Books read: July 2019

Posted on July 31, 2019 under Books

July was a very productive month, with 12 books read. That makes for 72 in 2019 so far!

In the Unlikely Event by Judy Blume

In the early 1950s in Elizabeth, New Jersey, fifteen-year-old Miri Ammerman has some pretty typical teenage concerns: trying to maintain her relationship with her single mother, drifting away from her best friend, and falling for a guy who goes to another school. But then Miri witnesses a plane dropping out of the sky. A few weeks later, another plane crashes in Elizabeth, narrowly missing the high school Miri will be attending in the fall. And then a third plane, this one killing seven people on the ground as well. Based on true events, In the Unlikely Event fictionalizes a compelling story, with the usual Judy Blume treatment. Miri is a believable teenager, her troubles realistic. The Ammerman family dynamics were very touching, particularly the bond between Miri and her uncle, the ambitious journalist Henry, who finds opportunity in tragedy. The setting was well-developed and detailed. However, I really don’t think this book needed to be 400 pages long, and some of the character perspectives felt extraneous, introduced just before they were narratively important. I think the whole novel would have been stronger if it had focused more on the Ammermans, though I understand Blume was trying to explore the impact of tragedy on a community. An enjoyable read, though certainly not without flaws.

Barney’s Version by Mordecai Richler

When 67-year-old Barney Panofsky’s enemy publishes a memoir painting Barney in a negative light, he decides to write an autobiography. The allegations against Barney range from being a bad husband to killing his best friend, a crime for which he was acquitted in the 1960s. This novel is an exemplar of the unreliable narrator trope. Richler expertly puts Barney’s credibility into dispute by framing the narrative as a response to damning allegations, peppering the text with footnotes containing pedantic factual corrections from Barney’s son, and weaving Barney’s memory loss into the text. Is Barney’s version accurate? If not, is this deliberate or simply a function of his descent into dementia? Even if Barney is innocent, he’s still a hedonistic misanthrope, which propels this hilarious narrative. Barney is a fantastic character, classic Richler. He’s cranky, cynical, and kind of a terrible person, but he’s also full of the most raw, tender, painful love for his third wife, Miriam, and genuine regret for how he has wronged her. Barney is over-the-top in his flaws and awful behaviour, but there is something very vulnerable about him – particularly in old age – which makes him seem real and even sympathetic. (I have to admit, he reminds me a lot of my grandpa, who, like Richler, was a Montrealer born in 1931, so that could account for some of my fondness.) Richler’s writing is incisive and exacting, nowhere more so than in the commentary on all things Canada. A lot of CanLit wouldn’t necessarily go over the heads of international audiences, but Richler is so precise in his rendering of the Montreal, Quebec, and broader Canadian sociopolitical climate that it feels particularly special and wonderful to read it as a Canadian (with a connection to Montreal, no less). Anyway, even if you won’t get all the Canadian humour out of this one, it’s still worth a read.

The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood

A companion to Oryx and Crake, this novel looks at the overlapping lives of two women: Toby and Ren, both former members of an eco-religious cult called God’s Gardeners. In the wake of a bioengineered disease that wiped out most of humanity, Toby and Ren are each isolated – Toby in the luxury spa she runs and Ren in the high-end brothel she works at. Both wonder if they are sole survivors of disaster. The bulk of the novel takes place in the years before the disease, more fully developing the wasteland of the ultra-capitalist world Atwood introduced in Oryx and Crake. I found Oryx and Crake incomplete and a bit tedious, and this one felt more interesting and fleshed out. The cult was particularly convincing, with a robust and somewhat credible theology, and the portrayal of environmental and capitalist dystopia was more believable than in Oryx and Crake. I did find that the story lagged in the middle, and ultimately I came away still not totally impressed with this particular world. Of all of Atwood’s novels I’m not really sure that Oryx and Crake was the one that needed to be expanded into a trilogy. Then again, I think she’s at her best when she’s meticulously deconstructing women’s relationships with the world as we know it, which makes something like this seem like a waste of her talents, no matter how competently-done.

The Flying Troutmans by Miriam Toews

A precursor to Toews’ stunning All My Puny Sorrows, here we have a familiar premise: sisters with a six-year age gap, the eldest wanting to die, the youngest trying to pick up the pieces. In this version, it’s older sister Min who has two children: fifteen-year-old Logan, who is both sensitive and stoic, and the chatterbox eleven-year-old Thebes. Faced with her sister’s hospitalization, younger sister Hattie decides to take the kids on a road trip to try to find their long-lost father. There is some suspension of disbelief required here; there is a lot about the road trip that feels improbable, and Thebes is almost too precocious. The novel lacks the emotional depth of All My Puny Sorrows, and the bond between the sisters isn’t quite so well-developed. However, this is enjoyable if only for how damn funny it is. I know – with a premise like that, you’d think it’d be the opposite. But, if anything, the overarching emotional note is a sort of bleak humour. This isn’t Toews at her absolute peak, but I enjoyed my time reading it. I find it hard to believe that there is a Miriam Toews novel that isn’t at least pleasant to read, if not truly knock-your-socks-off good like All My Puny Sorrows.

