimes it is thrust upon us. And sometimes it arrives quietly, disguised as a person we never expected to love.

    Marilla did not know what her life would become. Perhaps that is the most beautiful thing about her. She did not have to know.

    She simply kept living it.

    And eventually, Anne arrived.

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  • Tea with Elizabeth Wellington Rollins, Author of The Three Graces of Pearl Street

    Tea with Elizabeth Wellington Rollins, Author of The Three Graces of Pearl Street


    There are some books that seem to arrive at exactly the right moment. The Three Graces of Pearl Street is one of those books. It’s a warm, hopeful novel about aging, friendship, and small acts of kindness that can transform a life.

    Elizabeth Wellington Rollins was kind enough to send me an ARC of this novel. I have posted a review of it, which you can find here.

    At the center of the novel is Graziella, a former nun whose devotion to serving others — often through food, generosity, and the simple act of showing up — gives the story much of its heart. Her relationship with her granddaughter, Ella, adds another layer to the novel, reminding us that the people we love most can sometimes be the very people who frustrate us most.

    I was especially interested in the novel’s treatment of later life. Rather than presenting aging as a period of decline, Rollins allows her older characters to remain complicated, funny, stubborn, faithful, loving, and very much alive.

    Her answers below offer a glimpse into the personal experiences and ideas that shaped the novel, as well as what she hopes readers will carry with them after the final page.

    The Interview

    Q: The Three Graces of Pearl Street explores aging with remarkable warmth and hope. What inspired you to write a novel that celebrates later life rather than treating it as a period of decline?

    A: I’ve always found warmth and hope in my relationships with older generations, and so this was less of a conscious choice and more of a default setting. I adored every senior in my family, and I soaked up my time with each of them like a sponge.

    I’ve also always sought out relationships with seniors in formal and informal ways. When I was living in Boston in my 20s, I was lucky enough to have a landlord who was in her 90s who was also my downstairs neighbor. We developed a regular rapport in our little brownstone, and she was bursting with life, verve, and humor. She made my world and my life so much bigger.

    I feel that way about seniors on the page, too. Ever since I read A Man Named Ove, which is published by the same imprint as The Three Graces of Pearl Street, I knew I would write an older character one day. I’m so delighted to see Graziella make her way into the world through this novel.Graziella’s commitment to serving others is one of the novel’s defining qualities. Was there a real person—or several people—who inspired her character?

    Q: Graziella is her own fictional character, but the seedpoint for her service has deep roots in my own family tree and some lovely people I’ve met along the way.

    A: I anchored her in the Italian-American culture of my maternal lineage, which inspired her primary mode of service: feeding people. I was always taught that service should be humble and anonymous or it doesn’t count, and Graziella definitely reflects that nuance, as well.

    Q: Faith and conscience play important roles in the story. How did you approach writing about religious conviction while allowing your characters to wrestle honestly with disagreement and moral complexity?

    A: I felt my way through this rather than approach the novel with a particular point of view. I knew that Graziella, a former nun who brought those values into her life in the neighborhood, would be someone who broke some rules to uphold others. There’s a line that Ella, her granddaughter, says, “She’s the most devout person I know and the least compliant.” And I also knew that the other two protagonists would have their own relationships with their faith, which changed as they changed.

    My view is that faith is a dance that no one is going to live out in the exact same way because every person is unique. One of the joys of having three protagonists is showing a few contrasting variations of that, which I hope adds to the nuance of the narrative.

    Q: The relationship between Graziella and her granddaughter, Ella, feels especially authentic. Were there particular family experiences or observations that helped shape their dynamic?

    A: I think there’s this relatable paradox that you can admire someone wholeheartedly the way Ella admires her grandmother Graziella and still be completely frustrated by them. Ella and Graziella are so alike that they struggle to fit into each other’s lives in a consistent way. I think it’s relatable, and I wanted to walk people through the evolution of the relationship from that starting point.

    Q: One of the novel’s central ideas is that ordinary acts of kindness can transform lives. Is this a philosophy that has guided your own life, or did it emerge as you were writing the novel?

    A: I’ve always valued kindness, and I was so grateful to pull that thread into the novel. The older I get, the more I appreciate the difference between kindness and niceties, too. Those two concepts often overlap, but they are not the same thing. Graziella’s character and, quite frankly, the generosity and decency of New Yorkers, often reflects that subtlety.

    Q: Many readers, myself included, found the novel comforting when thinking about grief, aging, and mortality. What do you hope readers carry with them after turning the final page?

