T H E M O N T H O F J U N E
June—her name translating roughly to “rejuvenation”—brought me both bubbling joy and intensified confliction, a rejuvenation of the soul in ways delightful and pained. In locking down several contracts, there was excitement in the unknown of new experiences. In trying to find a reliable job back here, there was insecurity and mind-numbing anxiety. In the evenings spent with candle lit and tea steeped, there was artistic delight in the filling of a blank page with tales yet unspoken. In the comparison of social media, there was self-doubt and frustration. I bobbed back and forth quite a bit this month; I’m sure that’s quite common when entering the “real world” (as much as I hate that phrasing, I can’t think of a better way to put it). It’s a pretty consistent struggle between feeling juvenile and in control. Thank you very much for introducing that, June.
Last month, I was able to return to my urban homescape, New York City, for about a week (shoutout to Shelbe and Lauren for so kindly letting me stay!). God, I forgot how much of it I missed. I’ve been back in the Midwest since March of 2020; having been removed for so long, it’s easy to lull into a rhythm and forget what you’ve left. My boyfriend asked what my favorite part was about the trip, and I replied: “Honestly? Just walking the streets again.” I forgot the small joys of pounding the pavement with bag on shoulder and tunes in ears, of resting in the green spaces, of traveling only a few blocks to get to the water, of the inhalation of energy and diversity and simply feeling alive in a beautiful city. I did not forget about the good food, phenomenal independent stores, and stifling heat: I was reminded of those things, too, the first duo beautiful, the second highly annoying. I just missed one of my favorite places. Being reminded of that was both clarity and confliction.
Especially after my weird eye thing cleared up. Y’all, I had to go to UrgentCare for an allergy thing that left my eyes red, bloodshot, and looking like I was incredibly high for about four or five days. Why, airline travel, whyyyyyy. (But also? Hilarious in retrospect.)
My writing spark has returned now, slowly but surely, and I’m working on establishing a much more stable and consistent writing schedule. We’ve got two novels in progress, one musical, one play, and a myriad of short stories and poems. I so missed having the time to write. It’s felt fabulous to start getting back in the groove again. Now if I can just get out of this mini-reading slump I’m dealing with…
Also, friends: Yale School of Drama is going tuition-free for the foreseeable future, which they announced on June 30th. Hell yeah.
Farewell, June. Overall, I think you’ve done me well.
J U N E W R A P – U P
Read:
With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo: What a delight of a novel this was. The story follows Emoni Santiago, a Philadelphia high school senior with a toddler, Emma, and a dream of opening her own restaurant. She’s had a culinary gift since she was little, able to craft recipes out of thin air, usually a fusion of her Afro-Caribbean heritage and American upbringing. That dream seems to have died with the need to care for her baby girl and her ailing abuela, only to be resurrected by a culinary arts course brought into her school for her last year. Acevedo’s novel balanced the feeling of a light-hearted YA with a deeper commentary on racism, family trauma, cyclical poverty, and biracial identity, even throwing some musings on queer identity in there without being stereotypical or heavy-handed. I flew through it: an easy read, filled with humor, family, friendship, and love, I had it finished in a few days. Such a fun and thought-provoking read, filled with characters owning individual, unique voices.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard: This is another classic play I hadn’t read until recently, and I loved it. There is, indeed, a reason this became a play performed everywhere. Simply put, it is a character study of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, following our two comedy characters as they journey through the world of play, riddled with confusion in between their scenes. Complexly put, it is an exploration of the origin of human nature, the inevitability of fate (or if it exists), mortality and the anticipation of death, and the politics of power (both higher and human). Not only is it compulsively readable and watchable, I also found myself thinking of its deeper connections for weeks after. I read it shortly after Waiting for Godot; they are two that I would love to write a deeper analysis on. Perhaps I shall. ;)
One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston: I was a touch disappointed by this read. I, like many others, adored McQuiston’s debut novel (the instant queer classic Red, White, & Royal Blue), and was impatiently anticipating the release of this one. It follows August, a reformed girl detective recently moved to New York City, as she meets and falls in love with Jane, a girl from the 1970s stuck in a time loop on the Q train. With the help of her (new)found family—Niko, Myla, Wes, and Isaiah—August must figure out how to snap Jane out of MTA perpetuity and back into her own time. More than that, she must figure out if she can let her go. It’s an intriguing plot, to be sure, and the mystery itself is thought out perfectly. There are twists and turns to rival the best of the girl detective novels; the final unfoldings and connections at the end of the book had me riveted. In addition, I did love the characters. Their little family of misfits was not only highly representative in terms of diverse identity, but each was so very different and lovable. I want to hang out with them and watch their weird tournament of Rolly Bangs (don’t ask). The characters were fantastic. However, something about the novel just dragged. There were too many false resolutions (at about page 75, I wasn’t sure what was left to be discovered and/or fixed); the developments felt too slow and forced at points. RW&RB, in my opinion, was much cleaner throughout and more compelling from the get-go. If I must compare, I liked the former better. I so wish I had enjoyed this one more.