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

In the mid-1950s, career English butler Mr. Stevens sets out on a journey to visit a former coworker. His new, unconventional American employer urges him to take this trip after decades of unrelenting service. Stevens spends his journey across the English countryside pondering what it means to be a butler and thinking about the thirty-odd years he spent in service of the now-disgraced Lord Darlington. This is an incredibly insular novel, as Stevens’ entire life revolves around Darlington Hall. The prose is flawless, the characterization masterful. There was not a single moment that I didn’t feel like I was truly reading the thoughts of a mid-century butler. There are a lot of interesting explorations here: the relationship between master and servant, how far someone must go to provide a service, what it truly means to have dignity. Stevens is a thoroughly tragic character, and although the general tone of the novel is quite sad, I was surprised by how devastated I felt at the end. And yet somehow there is just enough humour maintained throughout, particularly in Stevens’ awkwardness in social situations. I can see why this novel is so highly-regarded.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

In the quiet, uneventful planned community of Shaker Heights, Ohio, avant-garde photographer Mia Warren arrives with her teenage daughter Pearl. Pearl becomes subsumed into the family of Shaker Heights’ fiercest-advocate, third-generation resident Elena Richardson. Mrs. Richardson values order above all else and has a picture-perfect life: four children each spaced a year apart, a solid marriage, and a respectable job as a reporter for the local newspaper. As the mysterious Mia’s landlady and employer, Mrs. Richardson feels some suspicion towards her, which turns into outright hostility as the two find themselves on opposite sides of a high-profile custody battle that exposes the seedy side of sleepy Shaker Heights. Meanwhile, the four Richardson children and fifteen-year-old Pearl are all dealing with their own teenage issues. Meanwhile, Mrs. Richardson is determined to slot together the pieces of Mia’s past and find out the identity of Pearl’s father. A convoluted summary, but that’s only because that’s how this novel feels. There is a lot going on here: the teenage dramas, Mia’s backstory (which was by far the most interesting section), the fate of the adopted baby girl. The theme of disrupted idyllic suburbia is overdone, and this was not a fresh take on it. The multi-arc narrative felt disjointed and incomplete; the novel was simply too short to satisfy everything it was trying to do. One of the Richardson children, who is at the centre of the climax of the novel, was conspicuously and frustratingly underdeveloped. The strength of the book was the exploration of motherhood: who is able to access it, how it is embodied differently, how it is judged. There was a particularly compassionate portrayal of how “neglectful” parents may simply lack resources, not love or competence. I didn’t think this was terrible, I just think it was a bit flat, and I’m baffled by the huge amount of praise it’s getting. (I do think it’s better-suited to a TV format, so maybe the upcoming Hulu series will be better. Reese Witherspoon as an annoying busybody in a TV adaptation is a proven formula, after all.)

The Sealed Letter by Emma Donoghue

Based on a true Victorian divorce case, The Sealed Letter revolves around the friendship between first-wave feminist and businesswoman Emily “Fido” Faithfull and her close friend Helen Codrington. Helen, who has always been deeply unhappy in her marriage to a much-older military man, has returned to London after seven years in Malta, and the women rekindle their relationship. Things between them soon sour, however, as the uptight Fido discovers that Helen has been having an affair – and has made Fido complicit. When Helen’s husband discovers his wife’s infidelities, he launches a divorce case – rare at the time – in which Fido is implicated. At the heart of the case is a mysterious sealed letter, which could ruin Fido’s chaste reputation. I found this delightfully-written and juicy without being tawdry. Every character is equal parts sympathetic and just plain pathetic; they are all implicated in how events unfold. At times, I felt deeply for each character, and at times I thought each behaved deplorably. Donoghue beautifully explores the juxtaposition between famously repressive Victorian society and the passionate, messy sides of love, marriage, and friendship. There are a few minor but satisfying twists at the end, too. Emma Donoghue is a writer whose work I always enjoy, no matter what the subject matter

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

A story-within-a-story-within-a-story: octogenarian Iris Chase Griffen sets out to write down the story of her life and that of her sister Laura, whose only novel was published posthumously after she drove off a bridge at the age of twenty-five. Born into a wealthy family, the interwar period is not kind to the Chase sisters, and Iris reluctantly marries her father’s competitor at age eighteen in an attempt to raise her family’s fallen status. Meanwhile, Laura, who is dreamy, bizarre, and obstinate, descends into deep, impenetrable unhappiness. Chapters of Laura’s novel, The Blind Assassin, alternate with Iris’s account. The Blind Assassin tells the story of two clandestine lovers: a well-to-do woman and a man on the run, who over their illicit encounters tells the woman a pulpy, pastiche-y story about virgin sacrifices on a faraway planet. As the novel unfolds, we begin to realize that Laura’s novel is an integral part of Iris’s story, and we question the provenance of the novel. Here is another great example of the unreliable narrator, a woman who, we are to find out, leaves out enormous chunks of her own life story which would normally be considered narratively important. All of the stories within this novel are puzzle pieces which don’t always slot together pefectly. The two sisters are tragic characters: smart, interested, full of life, but repressed by their circumstances. I always find Atwood’s writing strong, but here it is truly impeccable. There is endless depth to this novel which I look forward to mulling over and returning to in the future. An interesting, ambitious novel that plays around with the very structure of its genre to thought-provoking and stirring ends – definitely a worthy Man Booker winner.

