This is the time to be slow
How I spend my time in quarantine
I don’t know when it slipped into my speech
that soft word meaning, “if God wills it.”
Insha’Allah I will see you next summer.
The baby will come in spring, insha’Allah.
Insha’Allah this year we will have enough rain.
So many plans I’ve laid have unravelled
easily as braids beneath my mother’s quick fingers.
Every language must have a word for this. A word
our grandmothers uttered under their breath
as they pinned the whites, soaked in lemon,
hung them to dry in the sun, or peeled potatoes,
dropping the discarded skins into a bowl.
Our sons will return next month, insha’Allah.
Insha’Allah this war will end, soon. Insha’Allah
the rice will be enough to last through winter.
How lightly we learn to hold hope,
as if it were an animal that could turn around
and bite your hand. And still we carry it
the way a mother would, carefully,
from one day to the next.
— “Inshallah”, Danusha Laméris
One of the ways I’ve dealt with my ennui and loneliness during this quarantine is reading. So far, I’ve plowed through three books: The Priory of the Orange Tree, by Samantha Shannon; The Song of Achilles, by Madeline Miller; and Mexico: Biography of Power, by Enrique Krauze. Let me review them (all links are to Bookshop, which you should really use over Amazon).
The Priory of the Orange Tree, Samantha Shannon: This is a whopper of a book at 848 pages. It took me a minute to get into it; the early going was slow, and I’m just not here for another fantasy book set in Ye Olde Medieval Times, which is what it felt like when I cracked it open and read about knights and My lady this and the court that. Let me tell you: this was not that at all, as it turned out.
I mean, yes, there is that, because that’s one of the settings of the book. But there was so much more than that, and I’m glad of it. For starters, the story is absolutely woman-centered, which in and of itself is refreshing for this genre. All the main characters are women, and they are strong women; there isn’t a damsel in distress to be found in any of them. Shannon also does, I think, a solid job of sketching out LGBTQ relationships in the book, which I thought was awesome.
On top of that, the world-building is rich and complex, without it being distracting; and it draws not just from a European setting, but non-European ones as well.
Finally, the story is self-contained, which is so goddamn awesome. All the cliff-hangers are resolved with the book’s end; I don’t know about you, but I am tired of writers who are either unable or unwilling to end a story within the context of a single volume. Shannon does just that with verve; I’ve seldom felt more satisfied finishing a book recently. You can buy the hardcover at the link above, if you’re so moved.
The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller: I cannot say enough good things about this book. Yes, it’s what you think it is — a retelling of the Iliad, through the eyes of Patroclus, Achilles’ best friend and, as it turns out, the love of his life. If this somehow comes as a surprise to you, I submit that it, uh, shouldn’t? If it does, chalk it up to the fact that over the course of a couple thousand years and tons of homophobia, those elements may have gotten scrubbed out from the story.
Anyway: Miller does a masterful job of retelling this story. If you’ve read the original Iliad, then you know that it can be a bit of a dry read, and that’s being kind. This is the opposite: fresh, breezy, full of love and poignancy and pain. You can buy the paperback through Bookshop at the link above, and I recommend you do.
Mexico: Biography of Power, Enrique Krauze: This is the standard post-colonial history of Mexico. If you’re an American, and the only things you know about Mexico are what you scrap from cable news or the occasional newspaper account, then you absolutely need to read this book so you can have an informed opinion on Mexico, and maybe learn a little about why things are the way they are there. Krauze breaks down the post-colonial history of Mexico into three sections: the century between Mexico’s declaration of independence in 1810 and the Mexican Revolution of 1910, the Revolutionary era between 1910 and 1940, when the foundation of the modern Mexican state was laid down, and the post-Revolutionary era from 1940 to 1994, when the book was originally written.
My only regret is that the book hasn’t really been updated since 1996 or 1997, and I’d love to get Krauze writing on the 20 years since then, because so much has happened in that time. But that shouldn’t deter you from buying the book, which you can at the link above.
I’ve ordered five more books through Bookshop; if you can, get your books through them, because you’ll be supporting independent bookstores that way, and lord knows they’re not getting any help.
A very happy 73rd birthday to Tim Curry, who probably delivered the greatest line in any video game ever. Wish I were joining you, man.
Devs is very good and you should watch it — just watched the series finale, the short-run series by Ex Machina/Annihilation's Alex Garland is the best since Russian Doll.
Ars Technica on the Half-Life improv scene — games provide a perfect setting for endless comedy riffing.
Naomi Kritzer reflects on her 2015 short story about a food blogger living through a pandemic — it's incredibly uncanny to read now, like a parallel universe to ours.
The Devastating Decline of a Brilliant Young Coder — Wired profiles a Cloudflare cofounder whose personality shifted after a degenerative brain disease.
Our Pandemic Summer — another must-read Ed Yong piece on the near future and weathering the next stages of the pandemic.
If you haven’t seen this Ze Frank gem, you’re missing out. Fix that. You’re welcome.
OK, that’s it. I love you all. I miss all of you so much; I’m sorry that this newsletter isn’t what I thought it would be, but I’m trying and so are you and that’s OK. If you need anything, just hit reply. Take care of yourselves, and let’s hope this week goes OK.