Hello, lovely friends! Welcome back, and welcome to Part Two of my now-three-part reading update (the first can be found here): these get long quickly, and I didn't want to inundate you with too much. I hope you enjoy traversing these books as much as I did. :)
Without further ado!
1) The Fountains of Silence by Ruta Sepetys (5 out of 5): Ruta Sepetys is, in my eyes, a must-read author. You may have heard of her: her most famous book is likely her first, Between Shades of Grey, surrounding the genocide within the Baltic nations under Stalin’s rule. She identifies and passionately researches ignored or deliberately hidden facets of history, many of them dark, then transforms them into instantly lovable and identifiable characters, a style of prose that translates from YA to adult and back again, and story arcs that are engaging and swiftly moving. I’ve read all of her books; this one is her latest. Addressing the Stolen Children of Spain under Franco’s regime, the novel follows Daniel Matheson, a half-Spanish Texan visiting Madrid with his high-powered parents; Ana Torres Moreno, a bright, inquisitive Spanish girl working as a maid at Daniel’s hotel; Rafael Torres Moreno, her brother who dreams of managing matadors and escaping poverty; and Purificación Torres Pérez, their innocent, regime-loyal cousin who works with supposed orphans at one of Madrid’s convents. Note the use of “supposed” there. What follows is a story of humanity, fight, love, and unknowable hardship; what goes on in Franco’s Spain is deeply disturbing and dehumanizing, especially to ones with an outside eye. As the novel progresses (the storyline running from 1957 to 1976), as more and more is revealed, one can easily feel their heart being shattered, rebuilt, and shattered again. That said, though, Sepetys excels at addressing horrific events with a tone of benevolence, humanization, and hope. While the world is certainly dark, it isn’t without light entirely. That is what I love about each of her novels, this one no different: her call-to-action (her call-to-education) is both blunt and kind. She educates with a compassionate heart and steady pen. In addition, as I said before, I found these characters so well flushed-out and lovable nearly to my own fault. I wanted each to win, all the while knowing that wasn’t a possible reality. A beautiful book.
2) A Bright New Boise by Samuel D. Hunter (2 out of 5): I don’t remember all that much about this play, frankly, which is how you can tell I wasn’t a huge fan. The first, concise line in a Googled summary is: “In the bleak, corporate break room of a craft store in Idaho, someone is summoning The Rapture.” The play follows Will, a man who has escaped to Boise and his Hobby Lobby job after a deadly scandal at his rural Evangelical church; there, he attempts to reconnect with the teenage son he gave up for adoption years ago. Within this general storyline, there are musings on faith, escapism, loneliness, and identity; from what I understand, it’s designed to be a dark comedy. Unfortunately, I did not find it so. Most of the reading I spent with my brow crinkled, trying and somewhat failing to decipher why the dialogue was necessary. It felt avant garde in a way that stifled the general premise: I typically take no issue with a deliberately artsy approach, but this one felt as if Hunter emphasized style over substance. It was too choppy for me, its scenes dysfunctional in a non-philosophical way. It gets a 2 simply because I read it all, but it will not be on my favorites list any time soon.
3) After Ashley by Gina Gionfriddo (3 out of 5): Gionfriddo’s play, at its core, explores what happens to identity when the media gets ahold of it: after Ashley is killed by a man working in their home, she is remade to be a bright, shining light of purity and goodness; in reality, as her son Justin consistently tries to tell the world, she was a witty, crass, sex-addicted woman trying to escape a loveless marriage. As the insanity surrounding Ashley’s story grows (her husband taking full advantage of the fame), so does Justin’s. He shifts rather quickly from an intelligent, mature young man, full of academic ambitions, to mimicking his mother’s sex addiction and his father’s newfound fame manipulation. All in all, it was an interesting play, a concept that I found fascinating and saddening. However, I couldn’t find myself identifying or empathizing with any of the characters: the one I was most drawn to was Justin’s one-night stand, Julie, a smart young woman molded to provide us with philosophy and Justin’s sex life onstage. There simply wasn’t a thread holding me to the story other than the sheer grounded frenzy of it all. Still, I enjoyed it. It’s a middle ground for me.