    A: I’ve heard from early readers that the novel feels like home. That feedback meant the world to me because that’s what I set out to do while writing it. In an ideal world, home is a heartening place to be. It fills us up before we need to go into the world and face down challenges and uncertainties. The novel is an emotional journey, but I hope it leaves people feeling renewed and supported, the way I would wish that every person feels in their own homes.

    Q: Finally, just for fun: if you could sit down over coffee with Graziella for an afternoon, what question would you ask her—and what do you think her answer might be?

    A: I would, in earnest, ask Graziella how she would suggest that I manage this new career as a working mom. Betting on my creative work as a full-time novelist was a huge leap for me, and the role defies some of the norms of a 9-5 job.

    I would love to take marching orders from her about how to make it work. Not only the big picture, but the specificities: Should I freeze chicken cutlets before I leave town for every book event?

    Her answer would probably be harsh but effective: “You’re stuck in that head of yours like a mouse on a wheel—the plague of your generation! Trust your instincts or you’ll suffer until the end of time for no reason. You know better or you wouldn’t have asked.” I imagine her waving around a wooden spoon and raising her voice while she says it.

    A Final Thought

    The Three Graces of Pearl Street promotes a specific idea: the truth that a meaningful life is not necessarily built out of grand gestures.

    Sometimes, meaning is found in sharing meals with other people. It is nourished by friendships sustained over decades. Its mettle is tested in the arguments we have with people we love.

    Most of all, meaning is found in the decision to show up for someone when they need us.

    Home is not simply a place we inhabit. At its best, it is something we create for one another. And if Graziella really does have a wooden spoon in hand, I suspect she would agree.

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  • 5 Novels That Felt Like Fresh Starts

    5 Novels That Felt Like Fresh Starts


    We all long, on occasion, for a fresh start. We want to walk away from the lives we already live and lay the foundations for new ones, setting off toward places where we are unknown and our mistakes are, too.

    Literature is one of the few places in which we can actually live out that desire, at least for a while. Every book allows us to see the world through the eyes of a protagonist, sharing in their struggles and exploring their worldview until we reach the final page. If the book is good enough, we might find ourselves carrying some of those perspectives with us for many years afterward.

    Some novels, though, follow the specific drama of a character having to start over. The circumstances behind these changes might not all be peaceful, and they might not all be happy. Not all of these protagonists want to change who they are or where they belong, but fate—and the will of the author—does not always give them a choice.

    I pondered for a while on books about characters who, voluntarily or by force, had to change their identities, locations, or circumstances. Sometimes they were grateful for the change; other times, they pined forever for what they had left behind.

    These are five novels about starting over in all its various forms.

    1. The Enchanted April — Elizabeth von Arnim

    The Enchanted April is one of those books that, although quiet, covers a great deal of ground. On its surface, it is a story of four women who rent a chateau in Italy, hoping for a break from the monotony of their lives. But as time passes and they spend more time with one another, they begin to realize that something else is taking place.

    You cannot spend an entire season in a different country, surrounded by different people, without something inside you changing. These women may return to cloudy England looking the same, and their interactions with family and acquaintances may not differ all that much.

    But the weeks they spend in the Mediterranean sunshine will have altered something—brought to wakefulness an energy that none of them knew they possessed.

    The most powerful changes are seldom obvious, but they are the ones that last the longest.

    2. Isola — Allegra Goodman

    I have yet to find a novel that has made such a great impact on me as Allegra Goodman’s Isola. Not only is it beautifully written, capturing the time period in which the story takes place with remarkable precision, but we can see the transformation of its protagonist, Marguerite, in nearly every chapter.

    Marguerite’s “fresh start” in Isola is not a blissful trip to Italy. She is kidnapped by her cousin and taken against her will on an expedition to remote shores near Canada. But in a cruel turn of events, her cousin abandons her on an island, along with her nurse and the man she loves. She also happens to be pregnant, which adds yet another layer of peril to the ordeal she and the others must face alone.

    Tragedy after tragedy on this remote shore changes Marguerite; there is nothing she can do to stop it. She is no longer the naive girl who once lived in wealth and took pride in her title. Now she must bury the people she loves, hunt with a rifle she never learned how to use, and become accustomed to a life of solitude.

    When, at last, she is rescued by a boat of fishermen, she is a different woman. She is a fearsome creature, set on vengeance, unafraid of her cousin, and stopping at nothing to achieve justice. She has had a “fresh start,” even if it is not something she pursued or something she would ever have wanted.