Commonwealth by Ann Patchett

Beautiful covers let me down so frequently…

In the 1960s, an affair initiated at a christening prompts the joining of two families. Over the next fifty years, the adults and children of this blended family weave in and out of each other’s lives, a tragedy in the 70s creating closeness and tension between family members. One of the kids, Franny, has an affair with a famous novelist, who writes a novel based on the Cousins-Keating family’s story. There were various things I found interesting about this novel that I nonetheless didn’t particularly care for. The narrative jumps in chronology and alternates between different perspectives, and most of the action is implied. Patchett has successfully created a story out of the mundane, but implication can’t do all the work. Much that is hinted at – family dysfunction, the breakdown of a relationship with a thirty year age gap – never makes it to the page. I found the amount of characters overwhelming: for example, in the first chapter, there are a few paragraphs from the point of view of a priest who marries a main character’s sister, neither of whom we ever see again. I found the novel lacked focus, as well; the blurb implies that it’s about Franny’s relationship with the novelist and the appropriation of her family’s story, but that relationship exists only in a few scenes, and the fallout from the publication of the novel isn’t explored fully. While everything pivots around the tragedy, I didn’t find that there was a convincing or robust portrayal of trauma. I also didn’t find the prose anything to write home about from a technical standpoint. I can appreciate what novel is trying to do, and there were a lot of sparks of potential, but I simply never felt like the story or the characters were that interesting.

The Stone Gods by Jeanette Winterson

65 million years ago, on a distant, technologically-advanced planet, scientist Billie Crusoe and a human-like robot named Spike board a spaceship destined for a newly-discovered planet. The resources on their home planet of Orbus have been nearly exhausted, and a mission is deployed to destroy the dinosaurs on Planet Blue so that humans may live there. In the course of their expedition, they fall in love despite Spike’s apparent lack of capacity for emotions. And then the story shifts, and it is Easter Island of the 1700s. And then we are on Planet Earth after the Third World War. Billie and Spike – or approximations thereof – exist in all three timelines. This summary is inadequate; this novel is difficult to describe, one that must be experienced firsthand. There is always a haunting, bleak, achingly beautiful quality to Jeanette Winterson’s writing that I connect with viscerally. Here, she stunningly explores humanity’s apparently pathological destruction of the Earth, the dangers of capitalism and unrestricted military power, what it means to be human, the power and impossibility of love… This is a pastiche, in many ways: it’s playful, it relies heavily on tropes. But it doesn’t feel overdone or surface-level. It’s an environmental dystopia, yes, but it’s also a love story, and a critique of capitalist destruction that uses the past, present, and future in mind-bending ways, and an example of the power of language. The interconnected stories and vastly different timelines are difficult to parse, and there are so many details and ideas packed into a 200-page novel. Yet this feels complete in a way similarly idea-laden short novels often don’t. Winterson’s command of language is stunning, and she has a way of exploring human pathos that is profoundly devastating in the best possible way.

(Unrelated, but fun fact: this was the third book in a row I read this month which includes a book-within-a-book that shares a title with the novel itself.)

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison

Born on the day a member of his community jumped to his death in an attempt to fly, Macon “Milkman” Dead grows up in a loveless but well-to-do Michigan family. His mother is the daughter of a prominent Black doctor; his father is a successful businessman, resented by many as a tyrant of a landlord. As a child, he reconnects with his mysterious maternal aunt Pilate, who lives in the same city though she is estranged from Milkman’s father. As an adult, Milkman travels to Virginia in search of gold – and his family’s history. This is a beautiful portrayal of family dysfunction and inherited trauma. Toni Morrison persuasively addresses the legacy of slavery: its denial of the ability to name oneself, its destruction of family history. In the absence of concrete history, myths become crucial in developing senses of self and community, and Morrison draws extensively on mythology and magical realism. I found this novel difficult to get into at first: the characters are difficult people and the story is slow-moving. But the time spent on establishing characterization and family dynamics pays off in the form of a cast of deeply flawed, richly-drawn, unforgettable characters rounding out a complex, rich, and deeply symbolic story. This is a vibrant, meditative, and thoroughly satisfying novel.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