In the Shadow of Slavery: African Americans in New York City, 1626 – 1863 by Leslie M. Harris: This is another that I was vaguely disappointed in. I was so excited to learn more about a topic that I am woefully ignorant of: the history of black Americans in early America. And Harris does, indeed, cover that. It’s clear that she is passionate about this topic, and has conducted hours upon hours of dedicated research. I respect that. Unfortunately, I feel like she continuously danced near to educating me on something I didn’t know, only to back off. For me, there was too much focus on white Americans: don’t get me wrong, we 100% need to be talking about the effect of white supremacist racism on black history, but, in a book specifically aimed towards talking about black Americans, I would like some more honoring of their existence and lives. A multitude of names of people and institutions were given, but many were not quite explained. Some inexplicably disappeared after only being mentioned once. Overall, it was odd: Harris covered topics in generality, but never gave us much else. I did love the section on pleasure gardens and early black America’s influence on the theatre, though.
Choir Boy by Tarell Alvin McCraney: I’ve learned that I love anything by McCraney. Most non-theatre folk would know him as the screenwriter of the Oscar-winning film Moonlight, but the man is a genius playwright, as well. His primary focus is the experience of queer black men in a system that is designed to exploit and harm them, usually following them as they grow up. Choir Boy is no different. Following Pharus--the newest choir lead at Charles R. Drew Prep School for Boys--through his senior year, the play intersperses dialogue with classic spirituals, performed by a chorale of male voices (see the stunning Tonys performance here). The music and movement is utilized to explore the experience of growing up black and queer to touching effect. Each character is a compelling web of complexity and intersectionality; the tale itself asks the audience to consider questions of right and wrong, toxic loyalty, and ingrained biases within an oppressed community. In short, it’s a phenomenal play. I would love to see it live.
Inappropriation by Lexi Freiman: This is, by far, the weirdest novel I have ever read. Seriously. Not even “bad,” necessarily, though parts of it made my stomach roil. Just weird. In short, the novel follows a young girl named Ziggy as she transfers to a private school in her Australian community; there, she meets two progressively-minded girls (Tessa and Lex) who implore her to read and interpret Haraway’s “The Cyborg Manifesto.” What follows is a satire on identity politics, taking to extremes everything from PC culture to alt-right harassers in order to provoke questions on identity and culture in a modern society. It’s…a time. I understand what Freiman was trying to do. However, the novel could not decide whether it was actually a novel or a piece of abstract philosophy. It got so bogged down in its desire to make a statement that it inhibited the story, and, in turn, the very statement it was attempting to make. It was simply confusing in a way largely unenjoyable. Ziggy was not that wonderful of a character, either: truly, if she had walked off a cliff, I probably wouldn’t have cared. She was that unempathetic. I will say, though, there were a few moments of observation that I enjoyed: Ziggy’s confusion on the meaning of transhumanism, the nature of jokes in a society more sensitive to identity, the character of Rowena (a transgender woman and drag queen) as the voice of wisdom. Those resonated.
Pussy Riot or Everything is P.R. by Barbara Hammond: This play has quickly entered the ranks of my favorites; god, I would love to see it live. From the immersive aspect of it (audience members getting "arrested" with the cast, told to read from scripts in a mock trial, etc.) to the somehow cohesive jumping from story to story (each taking place in a different environment, only occasionally able to interact with the others), this show rocked my brain and stole my heart. It is so wonderfully inventive, unapologetically brash and accusatory, and has a grounding in heart and knowledge. Following the kangaroo court trial of three members of Pussy Riot in 2012, the play is unbelievably timely, what with the world’s renewed concerns with fascism and the lessening of human rights. It traverses through the voices of a variety of peoples—from Pussy Riot to a wrongly-arrested professor to a British linguist to Putin and Madonna—to make a provocative statement on human freedoms, the fight of humanity, and the severe abuse of power that can be allowed to run unchecked. Much of the dialogue is taken directly from court transcripts. Equal parts clever, touching, and frightening, I highly recommend.