4) A History of Celibacy by Elizabeth Abbott (4 out of 5): As odd as it sounds, I so enjoyed this non-fiction once I got into it. Truly, this 500+ page book on celibacy and the historical and contemporary reasons for choosing it was FASCINATING. I take an intense interest in anything surrounding gender and sexuality, especially when it’s something I have little to no knowledge of: this was that book. Abbott has concocted a piece both well-researched and engaging (as, let’s be real, folks, some non-fiction can be horribly dry and too academic). Her coverage stretches from ancient, pre-Judeo-Christian times to the mid-1990s (this book was published in 1999); my favorite topics covered include the nineteenth century British strike against sex, Boston marriages, and female celibacy utilized to transcend gender inequality, all both intensely fascinating and almost ironically funny in how they came to be. Ultimately, I learned quite a bit, and have drawn some artistic inspiration from the stories told in here. One point revoked for how dry, confusing, and drawn-out the chapters on early Christianity and the Church Fathers were. Those opening chapters were what took me the longest to get through: I frigging flew after we moved past Augustine. Fight through those (or skip them, if you so desire, I don’t control your life) and you’ll be stellar!
5) Indecent by Paula Vogel (5 out of 5): Let’s first acknowledge that Paula Vogel is a genius of nearly incomparable intellect and artistry; so is Rachel Taichman. Therefore, when these two (a playwright and director, respectively) teamed up to craft a piece surrounding the indecency trial of Shalom Asch’s seminal 1918 play, The God of Vengeance, it was destined to be remarkable. Nominated for three Tonys in 2017 (winning for Best Direction and Best Lighting Design), Vogel’s play is an exploration of gender, sexuality, religion, identity, and how they all combine to create the politics of power. Asch’s play was the first to feature two women kissing on stage, one of the first to humanize the Jewish experience in a time of pogroms and genocide, the first to place lesbian Jewish identity onstage in a way beautiful, touching, and flawed; it toured Europe to acclaim, but, when they reached America, the troupe was taken to trial and declared indecent. All but Shalom returned to Europe, where they were killed at Auschwitz. Vogel follows the tale, unflinching and truthful, from its inception in 1918 to an early remounting in 1952. She utilizes multi-character actors, klezmer music, time jumps, vignette, and highly symbolic language and choreography to elicit education and inquiry in her audience. Its humanization and grounding in both dialogue and environment is of the highest caliber; let me tell you, my heart ached by the end. Through all this, though, the most brilliant thing Vogel does is in her ending: it is not bleak, or disturbing, or horrifying. We’ve seen the troupe get in the cattle cars to Auschwitz, but we do not end on that. Instead, we end on two lovestruck girls kissing in the rain. It is a stunning moment to end an already stunning piece. I just…gah. I love it. I love Paula. I love Rachel. I love them all. Genius.
6) A Question of Holmes by Brittany Cavallaro (5 out of 5): The final book in the Charlotte Holmes series! I was fortunate to win my copy through a giveaway Cavallaro was doing with an indie bookstore in her hometown, and I greedily dug into it as soon as I could. As you all know by now, I am a die-hard Holmesian. I love Conan Doyle’s original works; the BBC’s modern adaptation, Sherlock, is my favorite TV show of all-time; I will read and watch basically anything that has to do with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. This YA series—following the adventures of the original duo’s ancestors, Charlotte Holmes and Jamie Watson—is one of my favorites. It is inarguably clever in how it works in references to and plays on Conan Doyle’s stories, bringing this nerd unending joy. Cavallaro has crafted Charlotte and Jamie in such a way that is both a brilliant homage to the originals and wonderfully innovative and lovable in their own individual strengths and weaknesses. In addition, the settings are a Gothic wonderland: a private boarding school in New England, London, Oxford, Cambridge, Prague, and New York City all play a part, described in a way that would pull in any travel lover. This final book was just as wonderful as the three before it, though bittersweet in its end. It is a tale of friendship, vulnerability, self-destruction, and knowing when to accept help. It is beautiful. I highly recommend.