Fifteen-year-old Christopher discovers his neighbour’s brutally-murdered poodle and decides to launch – and record – his own investigation. Christopher is incredibly intelligent, logical, and literal, but he hates being touched and struggles with social interaction. At its core I think I can say that this is an enjoyable book: it’s a quick read that stays engaging throughout, and its gimmicks keep it interesting. I consider this a successful example of a believable first-person narrative voice: Christopher’s perspective on the world is very distinct, and reading this novel is an interesting exercise in thinking of mundane, accepted things as extraordinary or even illogical. However, I think it’s important to note that this is an inaccurate and offensive portrayal of autism. Christopher displays a lack of empathy and a tendency towards violence, stereotypes which hurt autistic people. Here is an in-depth article from the blog Disability in Kidlit for anyone who wants more details about that. This is a case of a deep lack of social responsibility married with something that is artistically-competent. I can’t say I didn’t find things to praise about this novel – but the inaccurate portrayal of autism means I cannot in good conscience recommend it. I don’t believe that people can’t write from perspectives that aren’t their own – but I do believe in the profound and critical importance of responsibly, compassionately, and accurately portraying others, especially those who are socially disadvantaged.

July was a great month for reading: I read a lot, and I enjoyed much of what I read. My bookshelf is now officially full to capacity, so whatever August brings on a literary front, it will also be bringing more storage space for all my books!

Empties: April to June 2019

Posted on July 10, 2019 under Empties

I have accumulated a lot of empties over the past three months, especially in the realm of skincare. (Not surprising, since I’m way more into skincare than makeup these days, my routine is far more complex than it ever has been, and I work in the industry.) So let’s get right into it without wasting any words!

Bath and Body

A-Derma Exomega Emollient Balm: A great soothing, hydrating body cream, but I just can’t keep up this habit when I go through a $30+ bottle in two months!

The Body Shop Body Butter – Coconut: The last of my winter stockpile. I’m sure I’ll buy another three next fall.

The Chemistry Brand HA3 Hand Hydrator: To this day one of the only hand creams I can tolerate. It sinks in quickly, it hydrates really well, and it smells great. Plus it’s only $9 a tube, which feels very reasonable.

Old Spice Bearglove Deodorant: I’m a huge fan of Old Spice deodorant. It lasts way longer than standard women’s deodorant and it works really well for me. I’ve been using various Old Spice scents for around six years now. A stick lasts me around two years and I buy them on sale, which works out to be very cost-effective. Bearglove is a bit of a sweeter scent with apple and citrus, which I really enjoyed. I’ve moved on to the ingeniously-named Fresh scent, which is a little more traditionally masculine. (That’s cool with me; the idea of scents as gendered is fake and made up and I just wear what I like and want to smell like.)

Hair

Function of Beauty Shampoo: This is probably the most extravagantly overpriced thing I have ever bought in the name of beauty. NO. This was not awful, it was just… a shampoo… and a $40 custom shampoo should be more than just a shampoo.

HIF Anti-Frizz Support and HIF Intensive Detox: I’m pretty sure these have both been discontinued, which is fine because they’re not that great. I didn’t mind Intensive Detox as a super minty, scalp-tingling clarifying shampoo that’s not too stripping, but Anti-Frizz Support is nothing special. I’m all for metal packaging as a better alternative to plastic, but metal tubes are impractical for several reasons and I did not enjoy trying to wring product out of these damn tubes.

Skincare

Marcelle Ultra Gentle Cleansing Gel: A staple since 2016! It works, it’s gentle, it’s cheap. What’s not to love?

The Ordinary Squalane Cleanser: This was okay – it’s definitely gentle and doesn’t strip the skin, but I don’t find it’s terribly effective at removing makeup compared to other cleansers. It’s also pretty small; I ran through this in a little under a month. At $7.90 for 50ml, it’s not really a better deal than Hylamide’s oil cleanser, which is $19 for 120ml.

Marcelle Oil-Free Eye Makeup Remover: This did not work nearly as well as my La Roche-Posay eye makeup remover, and it irritated my eyes despite claiming to be super gentle. It’s cheaper, but not by so much that it’s not worth it to pony up the extra $4.50 for the LRP, which remains the gold standard in my eyes. (Or for my eyes?)

Bioderma Hydrabio H2O Micellar Water: I think I slightly prefer Sensibio (the original formula with the pink cap), but I have so many of these on backup it’s not funny and I’m happy to slowly (SLOWLY) use them up.

Bioderma Sensibo H20 Micellar Water (mini): Nothing much to say. It’s Bioderma. I like it and I’ll keep using it. I pretty much always have a bottle this size for travel.

Origins Drink Up Intensive Overnight Mask to Quench Skin’s Thirst: I do not want to spend a single winter without this product. In the three winters I’ve now used it, I have not experienced the extreme dryness and flakiness I became used to. Anything that keeps my nose from flaking in the dead of January is a winner in my books. This isn’t the cheapest product, but it lasts me all winter, so I’m down to buy it year after year.

La Roche-Posay Toleriane Ultra Intense Soothing Care: I really enjoy this lightweight but nourishing daytime moisturizer, though I didn’t repurchase it this time around because $34 is a little steep. I always come back to it when I need something I know I can trust!