    Our lives might not be nearly as dramatic, but sometimes we face unexpected changes of our own, and they are unpleasant. We may find ourselves in circumstances we never would have chosen, forced to become people we never expected to be.

    Books teach us that we can survive this, too.

    3. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry — Gabrielle Zevin

    A.J. Fikry is not looking for a fresh start. In fact, by the beginning of Gabrielle Zevin’s The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry, he seems to have given up on the possibility of one altogether. His wife is dead, his bookstore is struggling, and his beloved rare copy of Poe has been stolen. He has retreated into grief and bitterness, pushing away nearly everyone who might try to reach him.

    Then a two-year-old girl named Maya is left in his bookstore.

    A.J. initially has no idea what to do with this unexpected child, but before long, Maya begins to change his life. He adopts her, and the bookstore that once felt like an extension of his solitude becomes a place filled with people, stories, and community. His relationship with Amelia Loman, a publisher’s representative whom he initially treats rather terribly, grows into something more. Slowly, almost without his noticing, A.J. begins to build the life he thought he had lost forever.

    What I love about A.J.’s story is that his new beginning does not require him to become an entirely different person. He is still a bookseller. He still has his particular opinions about literature. He is still, in many ways, himself.

    But he is no longer alone.

    His fresh start comes through the people who enter his life unexpectedly and remind him that there are still things worth loving. Maya gives him someone to care for. Amelia gives him companionship. The bookstore becomes a place where he can belong rather than a place where he can hide.

    Sometimes starting over does not mean leaving everything behind. Sometimes it means allowing something new into the life you already have.

    A.J. Fikry learns that a life can be rewritten even after you are convinced the story has already ended.

    4- The Light on Farallon Island — Jen Wheeler

    Amelia Osborne arrives on the Farallon Islands in 1859 under a name that does not belong to her. Taking on the identity of her recently deceased friend, Lucy Riley, she has come to the remote lighthouse outpost as a teacher for the keepers’ children. It is the sort of place where a person might hope to disappear completely.

    Thirty miles off the coast of San Francisco, the Farallon Islands are isolated and forbidding. The sailors who know them call them the Devil’s Teeth, and Amelia soon discovers why. The cliffs are dangerous, the waters are unpredictable, and the fog can make the world beyond the island seem impossibly far away.

    For Amelia, though, the physical dangers are not the greatest threat. She has come to the island hoping to leave her old life behind, but she has brought its secrets with her.

    Then there is Will Sisson.

    Will is a solitary man who seems to recognize the name Amelia has taken, although he does not recognize her face. Naturally, she is wary of him. But as she becomes more familiar with the small community on the island, she begins to trust him. What follows is a story about love and fear, but also about the difficult process of becoming someone new when the person you were is still haunting you.

    I think The Light on Farallon Island fits this list because Amelia’s fresh start is, in many ways, a literal reinvention. She changes her name. She leaves the life she knew. She travels to a place where almost no one knows her.

    But changing your circumstances does not necessarily mean escaping your past. Amelia has gone as far as she possibly can, surrounded by nothing but sea, rocks, fog, and the people who live alongside her. Yet even there, she cannot escape herself.

    Sometimes a fresh start requires a new place.

    Sometimes it requires becoming brave enough to stay.

    5. Anne of Green Gables — L.M. Montgomery

    Of all the titles on this list, Anne of Green Gables might be the most hopeful. It is not only Anne Shirley who receives a fresh start when she is rescued from the orphanage. Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert receive one, too.

    The Cuthberts have been living for years and years in a state of routine, unwelcoming of change and with no intentions of changing their lifestyle. They are content, but are they happy?

    When Anne is accidentally brought to Green Gables rather than the boy they hoped for, it takes a little while for them to overcome the shock. After all, her personality is vastly different from theirs. But soon they realize that her monologues, drama, and garnishes make them happy. Happiness is not something they have known for a very long time.

    Sometimes, like in The Enchanted April, a fresh start does not announce itself with trumpets and fanfare. Sometimes, like in Isola, it is forced growth of character. In the case of Anne of Green Gables, it takes the form of irresistible wonder. This sort of fresh start makes the world beautiful to behold, even to those watching from the sidelines.

    Anne loves Avonlea and sees magic in every cranny. Soon, Matthew and Marilla begin to see it, too—and to change.

    Perhaps that is one of the loveliest things about a fresh start: sometimes it does not only change the person beginning again. Sometimes it changes everyone fortunate enough to be there when it happens.