7) When We Were Young and Unafraid by Sarah Treem (4 out of 5): Surprise, surprise, another unapologetically feminist play on Rhiannon’s reading list! For those of you who don’t recognize Sarah Treem’s name, she’s a fairly big deal within the playwriting and screenwriting worlds: most notably (and recently), she was an executive producer and writer on House of Cards and the creator of The Affair. From what I’ve read of her works, I gather this one was right in her style zone: straight-forward, fairly philosophical, explicit in opinion. I, for one, enjoy that, but I know that it’s not for everyone. This one is especially so. The play follows Agnes, an ex-nurse who runs a shelter for battered women disguised as a B&B, and her daughter Penny, an intense feminist raised seeing the horrors of domestic violence, in the midst of Second Wave feminism. Their world is turned upside down by the arrival of Mary Anne, a domestic abuse survivor who is far more opinionated and dedicated to domesticity than any survivor the house has seen before. What follows is a study of the varying sides of feminism, gender norms, undefendable love, and the meaning of family. Each woman in the show is designed to represent a different side: Agnes, the caregiver and innate early feminist; Penny, the Yale-ambitious 1970s feminist; Mary Anne, the woman dedicated to her abusive husband; and Hannah, the political lesbian searching for transphobic Womynland. There’s also a random dude to provide the male perspective and sing a few ditties every now and again, but, frankly, he’s a weak character and we lose nothing without him. Overall, I found this to be a really strong piece, filled with wonderful queries and well-crafted characters. The only downside is, as I said before, Treem gives her characters a lot of soapbox monologues and debates filled with explicit opinions. There’s not really room for interpretation, something that could easily come from just letting her characters live. I wasn’t too bothered, but something to know if you would like to read it!
8) Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots by Deborah Feldman (4.5 out of 5): This memoir, following a woman’s escape from her strict Orthodox Jewish upbringing, was recently made into a Netflix movie, the thing that prompted me to purchase it. As it turns out, the film is literally nothing like the book, judging from the trailers; however, I really enjoyed and was so very touched by Feldman’s story. Hers is a tale of misogyny, antiquated ideas, religion, cult thought, and the dangers of not teaching comprehensive sex ed. I’m shying away from giving too much info, as I think it’s far more worth it to go in without much idea of what’s going to happen, but I will say this: Feldman’s voice is vulnerable, strong, unwavering, flawed, and deeply personal. She is unafraid in sharing her experience with us, and, within it, it makes each of us feel stronger and more determined to better our own lives. It’s truly a remarkable piece. Also, if you do read it: look Deborah Feldman up after you finish. She’s lived a wonderful life past the book’s end, and her interviews are incredible.
9) The Miracle Worker by William Gibson (4.5 out of 5): I gave this play a high score, so it’s going to be surprising when I say: meh. It was genuinely good, a classic following Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller’s disastrous first meeting and subsequent breakthrough. Made into a film in 1962. It’s good, and certainly lives up to the hype, hence the 4.5. However, to be frank, it just didn’t stick with me. I enjoyed it, and certainly found myself touched by Helen’s sudden need to spell at the end. It just didn’t stay in my soul as long as many others have. A beautiful story, a meh delivery. Someone else may feel very differently.
10) The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy by Mackenzi Lee (5 out of 5): I want to acknowledge first that, yes, I know, Mackenzi Lee has done a few problematic things in the past. I’m well-aware of the controversy surrounding a few things she’s done. However, this series is one that is powerful in terms of representation and historical exploration, and I’ve loved both Montague Siblings books (this one and its first, The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue). This particular novel follows Felicity Montague, the younger sibling, as she attempts to get into medical school in the nineteenth century. Since she is a woman, this clearly does not go well for her. She takes off with a newfound pirate friend to Germany, where she tracks down the doctor marrying her ex-friend, searching for medical training…only it turns out that this doctor is a rather sadistic, manipulative villain who is attempting to steal her ex-friend’s mother’s scientific work to claim it as his own. What follows is a chase across land and sea, punctuated with piratical escapades, medical discoveries, scientific nerdery, and questions of love and friendship. Special shoutout for representations of asexuality and bisexuality within the piece. I adore Lee’s characters, and her ability to play with the world of history as we’ve learned it is impeccable. Many forget that queer people existed (and were even accepted in certain parts of the world) long before the public eye allowed them to. It’s important to realize that. Throw in pirates, international travel, intrigue, and a trio of badass women? I’m in.