La Roche-Posay Cicaplast Baume B5: I vastly prefer the texture of the thin LRP Cicaplast Gel, but the Baume is undeniably a powerhouse for intense hydration and healing the skin. I was profoundly afflicted by a dry patch on the side of my nose for about four months last spring and summer, and the only thing that would make it go away even temporarily was this product. I also used it to heal my most recent tattoo, and I thought it did a really good job. I’d still probably go back to the Gel next time simply because I like that it’s clear, which doesn’t compromise the colour of tattoos. The Baume leaves such a thick white cast that it’s not the prettiest option!

The Ordinary Granactive Retinoid 2% Emulsion: I’m heartbroken that this product is no longer sold in Canada – it might just be my favourite TO product of all time. You’d better believe I stocked up on a bunch of these when I heard the pharmaceutical regulations were changing! (Seriously, I have another bottle on the go and four backups.)

The Ordinary Buffet + Copper Peptides 1%: I’ve been trying a bunch of products that promote healing and overall skin health in the hopes that they’ll address my post-inflammatory erythema. Copper is a great healing ingredient and I think this did help, but I probably won’t repurchase this product since I’m not benefiting from the other two peptides in it. (Matrixyl and Argireline are strictly corrective, not preventative, and I really don’t have any lines yet!) At $28.90, this is the most expensive product in The Ordinary lineup, and it seems silly to keep buying it when 2/3 of the active ingredients aren’t doing anything for me. I’ve moved on to the NIOD Modulating Glucosides, which is even better for the PIE and only $0.10 more.

NIOD Multi-Molecular Hyaluronic Complex (30ml and 15ml): Well, clearly I really like this super lightweight hyaluronic acid serum. It’s not cheap, but it’s leagues above The Ordinary version both in terms of efficacy and texture. (It has five times the types of HA molecules as well as ten times the concentration of HA!)

NIOD Modulating Glucosides: This serum for sensitivity has worked wonders in calming post-inflammatory erythema and healing my breakouts much faster than nature intended. What started out as a fairly boring product that I took a flyer on has quickly become a staple in my routine.

NIOD Survival 30: This is the best facial sunscreen I’ve ever tried and I am very sad that it’s been out of stock for months now. My old staple from La Roche-Posay simply doesn’t cut it now that I know how amazing Survival 30 is.

StriVectin Advanced Retinol Eye Cream: This was a random piece of gratis from my old job. I didn’t notice any huge changes thanks to the retinol, but I guess at this point I’m really just hoping that I’m helping my skin produce collagen for the future. It was decently hydrating, but I wouldn’t pay $90 or whatever it costs.

IT Cosmetics Bye Bye Undereye Eye Cream (sample): I liked this for lots of hydration under my eyes. Obviously I couldn’t use it long enough to see any long-term results, but I’d have to say it’s, you know, an expensive hydrating eye cream. I already have one of those from the fall Sephora sale when I decided I had to have the Kiehl’s eye cream (which I do love, despite the ridiculous price).

Nuxe Rêve de Miel Ultra-Nourishing Lip Balm: I’ve lost track. This is the only lip balm that matters. This pot is the old formula, but I like the new one just as much. (For those keeping count, the new formula is a little less waxy and slightly more spreadable, but it’s still super hydrating.)

Makeup

MUFE Ultra HD Invisible Cover Foundation – Y215: This foundation used to be my go-to, but it doesn’t work as beautifully with my skin anymore. I find it a bit harder to make it look natural and seamless on my skin these days. I’m back to my IT CC Cream because I really just missed it the entire time I was working through the MUFE.

Glossier Lash Slick: This ended up growing on me, but I also kind of hated it. Let me explain – I ended up really getting behind the natural look, and I loved that it did not smudge at all. It was easy to remove completely with nothing but warm water, which is always a bonus. However, I think the fibres irritated my eyes. I have never been prone to eye sensitivity, but I cannot even tell you how many times over the past few months my eyes bothered me! That’s really decreased since I switched mascaras, so I will not be repurchasing Lash Slick.

L’Oréal Brow Stylist Boost and Set Volumizing Brow Mascara: My go-to brow gel. $16 is pretty steep for something you buy from the drugstore that you don’t even see on my face, but you know I keep my eyes peeled for a sale.

NYX Epic Ink Eyeliner: I rescind my love for this product! I thought my first pen was so great that I even included it on my best of 2018 list, but the second pen is garbage. Three times now I have applied it only to have it bleed all over my eyes to the point where I have to remove my makeup and start again. You know what they say – fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, fool me three times, I am an idiot and I really needed to throw this eyeliner out five months ago. Anyway, I’ve moved on to the long-named Physician’s Formula one that everyone raves about, which I’m not completely sure about yet.

Fresh Sugar Tinted Lip Treatment – Rosé: I loved this even though I admit it was a rather indulgent purchase. It’s like… yeah, it’s not necessary to spend that much money on a tinted lip balm that wears off in fifteen seconds, but it’s nice. Definitely a purchase for those “treat yourself” moods.

Milani Eyeshadow Primer: After many years spent devoted to the NARS eyeshadow primer, I hopped onto the Milani bandwagon two years ago. This stuff is just as reliable and it costs like $9 for a tube that lasts two years. Sign me up forever!