    Starting Again

    There is something comforting about stories of fresh starts because they remind us that our lives are rarely as settled as they seem.

    Marguerite never would have chosen the island. A.J. Fikry never expected a little girl to walk into his bookstore and change everything. Amelia went to Farallon Island hoping that a new name might allow her to leave her old life behind. And Anne Shirley arrived at Green Gables without knowing that she was about to change the lives of Matthew and Marilla along with her own.

    Even The Enchanted April, perhaps the gentlest of these stories, shows us that sometimes all we need is the opportunity to see our lives differently.

    I think that is what I love most about a fresh start in literature. It does not always mean becoming an entirely new person. Sometimes it means discovering a part of ourselves that had been waiting for the right circumstances to emerge.

    We cannot always choose when our lives will change. Sometimes change arrives as an adventure. Sometimes it comes through loss. Sometimes it appears on the doorstep in the form of a little girl who was supposed to be a boy.

    But there is always the possibility that something beautiful might come of it.

    Perhaps that is why we return to these stories when we need encouragement. They remind us that the ending of one chapter does not necessarily mean the end of the story.

    There may still be another life waiting for us.

    Cover Image: Woman Reading (1880), Edouard Manet

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  • How to Choose Your Next Book

    How to Choose Your Next Book


    Only a reader would understand this problem: you’ve just finished a novel that you absolutely adored. You’ve allowed it to simmer for a bit while completing the household chores that can’t keep being ignored. When you’re finally finished, you go to your favorite spot in the house: your bookshelf.

    Staring at the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of options lined up on the shelves before you, you feel that familiar hesitation.

    I have so many books, you think, but I don’t know what to read next!

    We seem to live with the idea that, because we love books, there should never be any uncertainty about what our next title will be. But when there are so many lovely directions in which we can go, it can genuinely be difficult to pick just one and commit to it. The more options we have, the harder it becomes to reach that satisfying moment of thinking, Yes. That’s the one.

    I haven’t completely solved this problem for myself, but I’ve learned a few things that make the decision easier. So if you’re standing before your own bookshelf right now, feeling overwhelmed by all those unread possibilities and thinking the same dramatic thought—I don’t know what to read next!—here are a few ways to find your way back to a book.

    Don’t Think in Numbers

    We might not want to admit it, but when we’re thinking about our next read, we can start subconsciously calculating.

    If I read these two novels this week, then cram that epic in the week after, and squeeze in this novella after that, I’ll cross more off my list than if I simply reach for what I actually want to read…

    The point of reading isn’t to get through all the books on your shelf. The point is to find a story and allow it to carry you away, for a while, from the hardships of life.

    Let’s face it: plenty of people have impressive personal libraries. Ask them how many of those books they’ve actually read, though, and they’ll probably admit that there are quite a few waiting patiently on the shelves. Some of them may never be read at all.

    And that’s okay.

    If you’re constantly trying to get through everything you own, you’re probably taking much of the fun out of reading itself. If opening a book becomes another mark to check off a list, what’s the difference between choosing a novel and buying groceries?

    You don’t need to optimize your reading life.

    Stop thinking in numbers and goals, and you may find that choosing your next book becomes much easier. Instead of asking yourself which book will help you make the most progress, ask a simpler question:

    Which one do I actually want to read?

    That answer is probably closer than you think.

    Look for the Story Your Soul Needs

    Sometimes, the book that is currently trending is not the story that your soul needs in that moment.

    There are a lot of performative readers on the Internet who seem to grab whatever is trending simply because everyone else is reading it. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being excited about a popular book. Sometimes the books everyone is talking about really are wonderful. But you can’t always tell whether someone is enjoying a book because it genuinely speaks to them or because they feel as though they ought to be reading it.

    When choosing your next read, it’s more important to look for the story that might provide the particular kind of nourishment—or even healing—that your soul needs. Read the description of the story and ask yourself: Is it dealing with friendship? Might it have words of wisdom about coping with grief? Does it have literary sunshine to give life to a winter day?

    Maybe you need a love story. Maybe you need to laugh. Maybe you need to spend a few hours with a woman who has made a mess of her life and somehow manages to put the pieces back together. Maybe you need to disappear into another country, another century, or another person’s imagination.

    Your reading life doesn’t have to reflect what everyone else is reading. It doesn’t even have to reflect what you were reading last month.

    Sometimes we reach for the book that will challenge us. Sometimes we need the one that will comfort us. Sometimes we need a story that simply reminds us that there is still beauty in the world.