11) The Half-Life of Marie Curie by Lauren Gunderson (4 out of 5): I read a lot of Lauren Gunderson over the past few months, both for class and for personal interest. She’s one of my favorite playwrights, for the topics she writes on, for her unrepentant feminist and gender studies approach, and for her educational outreach and activism. I saw this play’s NY premiere in 2019, and I loved it. Covering the summer of 1912, when Marie Curie visited her friend and revolutionary electromechanical engineer Hertha Ayrton to escape scandal and ostracism in France, this play is Gunderson’s typical combination of female friendship and the sciences. It involves quite a lot of fourth wall breaking, many omniscient monologues delivered to the audience, and some delightfully witty, heartfelt banter between Marie and Hertha. It succeeds past argument in humanizing two women known primarily (and, sometimes, only) for their brains. Gunderson gives them hearts and souls, too, no longer just names in a textbook. Marie and Hertha’s frustration with the misogyny of the world—Marie was prohibited from attending the ceremony for her second Nobel Prize; Hertha was barred from entering the scientific societies of England—is a powerful statement on women in STEM, both then and now; the relationship Marie and Hertha have is a beautiful illustration of women supporting women, of how female friendship lifts us up. The only complaint I have is of the pacing of the piece, as it’s only available on Audible right now. It feels quite stilted at times, likely due to the audio play format it’s in. You can’t exactly allow for beats and breaths in a podcast, or you risk losing audience attention. It feels less organic there. The stage version is much improved on that front.
12) And Then We Grew Up: On Creativity, Potential, and the Imperfect Art of Adulthood by Rachel Friedman (3 out of 5): I gotta be honest: I was a little disappointed in this book. It came recommended by a featured dramaturg on LMDA’s page, and the premise of it immediately intrigued me. My mother gave it to me for Christmas; I was psyched to read it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite what I expected. Instead of musings on artists as we grow older, it felt more like a series of disconnected short stories, more circuitous and discombobulated than anything else. There were moments that I loved: for instance, Friedman’s speaking of our “past selves” and how letting go of them is like going through a grieving process was a concept that sticks with me even now. I simply wanted more. I felt like the book wanted more. Regardless, I didn’t hate it, so it’s a solid 3.
13) Silence by Moira Buffini (2.5 out of 5): Frannie, if you are reading this, I am so very sorry I didn’t like your play recommendation as much as you wanted me to. <3 Buffini’s play has a promising plot, but her indecision on main characters and amplitude of side plots make it too murky to follow. Based on true events, the play begins in the early 1000s, with Princess Ymma of Normandy being forced to marry Lord Silence of Cumbria, a Viking, as a punishment by King Aethelred of England. Only, Silence is a woman. It’s simply that no one knows it, including Silence herself. Once the latter figures out that she is, indeed, a she, Silence and Ymma forge a pact to keep the charade going, allowing them both more power than they would have otherwise. Thus begins a trek to Silence’s lands as they are followed by Aethelred, who has suddenly realized he must have Ymma for his own: along the way, he is pillaging, raping, and burning innocent villages as arbitrary penance. And within all this are a monk and a maid falling in love and a sexually abused misogynistic guard fawning after Ymma, all while Silence falls in love with the guard himself. Sound confusing? It is, a little. I felt that Buffini needed to decide who the main character was (I’m assuming it’s supposed to be Ymma) and focus on them; she attempted to fit too many big issues in at once. Now, if this were a TV show or a limited series, that would be fine. But to attempt to cover religious persecution, gender inequality, sexual abuse, the politics of power, the corrupting influence of power, religious hypocrisy, misogyny, sexism, magick, and more in only two hours, if that? It’s too much. It’s far too much. In my opinion, a definitive rewrite is needed. Buffini has everything she needs; she’s just gotta make some decisions.
And there you have it, friends! Sorry to end on one I didn't like, but never fear: Part Three will include some of my favorite reads of 2021 so far. :)
Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day!
Rhiannon