Miscellaneous

Quo Nail Polish Remover – Strengthening: This is a drugstore house brand nail polish remover. It’s fine. I always buy it in the Strengthening variety because I am trying to be nice to my nails. I have no idea if it makes any real difference.

Sally Hansen Miracle Gel Top Coat: I’ve probably used up at least ten of these bottles over the five years it’s been in my life. It really does protect nail polish from chipping, but it gets a bit stringy and can leave bubbles on top of the nails, so I’m exploring new avenues.

Quo Blending Sponge: This cheap little blending sponge used to be great, but they changed it and now it’s not. It’s really dense, not particularly soft, and soaks up far too much product.

Real Techniques Miracle Complexion Sponge: So much better than the Quo sponge, and also better than I remember it being back in 2014 when I originally tried it. It’s super soft and blends makeup out beautifully. I got a two-pack when I visited Ulta for the first time back in March, and I’ll probably re-up when that one gets too crusty for comfort.

The end!

Books read: June 2019

Posted on July 01, 2019 under Books

Well, halfway through the year already and I’m doing very well with my reading! I read 10 books in June, for a total of 60 in 2019. I’m still somewhat loftily aiming for 100 in 2019 – the next two months will really determine if that’s possible or not. Here’s what I’ve made space in my brain for lately…

Timequake by Kurt Vonnegut

In the spring of 2012, I read Slaughterhouse-Five as an independent study novel for my grade 12 English final essay. Timequake, Vonnegut’s last “novel”, was the final one I had to read after seven years. (I like the neat math of having read fourteen novels in seven years.) Timequake is Vonnegut’s retrospective on his literary career and his life, with a fictional edge treated in his usual absurdist way. The Timequake is an event that caused everyone to repeat ten years between 1991 to 2001; while everyone was aware that this was happening, they could not change a single thing they did the first time around, grand or mundane. Vonnegut blends past and present, fictional and real, in mind-bending ways. The Timequake in question occured in 2001, but the book was written in 1996 – so he is speaking in the past tense of something which happened in a future that he had not yet experienced. The “novel” is framed as the second version of a novel with the same premise, but Vonnegut mostly writes about his own life, while sprinkling in some ideas and passages from the original novel, which he scrapped. Yet the characters in this novel are treated as real people who he knows in the year 2001. (It’s funny to think about how 2001 used to sound impossibly futuristic, and now it just sounds like… this. And I guess also world events of long-lasting global consequence.) The theme of my 2012 essay was Slaughterhouse-Five‘s treatment of time, so I suppose this is a satisfying thematic end to my Vonnegut journey. For Vonnegut fans, this one is pitch-perfect: moving, sad, cynical but hopeful, and really funny. Because it’s not a novel in the sense of his other books, this makes sense to me almost as a nice way of wrapping up his body of work, alluding to many of his recurring themes and philosophies and giving us one more absurd Vonnegut situation to ponder.

The Second Life of Samuel Tyne by Esi Edugyan

Two-time Giller Prize winner Edugyan’s first novel is about a Ghanaian immigrant who uproots his Calgary-based family in the late 1960s after inheriting his uncle’s small-town home. The community struggles to accept a Black immigrant family, and here the novel shines. Edugyan beautifully articulates the chilling, subtle forms xenophobia frequently takes. The family dynamics are fascinating, too: Samuel’s marriage is ice cold, and his twin daughters Chloe and Yvette are creepy and possibly pure evil. The themes of second chances, the futility of trying to shed a dissatisfying past, and guilt over leaving behind a motherland were compelling, but not always fully explored. Unfortunately, I found the execution lacking generally. The characters were completely opaque, and while that may serve to underscore their hollowness, I just couldn’t find anything to fully sink my teeth into. The spooky twins were central to the story, but the climax of their sinister behaviour was rushed. The pacing was choppy, very slow at some points and then rushing past points of drama and interest too quickly to explore their pathos. I think it’s pretty clear that this was a first novel! However, I really enjoyed Edugyan’s most recent Giller-winner, Washington Black, and I’d still like to read more of her work.

All My Puny Sorrows by Miriam Toews

Two sisters, Elfrieda and Yolandi, grew up in a repressive Mennonite community in Manitoba. Now middle-aged women who have left their religious community behind, the sisters have maintained their closeness. Elf is a celebrated concert pianist; her younger sister Yoli is a twice-divorced novelist who makes a lot of bad decisions about her love life. Oh, and Elf really, really wants to die. This is the most convincing, compassionate exploration of suicide I have ever encountered. Elf is never presented as selfish for her many suicide attempts; instead, this novel confronts us with the question of whether it is cruel to force somebody to live, especially in a psychiatric facility in which their autonomy is completely undermined. Is life worth it when it can only be sustained under duress, locked up and denied basic agency and simple pleasures? Can every case of suicidal ideation be cured, or are there some untreatable cases? Is suicidal depression not a chronic, agonizing condition that can, sometimes, only be alleviated by death? Can assisted suicide in instances of severe psychological pain be the truly correct and compassionate option? These are difficult, scary questions, and Toews does not shy away from them. She constructs a set of beautiful, strong characters, an imperfect but ultimately fiercely loving family who must come together under impossible circumstances. I really don’t know how she has managed to make a book so sad and so funny and so real. I’d call this a must-read, with the obvious caveat that this is a book about a suicidal woman and that it will undoubtedly be triggering for many people.

