T H E M O N T H O F J U L Y
I feel as if I blinked and July was gone. I mean, my god, I think of it now and remember that the 4th of July was only a month ago: that simultaneously feels like a second gone past and a literal eon of difference. In fact, I kind of forgot it happened. In between beginning a new job, accepting another gig (and being rejected from another), delving into application prep, and travels and traverses with loved ones, it all blurs together.
Not to say that that’s inherently a bad thing. It absolutely isn’t. It makes the hard days seem smaller, the good days become more cherished. With how fast times moves, there is always another day.
That’s something both thrilling and worrying. I have an irrational, innate sense of running out of time: irrational in that I don’t exactly know what I’m falling behind on; innate in its near-perpetuity. It’s something I’ve talked of often in therapy, something I’m still trying to find coping mechanisms and healing processes for. It’s a long road when one has felt that way for most of their life. It’s in the small things—if I’m not ready for the day and working by 9:30 or 10, my brain insists I’ve failed already—and the large—counting down the years and trying to time out when I need to accomplish x or y by. So, idiotic as it is (though emotions are valid and never stupid, let’s remember that), when months flash by like July did, I can feel a sense of panic.
It helps to focus on all the good. July brought a girls’ trip to Chicago, complete with belugas (my faves), the Van Gogh exhibit (incomprehensibly stunning), some solid Eggs Benedict, and book-filled street fairs. July gave me a job (woo, finances!) and writing inspirations (though we’re still working on establishing that consistent schedule). July brought art days with my love, punctuated with Impressionism, classic rock vinyls, and far-too-big mac ‘n’ cheese. Smaller than all of that, July gave me a new tea obsession—vanilla bourbon rooibos, if you’d like to bless yourself—and a podcast that I cannot stop listening to.
All in all, July, despite your dark moment near the end there, you were alright. Thanks for your travails.
Now, onto August, and my 23rd year.
J U L Y W R A P – U P
Read:
Branwell by Douglas A. Martin: I was slightly disappointed by this book, I shan’t lie. A find from LES’s Sweet Pickles Books, I was so very excited to dive into this novel: about Branwell Bronte, the forgotten brother of Charlotte, Emily, and Anne, the book was marketed as being written in the Gothic style of the trio of sisters. A quick flipthrough in the bookstore confirmed that, I thought. Unfortunately, delving into it gave a different story. Martin’s writing style exists on the precipice of Gothic fiction, a haphazard muddling of Emily’s signature. It takes an adjustment, and, even then, is confusing: Martin switches between POVs with abandon, often jumping between two first-persons with no warning in the middle of a a paragraph. It felt more like a series of vignettes arbitrarily shoved together than a cohesive book of prose. That said, it intrigued me enough to finish it. The last fifty pages (though encompassing one event dragged on for far too long) were punctuated with a gut punch of a musing on humanity. It’s a struggle to get through, I would say, but certainly an accurate portrayal of a struggling artist.
Fake Geek Girls: Fandom, Gender, and the Convergence Culture Industry by Suzanne Scott: I loved this non-fiction. From a UT-Austin Gender and Fan Studies professor (not the lady from Fox News, importantly), this study on gender within geek culture, and its intersection with corporate culture, was both rivetingly written and fascinating in its content. Scott excels at making academic research entertaining, combining statistics, journalism, and anecdotal evidence to craft quite the full image of gender within geek culture up through 2017 (the year before it was published). She takes one step further, too, connecting what happens within this previously niche culture with the larger movements of the world. Musings and factoids that particularly blew my mind include: the connection of #GamerGate with the larger alt-right movement; the growth of the “nerd trope;” the legitimatization of the fan being gendered from early silent films; the origin of the term “toxic masculinity;” and formerly disempowered niches turning empowerment into entitlement. Sounds dry and academic, yes, but it absolutely was not. So, so good. I highly recommend it as a read, especially for those of us who are gamers, comic book geeks, or sci fi nerds.