Pride and Prejudice by Kate Hamill, adapted from Jane Austen: Okay, I love Kate Hamill, but this was not my favorite. In fairness, this was the first play she ever wrote to be produced; she’s definitely grown since then. It is in her signature style of a loving mockery of classic stories, reimagining them in ways that both make sense and provoke thought in a modern audience. Largely, this one is designed to be a clever take on the marriage market: the first time we see the girls, they’re lined up as if for a firing squad, the gentlemen stood behind them to make their pick. The play continues from there in equivalent absurdity. While the characterizations of the Bennets and their callers were highly accurate in their heightened senses, I felt the play didn’t land as effectively as it should. It felt more like an improvisation exercise than anything else. Parts were entertaining, of course; I simply didn’t love it.
Watched:
The Boys, Seasons 1 and 2 (created by Eric Kripke): Quick confession: I still haven’t finished Season 2. You all know I am a horrific binger, so that shouldn’t surprise you. ;) But holy crap, y’all. This show is genius. It is certainly not for everyone—rated R for sexual content, gore, nudity, and otherwise disturbing scenes of the psychological thriller variety—but its politicizing of superheroes to explore the endemic exploitation of power is brilliant. The characters are so well-designed (shoutout to the OG creator of the comic books, Garth Ennis) and well-acted (shoutout to a stellar cast, especially Jack Quaid, Erin Moriarty, Karl Urban, Karen Fukuhara, Tomer Kapon, and Laz Alonso); the dialogue is simultaneously ridiculous and grounded, something that can be hard to accomplish. The show does not shy away from anything, unapologetically tackling rape culture, toxic masculinity and femininity, religious hypocrisy, political abuse of power, neo-fascism, and more. Even better, it does it all while remaining human and finding the humor and friendship in it all. I highly, highly recommend; I’m so thrilled it got renewed for another season.
Video essays by Khadija Mbowe - “Ronald Reagan’s racist legacy;” “Algorithms & skin tone bias;” and “Are ‘black girls less innocent’? Adultification explained:” I discovered Khadija in the last few months of senior year. She is a brilliant black women who covers a variety of topics in video essay form, usually focused around the intersectionality of race and gender. She is well-researched, open-minded, kind, unwavering in her support of others, unabashed in calling out problems internationally, and wonderfully snarky. I learn a lot from her, and am constantly inspired to look further into the topics she covers. She’s one who you could have going as a podcast, too, while you run, drive, or clean. Check her out. She’s well worth your while.
Supernatural Season 9 (created by Eric Kripke): Jay and I are, as you can imagine, still working through the 15 seasons of Supernatural. It’s a hefty, addictive, complicated ride. We’re now past the known territory for me (I watched in real time until Season 8, then got sucked into college auditions and fell off the train); it’s been a bruising delight to discover what happens next, even if I do know a plot point here and there. Like I’ve said before, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, and Misha Collins were truly perfect performers in an imperfect show. They made and make Supernatural what it is. Misha, in particular, is destroying me this season: the vulnerability and character development. Perfect.
In the Heights (written by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Quiara Alegría Hudes; directed by Jon M. Chu) – NOT SPOILER FREE: quick disclaimer: I saw this film when I was having the crazy eye problem mentioned above, so it was blurry. Thankfully, I’ve seen the musical before, so it wasn’t the biggest detriment on the planet, but still. Annoying. The Chu film was a beautiful adaptation of a wonderful musical, I think. There were certainly changes that I didn’t agree with—I felt the lack of mentioning Abuela winning the 96,000 in the song made “96,000” an arbitrary dance number, and I didn’t like the moving of “Carnaval del Barrio” after “Paciencia y Fe,” as it lessened the impact of Abuela’s death and made her seem like more unimportant than she was—and I wasn’t quite sure who the production team thought the protagonist was, but, overall, it was a beautiful piece. It functions as a celebration of Spanish-speaking cultures (largely Puerto Rican because of Miranda’s background), and a stunning one at that. The vibrant cinematography and symbolism of the solo pieces, namely “Breathe” and “It Won’t Be Long Now,” made for something both aesthetically pleasing and powerful. The modernization of the problems of 2005 (when it premiered on Broadway) made for an even more empathetic and humanizing quality. More than any of that, though, Olga Merediz made this film. She played Abuela Claudia in the original Broadway production, and reprises it with heart-wrenching authenticity and strength. She deserves an Oscar for “Paciencia y Fe” alone. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Olga, you are my favorite, from now until the end of time.