    Pay attention to that instinct.

    The book you need most may not be the book everyone is recommending. It may be the one that has been sitting quietly on your shelf, waiting for you to become the reader who is ready for it.

    Read the First Page

    Most literary agents will tell you that, when you submit a novel for publication, the first—and often the only—part they will look at is the first page. This is because a book’s opening bears a great deal of weight. Regardless of genre, POV, or tense, the first page should give the reader a reason to keep going.

    Take, for example, these wonderful first-page hooks:

    “The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation.” —The Secret History, Donna Tartt

    “I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster.” —The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls

    “This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.” — The Princess Bride, William Goldman

    For more great hooks, read this post.

    Literary agents and editors have the right idea when they advise authors to make their opening lines special. I say this at the risk of sounding unkind to other writers who perhaps do not like being told how to write their novels, but it is what it is: we readers have so many options that, if an author wishes for their story to be chosen, they need to learn the gimmicks.

    There has to be a line, an idea, or an exchange in the first paragraph that makes me think, “Wait, what? I need to know more. How can Goldman say this is his favorite book if he’s never read it? Why is Bunny dead? Why is Mom rooting through a dumpster?”

    When picking your next read, allow yourself to be choosy. Go through your options, read the first pages of each, and pick the ones that grip you. It’s not necessary to toss aside books that don’t immediately arrest your attention; simply set them aside until the time is right.

    Read the Book You Keep Thinking About

    Sometimes, you already know what you want to read. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

    There may be a particular book on your shelf that you keep noticing. You pick it up, read the description again, admire the cover, and then put it back because you think you should read something else first. Perhaps it’s been sitting there for months. Perhaps you bought it years ago. Perhaps you’ve been telling yourself that you’ll get to it eventually.

    Why not now?

    Our reading lists can become so full of obligations that we forget to pay attention to the books that genuinely interest us. We tell ourselves we need to finish another book first, catch up on a bestseller, read something more “important,” or finally tackle the enormous classic we’ve been avoiding.

    But if you keep thinking about a particular book, there may be a reason.

    You don’t need to justify every reading choice. You don’t need to prove that you’ve chosen the most worthwhile book on your shelf. If one keeps catching your attention, pick it up. Read a few pages. See where it takes you.

    And if you discover that you’re not in the mood for it after all, you can always put it back.

    Conclusion

    Choosing your next book doesn’t have to be a complicated process. You don’t need a reading challenge, an elaborate TBR system, or a carefully calculated plan. Sometimes you simply need to stop and ask yourself what kind of story you’re longing for.

    Read for pleasure. Read for comfort. Read because a first page makes you curious. Read the book that has been quietly calling your name from the shelf.

    And remember that there is no wrong answer.

    The unread books will still be there tomorrow. Your reading life is not a race, and your bookshelf is not a list of obligations. You are allowed to wander through it, change your mind, abandon a book that isn’t right for you, and return to one when the time is better.

    So if you’re sitting there wondering what to read next, look at your shelves again.

    There’s probably a book waiting for you.

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    And if you can’t, simply being here and reading means a great deal to me.

  • How to Read More Books (Without Making Reading Another Chore)

    How to Read More Books (Without Making Reading Another Chore)


    In my previous post, I addressed a problem that seems common among many adults: how to start reading again when new responsibilities threaten to crowd our leisure time. We discussed three ways to rekindle our love of reading and allow it to become the haven it once was.

    Now we turn to a different problem that is still in the same vein: how to read more books when life is already busy.

    There is nothing wrong with reading a handful of books per year, but some of us will not be satisfied with that. Some of us want the exhilarating sensation of reading volume after volume, visiting different places in the past and future, but cannot find a way to work such a goal into an already-busy schedule.

    Perhaps you’re struggling because you have a lot on your plate, and your TBR simply isn’t a priority. Perhaps you’re overwhelmed by the task of deciding what to read next. Or perhaps you’ve fallen into the trap of thinking that reading more requires some elaborate system of its own.

    The good news is that it doesn’t have to.

    If you want to read more books, these simple changes may help you build a reading life that feels satisfying rather than demanding.

    Stop Treating Your TBR Like a Syllabus

    I’ve fallen into this trap before: I’ll have a nice collection of books growing on my shelf, but my conscience tells me that I cannot read them except in the order in which they were acquired.

    To an extent, this might make sense. A person with common sense might think that we should read books as soon as they are bought; if not, did we really want them to begin with?

    But a TBR is not a syllabus.