Sadie by Courtney Summers: I haven’t read a thriller in quite some time, and this one was the perfect book to jump back in on. Heartpounding and compulsively readable, Sadie is told from two perspectives: Sadie Hunter, a girl gone missing a year after her younger sister was found brutally murdered; and West McCray, a podcast host tasked with solving the unsolvable. The former is in prose, the latter in interview format. The two trade off in information gathering and reveal, always leaving us, as the reader, one step behind in the race to find Sadie before she has the same fate as her sister. The novel is suspenseful but never frustrating, unforgiving but never gory. Summers has written an ode to missing girls, honoring feminine strength and calling out a system that has failed it. The ending (with no spoilers) was angeringly vague, but, frankly, Summers earned it. It felt right. In short, if you’re looking for a new thriller to read, this is the one to go to.
A Strange Loop by Michael R. Jackson: This. Musical. This Pulitzer Prize-winning musical. My friends, this went directly into the “Best Musicals I’ve Ever Heard Of” category. While I have not seen it live, I can imagine it’s quite the experience. Jackson says everything we, as theatremakers, are taught we should not say onstage. He’s taken the entirety of American culture to task, commenting on his life as a fat, black, femme, queer man in a country that rewards what it sees as traditional, heteronormative masculinity. He is crass and inappropriate. He is unforgiving and angry. He is loving and horrified. And best of all, he manages to be all this in such a way that it’s absolutely hilarious. A Strange Loop is structured as a comedy, edging on satire, and it is so very, very well-done, laugh-out-loud hilarious. What I found extra fascinating about it, too, is that the entire thing takes place in the protagonist’s head: Usher (based on Jackson himself) is conversing with six Thoughts, who alternate between his family, his lovers, and characters in his musical. The audience is left to wonder if how he feels is actually what’s happening, or if it all is just a perception…and if it even matters. A genius piece of philosophy and political commentary, delivered under the guise of comedy.
Dr. Frankenstein by Selma Dimitrijevic: I have mixed feelings about this one. I loved anything and everything having to do with Frankenstein, and greatly looked forward to this. It begins as Mary Shelley’s plot exactly, with one exception: the protagonist is female, named Victoria. It unfolds as one would imagine—the creation of the Creature, the abandonment of it, the deaths of William and Justine—but notably breaks with Frankenstein tradition at the end of Act I. Victoria becomes fare more maternal than Victor ever was, and the inquiry into humanity is not so much human hubris or godlike creation. It’s more about human goodness, human prejudice, and the universality of darkness and death. The Creature has some kickass monologues, if anyone is looking for one: there are moments where he speaks directly to the audience in a damning examination of humanity. I loved the Creature in this one, and the final scenes ended with a gut punch. Mixed feelings because it’s not my favorite of all time (I hated the first few scenes), but it’s remained in the enjoyable box because of its progression.
Trickster Feminism by Anne Waldman: I ended the month with this protest poetry collection, and it was a lovely one to end on. I’m kind of ashamed I’ve never read Anne Waldman before, actually, as she is a freakin’ genius. Her style is very much that of a Beatnik, aided by the fact that she was friends with many of them; it does take an adjustment to jump into and fully understand. Her poetry is quite visual, and is often a part of what you need to take in while reading. It overlaps like DNA or flows like a heartbeat on the page; the prose, too, slices across with sharp observations on feminism, intersectionality, nationalism, race, sexuality, technology, and religion. Waldman is clearly smart and well-read, using countless arcane words and obscure references: I kept Google by me while reading this, and annotated it to death. That said, what I loved about it is that you could grasp the poetry without fully understanding the references. It’s not so elitist and academic that you can’t understand the general message without having a doctorate. That’s important with something as universal as poetry, I believe. Waldman does it well, and god, do her endings punctuate.