Stealing the Show: How Women are Revolutionizing Television by Joy Press

TV critic Joy Press uses several TV shows from Murphy Brown to the present day as case studies to explore the rising influence of women in the television industry. Each of her case studies looks at a show created by a woman (or, in the case of Transparent, a nonbinary person) about a strong woman with significant presence of women writers. This is well-researched and I really enjoyed the exploration of the cultural period each show belongs to, although I could always do with deeper acknowledgment of mass culture as a reaction to social and political movements. I sincerely wish there had been more acknowledgment of the many other roles women play in the creation of a TV show; the focus on showrunners as auteurs doesn’t tell the whole story, and female editors (of whom there are many) and other crew members play a huge part in shaping the TV landscape, both onscreen and behind the scenes. However, my biggest issue with this book is Press’s ultimate defense of Lena Dunham. Please, feminist media critics, I am begging you, evacuate her butthole. Most frustrating is that there’s always an acknowledgment of the terrible things she’s said and done, all of which are immediately swept under the rug. It’s like, “YES Lena Dunham’s concept of New York includes only white people, YES Lena Dunham outed her sibling to their parents, YES Lena Dunham accused a young biracial woman of lying about being raped, but the real reason she is so hated is because she is BRAVE and TRANSGRESSIVE and NOT SKINNY.” Okay. No. Please do not try to tell me about Lena Dunham’s “disarming humour”. Lena Dunham traffics in shock value at the expense of pretty much every population that she doesn’t belong to, her “feminism” entirely self-serving. We NEED to move past this.

Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood

The first in a trilogy, Oryx and Crake imagines a world that has been reduced to a disease-ravaged wasteland. Its (apparent) only inhabitants are a group of genetically-modified superhumans who have the intellectual capacity of children, terrifying animal hybrids, and a human named Snowman, who is apparently the only person who remembers the world as it was. The narrative alternates between the past and present (a trademark of Atwood’s writing), and we get to see the segregated, capitalist world that existed before total collapse. There are a lot of interesting things to pick out here: the aggressive advertising of self-improvement products, the obsession with youth, the fact that corporations pretty much own everything. This is a very different dystopia to that of The Handmaid’s Tale, one that focuses less on regressive patriarchy and more on how bad capitalism is. Atwood’s writing and worldbuiling is always sensational, so no complaints there. And yet this was not really my cup of tea. First of all, there was only one female character who really matters, and she’s kind of an Orientalist fetish object who exists exclusively as the target of Snowman’s sexual obsessions. Like, if a man wrote this book I would probably be really mad. But Margaret Atwood can’t just get a pass for being Margaret Atwood! Don’t be racist, Peggy! I’m begging you! Anyway, the first book in a series can often feel a little bit incomplete, so I’ll continue on with it, first of all because I bought the second book at Value Village for $5, and second of all because I’m trying to read all of Atwood’s novels.

Before I Was a Critic I Was a Human Being by Amy Fung

Amy Fung, an immigrant from Hong Kong who has lived in several major Canadian cities, writes not only about the experience of being a first-generation Canadian and all that entails but also about her position as a settler on unceded and Treaty territory. Functioning as a long-form land acknowledgment, this collection of essays takes a confrontational and unflinching look at the tensions between the experiences of being a racialized immigrant and someone benefiting from the legacy of colonialism and exploitation of Indigenous territory and natural resources. The necessity of confronting complicity in the ongoing disenfranchisement of Indigenous people is made clear, often uncomfortably so. Fung writes about the Canadian art landscape and its marginalization of Indigenous artists, the way “diversity” in the art world panders to the “progressive” white gaze. There were moments where I found the writing a bit clunky, taking me out of the argument, but generally it was seamless. There are a lot of big, uneasy ideas packed into this slim volume, and all of them felt fully explored. This is a perspective that all people living in (formerly?) colonial states should consider.

Such a Lonely, Lovely Road by Kagiso Lesego Molope

Kabelo Mosala wants nothing more than to impress his frigid parents by following in his doctor father’s footsteps. Growing up in a small South African township where everyone knows everyone else’s business, Kabelo is forced to deny his feelings for his neighbour, Sediba, for fear of disappointing his parents and community. But as Kabelo enters adulthood, it becomes impossible for him to deny to himself that he is gay. I fully expected to like this Canadian-South African novel, but I struggled through it. First of all, I have never read a novel this poorly-edited. There is an astounding amount of typos and other errors a copy editor should have caught; some of the prose is clunky, making the whole thing feel amateurish, sloppy, and like a first draft. I wanted more depth out of Kabelo’s narration; though it’s clear he’s going through a lot of inner turmoil, I found him lacking interiority. I wanted to know more about him. The blurb promises that this story is set against the backdrop of the AIDS crisis, but AIDS is barely mentioned until the last third of the novel. Ultimately, it feels predictable. The setting is different, and I thought that the South African sociopolitical dynamics were interesting and believable – the racial tensions as well as the disparity between townships and cities were rendered well. But at the end of the day, this is a pretty simple narrative of a gay man struggling to decide whether or not to stay closeted, and the South African context wasn’t enough to elevate it beyond that for me.