    You do not have to start at the top of the stack and work your way down. You are allowed to skip around. You are allowed to read the book you are suddenly in the mood for, even if you bought it six months ago and have five others waiting ahead of it.

    In fact, I think this is one of the simplest ways to make reading more enjoyable: let yourself choose.

    Your TBR should be a collection of possibilities, not a list of assignments. There is no prize for finishing the books in chronological order, and there is certainly no reason to feel guilty about being more excited about the book at the bottom of the stack.

    Read the book that calls to you.

    Your future reading self will thank you for it.

    Keep More Than One Book Going

    Everybody has a different reading style, so this advice will not apply to everyone. Personally, I think it is perfectly fine to read more than one book at a time. Keep bookmarks at hand and have a different adventure waiting for you in every room of the house.

    You might think this advice is counterproductive. After all, how can we ever finish a single novel if there are five others waiting to be read? But in my experience, books naturally follow their own timelines. A short, 130-page novel might take you a year to finish, while you might tear through a third of an epic fantasy in a matter of hours.

    The point isn’t necessarily to have a great many books going at once. It is to trust the reading process itself. Different books will call to you at different times, and the one you have been neglecting for weeks might suddenly become the only one you want to read.

    When that happens, let it.

    Rather than dragging yourself through a book simply because you started it, you may find that giving yourself several stories to move between actually helps you read more. One book might suit your morning coffee, another your lunch break, and another the quiet half-hour before bed. You are not abandoning one story for another; you are allowing your reading life to have different moods.

    And sometimes, almost without realizing it, you’ll find yourself finishing books faster than you would have if you had insisted on reading only one at a time.

    Put Your Phone Somewhere Inconvenient

    I realize, as I type this, that this probably should have been the first tip in a post like this. But it doesn’t apply only to reading. Our creative pursuits are threatened by our phones just as much as they are, in some ways, aided by them.

    A phone gives us access to endless sources of inspiration, helps us meet other creatives with similar worldviews, and even allows us to sell our work to people who are interested in it. But it is far too easy to spend an hour building Pinterest boards instead of reading the novel sitting beside us—or writing the story we built the board for in the first place.

    If you like using your phone to take notes about the stories you read, give yourself a timer for these little rituals. Ten minutes should be plenty of time to fill a Google Doc with “margin notes” that you can later use for a review. Three minutes should be more than enough to update your Goodreads status.

    Reading time ought to be hallowed time.

    Use your phone for the necessities: work, keeping in touch with loved ones, finding directions when you need to get somewhere. But when it is time to curl up with your latest cozy mystery, put the phone somewhere inconvenient. Leave it across the room. Put it in another room entirely.

    If you want to read more books—and actually remember them when you’re finished—you have to give your attention somewhere else to go.

    Try Shorter Books When You’re Stuck

    I have recently discovered the great power that can be found in shorter books. Some of my favorite reads this year have been short enough to finish in a single sitting. Novellas, essays, short story collections—all of these absolutely count when you’re trying to overcome a reading slump.

    If you’re not sure where to start with shorter novels, I recommend Whale Fall by Elizabeth O’Connor and Hello Baby by Kim Eui-Kyung. Both can be read in an afternoon; both are atmospheric and immediately draw us away from the world in which we live. And I feel the need to add: both are incredibly deep.

    Some people seem to fear that a shorter novel won’t give us as much to mull over. But more pages do not necessarily mean more profound lessons about morality, life, or the human condition. A story does not become more meaningful simply because it takes longer to tell.

    I’ve always thought that a tale that can be told as briefly as possible and still captivate its listeners is a story being told at its purest.

    Make Reading a Part of Your Life Again

    Ultimately, I don’t think the goal of reading more books should be to make ourselves more productive readers. Books are not another item on the list of things we ought to accomplish before the end of the day. They are one of the few places left where we can allow ourselves to be completely absorbed in something that asks nothing of us in return.

    If you want to read more, give yourself permission to make reading easier. Choose the book you actually want to read. Keep several stories within reach. Put your phone somewhere you cannot see it. Pick up something short when a long novel feels impossible.

    Most importantly, don’t turn your reading life into another obligation.

    There will be seasons when you read dozens of books and seasons when you barely finish one. There will be books you abandon, books you carry around for months, and books you devour in a single afternoon. All of it counts.

    The wonderful thing about building a reading life is that there is always another story waiting for you. You only have to open the book.

    Cover Image: Old Woman Reading a Newspaper (1895), Paul Knight

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