Watched:
Black Widow (written by Eric Pearson, directed by Cate Shortland): The MCU is back in theatres, my friends! Jay and I continued our love of Marvel and cinematic tradition by seeing this one the day it came out. It did not disappoint. It had all the classic elements of a Marvel film—badass fight scenes, well-balanced humor and tragedy, unmatchable character dynamics—with the addition of a true, organic female story. I’d like to say thank you to Scarlett Johansson (as producer) and Cate Shortland (as director) for accomplishing that: though I would have loved to see a female writer, having female-identifying creatives on the artistic team ensures better representation onscreen. This proves that. Seeing Black Widow’s evolution over the course of the MCU proves that. Not to mention, the darkness of dealing with child trafficking, child soldiers, and deeply embedded misogyny was well-balanced and well-portrayed in this one. The newest film phase is off to a wonderful beginning. And holy shit, do I love Yelena. As we all do.
Supernatural Season 9 (created by Eric Kripke): Yeah, Jay and I are still working through this one. You know the drill. I love this stupid show: the characters and their actors far exceed the quality of writing, which makes it all the better.
Bookish vlogs by Miss Ciara Foster: Ciara Foster, as I’ve mentioned before, is one of my favorite Booktubers. Her vlogs—cozy, cinematic, comforting, full of loving observations on her books—have been a source of joy and comfort this month. I highly recommend checking her out.
Listened:
What’s Her Name (created by Dr. Katie Nelson and Oliva Meikle): This podcast has quickly become my new favorite, filling my forgotten historical women heart with knowledge and joy. Katie and Olivia are two sisters, academics with a keen interest in telling the stories of forgotten or misrepresented women; each episode, they sit down with a different expert to cover an individual woman, weaving her story together with a universal question (religious freedom, future remembrance and legacies, passions vs. livelihoods) and education on each culture. I have eaten these up, and now want to cover half of these women on this blog. Some current favorite women I’ve been introduced to include Pearl DeVere, Te Puea Herangi, Margaret Cavendish, and Gargi Vachaknavi (they’re all fantastic, though, don’t get me wrong). Wonderfully edited, entertaining and well-researched, and full of provocative questions, I love this one dearly.
“Purity, Promiscuity, and American Teens” (Intelexual Media): Elexus Jionde is a historian specializing in black history and sex history: she talks often about the entwining of the two with pop culture. I discovered her only about a month ago, and I love the diversity of topics she covers, all things that are typically considered taboo. She’s always well-researched and well-written; it’s a wonderful one to listen to as a podcast. This one was no different: covering the advent of what we know now as “teenagers” (by way of public high schools, industrialization, and urbanization) and the sudden fear of sexuality that came with it, it was a delight to listen to. If you’re as interested in gender and sexuality as I am, I recommend Intelexual Media.
If I Could Make It Go Quiet (girl in red): I’ve usually really liked girl in red’s songs before; unfortunately, I wasn’t as big of a fan of her album release as I have been with her EPs. Nothing was inherently wrong with it: I think, this time around, there wasn’t enough versatility within the album for me to be drawn to it. I just don’t remember much of the songs. Current Faves: “Serotonin” and “Rue”
Everything We See Will Die and The Island (At the End of Times, Nothing): One of the best instrumental groups I have ever listened to, truly. At the End of Times, Nothing is an incredible group to have on while working, cleaning, writing, reading, all that jazz. Their compositions are evocative and soothing, painting a highly visual picture for auditory senses. Each of their albums tells a story: for these two, the former is a dystopian world, the latter is, well, an island. I love them dearly. Current Faves: “The Ground After a Summer Rain,” “Last Sunrise in the Wasteland,” and “Petrichor;” “Pulchra”
Dreams We Never Lost (Tide Lines): Okay, music-wise, this was my favorite find of the month. Tide Lines is a band from the Scottish Highlands, combining traditional Celtic sounds with modern pop. Their lilt and vibrato combine effortlessly with dance keyboard and vibrant drums, crafting pieces that feel like electronic jigs or casual jams. They sing in Gaelic on this album, as well, which makes it all the more enjoyable. I’ve had it on repeat for a while now. Current Faves: “Far Side of the World,” “Co-thràth,” and “Since I Left This Town”
That's all for now. See you on the other side, friends. <3
Rhiannon