Dancer From the Dance by Andrew Holleran

The Great Gatsby meets the interesting period of the post-Stonewall, pre-AIDS New York gay scene. A group of pretentious, hedonistic gay men spend all their time partying, pining, and being emotionally hollow. The prose is lush and paints an evocative picture of this particular slice of gay cultural history. I have no doubt that at the time of its publication in 1978, this would have been a rather groundbreaking novel. However, I simply want more out of LGBTQ fiction than just… being about gay people. The characters are not likeable, there are a lot of racist and misogynistic sentiments that characters expressed (unchallenged by the narrative), and the whole thing feels excessively hedonistic to no real end. I get why people like this, and I get why it’s always included on lists of must-read gay literature, but if we’re going to get into stories about pretentious gay hedonists I want something with grit and texture like Alan Hollinghurst’s spectacularly self-indulgent and thoroughly enjoyable The Line of Beauty.

Silver Girl by Elin Hilderbrand

In Elin Hilderbrand’s world, everything that happened to you in high school is of the utmost importance when you’re 50; everyone is nominally “liberal” but it’s perfectly acceptable to struggle for years to accept that your child is gay, leading to a three-year rift between you; when your boyfriend of six months gets you pregnant and tells you, against your desires, that he’s “not okay with you killing one of God’s creations”, you have the baby and spend thirty years married to him until he dies of brain cancer; and there is not a single problem that cannot be solved by a summer on Nantucket. I’m not sure I want to live in this world. Well, I wouldn’t mind the last part, because I know my problems are easily solvable considering what our two protagonists, estranged best friends Meredith Delinn and Connie Flute, are enduring. Meredith’s husband has just been sentenced to 150 years in federal prison after being found guilty of the worst financial crime of all time. (Think Bernie Madoff, the obvious inspiration for this story.) Meredith and her oldest son are both under investigation as well, and, sick of the public scrutiny, she begs Connie to spend the summer at Connie’s summer home on Nantucket. Connie has her own problems: she’s still grieving over the loss of her husband, and she’s estranged from her only child.

Now, let me be clear. This is a fluffy beach read, and that’s how I’m evaluating it. A work of literary genius it is not. But a solid, engaging bit of light reading perfectly suited to a vacation? It is certainly that, despite its questionable politics. The story is juicy, the characters have more depth than the genre requires, and the descriptions of Nantucket are compelling. It’s overwritten in many places and generally nothing to write home about style-wise, but the story itself is fun and it’s compulsively readable. This is the third Hilderbrand novel I’ve read, and I can’t deny that she knows how to come up with an interesting premise and surprisingly well-developed characters. Sure, the endings are always predictable, tidy in the most unrealistic way; sure, it’s a stretch to feel sorry for a woman who falls from extreme wealth into the horrors of an upper middle-class life; sure, some of the social views displayed are questionable. But when you’re literally sitting on a beautiful beach looking out at the beautiful water, this is the kind of book you want to read. (Well, maybe you don’t. I do.)

Everything Here is Beautiful by Mira T. Lee

Sisters Miranda and Lucia Bok couldn’t be more different. Miranda, the older sister, has always been sensible and practical out of pure necessity, while Lucia is a free spirit. Following a sudden marriage, Lucia begins hearing voices, and is eventually hospitalized with schizoaffective disorder. The relationship between the sisters is troubled but loving and very believable. Lucia’s illness is treated compassionately; she is depicted as competent, passionate, intelligent, sensitive, capable of loving and being loved. The scope of the book is fairly wide in time, setting, and theme, but the pacing never felt rushed. There’s a lot of exploration of immigration, what it means to belong, the inescapability of family ties, what responsibility we have to those we love. I wasn’t a huge fan of the way the novel shifted between first and third person narration, which felt jarring and unnecessary. I also wanted to spend more time with Yonah, Lucia’s kindhearted, larger-than-life first husband. Generally, though, I think this is a tender, realistic, empathetic portrayal of an incredibly stigmatized mental illness. (Between this and All My Puny Sorrows, it’s been a good month for books about sisters navigating the devastating effects of mental illness.)

My favourites this month were All My Puny Sorrows and Before I Was a Critic I Was a Human Being, if you couldn’t tell.

August will probably be fairly busy for me, so I’m trying to really focus on reading in July. I do have a few (very) hefty books in my to-read stack, so we’ll have to see just how much progress I make! Regardless, I’m doing really well and truly enjoying reading this year.