Listened:
Pipe Dream (Rodgers and Hammerstein): I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: I am not a huge fan of MT classics. That is a touch sacrilegious in the theatre community, but I shall not lie. I struggle to find Golden Age era musicals that I actually enjoy (currently, the few are A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Oklahoma!); this did not join the list. Oh, it was fine, the lush instrumentation of R&H rather soothing to the ear, the lyrics of romance and home and masculine identity and all that. It was okay. Just not my cup of tea. Current Faves: “The Next Time It Happens” and “All Kinds of People”
Wanderlust and Moments (Hollow Coves): I’ve enjoyed several of Hollow Coves’s releases before, so I decided to delve into their fuller EPs and albums this month. They all have a very similar feel to them, an atmospheric, indie lull that’s perfect for background music, slow jams, or yoga/meditation. Perhaps because of that, though, I wasn’t as drawn into these releases as much as I was hoping. They were fine, peaceful and soothing, just not quite my favorite. Current Fave: “Beauty in the Light”
Violence in a Quiet Mind (Haux): A similar situation happened with Hoax as with Hollow Coves. I’ve loved several songs of his in the past—“Touch” and “Cologne,” especially—but wasn’t as enamored with his full album. It could very well have something to do with the flow: they’re clearly all cohesive as chill indie songs, but the lack of range within the 10 songs forced it into the background for me. Again, wonderful for background music whilst working, not notable in the forefront. Current Faves: “Of the Age” and “Calico”
After It All and The Light (Delta Rae): Okay. Guys. Y’all. Friends. This band. This freaking band. I’d heard a couple of Delta Rae’s songs before, and so loved them, but it took me forever to listen to some full albums of theirs. I don’t know why. I am a full convert now. Their mixture of evocative, creative, melodic lyric; versatile, adventurous, Southern rock/folk composition; and stunning, thrilling, watertight harmonies are divine. They are storytellers first and foremost, each album compiling tales inspired by mythology, folk tales, their Southern upbringing, and the lives of the subversive; they sing of thrilling love, devastating heartbreak, magic and adventure, and simply existing in this world with equal skill and interest. But their music? I’m sorry, can we say perfection? They have a lovely mix of dark and light, subversive and playful, on each of their albums, and I love it. Deeply. Their one of my new favorite bands. You should check them out. ;) Current Faves: “Anthem,” “Outlaws,” “Chasing Twisters,” and “Cold Day in Heaven;” “Burning in Carolina,” “Any Better Than This,” “If I’d Known I Loved Her,” and “Soft Place to Land”
Within Earshot: Anthems for the In-Between (Jackson Teeley): This song cycle was one released in 2020 to raise money for Actors’ Equity and to support struggling artists during COVID times. I didn’t listen to it until 2020, which I apologize for, my fellow artist friends. My bad. Following a storyline of overheard discussions and relationships within a coffee shop, the cycle explores themes of human connection in the digital age. A wonderful premise, with some jams of songs, but it’s not my favorite song cycle out there. Still worth a listen if you want some high, powerful belting, though! Current Fave: “When You Go”
The Robber Bridegroom (Alfred Uhry and Robert Waldman): I have a piece in my book from this musical that I love singing (“Sleepy Man”), yet hadn’t listen to the entirety of the album in one go until last month. It’s a bit of a complicated plotline to try to summarize concisely, so let’s go with this: it’s a folktale-esque story following an outlaw, the woman in love with him, her father, and the townspeople chasing him down. Havoc ensues. The songs are a fabulous blend of country and classic Broadway of the transitional age, and hold some definite earworms. Overall, I had a good time. It doesn’t join my personal ranking of favorite musicals, but I would certainly listen and/or watch again. Current Faves: “Steal with Style,” “Sleepy Man,” and “Goodbye Salome”
Discount Ghost Stories: Colorado (Alexander Sage Oyen): Oh, this one was good. Another song cycle—this one I’ve had saved on Spotify since it was released—Oyen tells several short stories, all roughly interconnected by acquaintanceships, romances, sonder, and passersby; as you can probably tell, the theme centers around ghost stories, death, grief, loss, and tragedy rampant throughout. Oyen creates a diverse mixture of musical theatre, rock, and folk sounds, crafting ballads and jam sessions with wondrous success. God, my storyteller heart loved this one. It’s my current MT album on repeat. Current Faves: “From the Top of His Hill,” “Get in Our Car!”, “Silver Moonlight,” and “Find Me”
Pomegranate Seeds (Julian Moon): My June was riddled with some fabulous album findings, and this was fantastic one to end it on. On Moon’s IG page, she says she makes music “for losers, good girls and sirens;” I think that it’s a beautiful way to describe this EP, equal parts divinity and darkness. It’s a collection of 6 songs surrounding Greek mythology and American folk tales (do you sense a theme for this month?), each one utilizing a different lyricism to encapsulate a different character. And it is the lyrics that shine. The melody and instrumentation is fairly simple; it’s all story over here. And it is stupid addictive. Current Faves: “Pomegranate Seeds,” “Siren Song,” and “Honor Among Thieves”
That's all for now, June.
See you on the other side.
Rhiannon