T H E M O N T H O F S E P T E M B E R
Autumn is my favorite season. My mom and sister would make fun of me for saying “autumn” instead of “fall,” but, frankly, I like the word autumn more. For me, it brings more clearly to mind crisp, cool air; the changing of the leaves like the burning of bad memories and the welcoming of good: the warm comfort of chai and pumpkin muffins and apple cider; the joy of tramping through a pumpkin patch or an apple orchard; the snuggling under a blanket in misty mornings, reading a good book and simply breathing in the day. Autumn brings me joy and contentment no matter what may be going on. That contentment was certainly needed to temper some of the worst days this past month.
That’s not to sound dramatic, not at all. Lots of doors closing, lots of opportunities opening. Bittersweet memories coming back, new ones to take their place. The past leaving far too soon, the future looming with both excitement and fear. Some days, it just got to be a bit overwhelming. My panic disorder took quite the hit last month, something that hasn’t happened for a while. Deploying coping mechanisms you haven’t had to use in a good amount of time can be mentally draining, as I’m sure many of you know. Never do I mean to preach to the choir.
That’s why I’m so thankful for the revitalization that autumn symbolizes to my soul. When the exhaustion got too much (whether it be from working several jobs right now, doing grad school applications, or simply the aforementioned overwhelm), it was lovely to know that I could sit outside to write or read, gentle breeze playing music with the wind chimes, sun shining on the marigold mums. Or I could make a nice cup of tea—chai americaine and a mix of mint have been my two current favorites—to curl up outside and listen to the neighborhood. More than that, this is the first time in several years I’ve experienced autumn in my home state without illness or injury to deter it. I can actually go to the open-air markets with my family; I can hit up the pumpkin patch with my partner; I can go hiking in my favorite state park for the first time since (probably) middle school. That small thing has brought me so much joy this past month, moreso as we enter October, the crisper month.
I listened to a fantastic array of podcasts and albums this September: not one missed its mark. I read a lovely combination of serious and dessert novels. I discovered a new favorite historical woman. I wrote so very much, which always swells my heart (can’t wait for that to be my full-time job, y’know?). I got way ahead on grad school applications. My sister’s getting prepped for college, and my brother’s killing the football game. I’ve been able to spend a good amount of time with my loved ones My only complaint is that I literally never get to sleep. I’m tired, friends. But, hey, I’ve learned a lot, I’ve laughed a lot, and I’ve established a decent schedule, so here we are!
Onto Spooktober we go.
S E P T E M B E R W R A P – U P
Read
Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know by Samira Ahmed: After reading some heavier titles right in a row, I needed some dessert for the brain. This YA novel provided just that. Alternately between Khayyam—a Muslim-American art student spending the summer in her father’s native Paris in the 21st century—and Leila—a Muslim woman escaping an oppressive harem in the 18th century—this dual perspective novel is an exploration of the silencing of woman as mere “muses,” their stories fodder for the more publicly visible men. Khayyam, with some slightly-manipulative assistance from Alexandre Dumas’s descendent, uncovers the story of Leila, whose life is highly dramatized and exploited in the classic poem and subsequent painting, The Giaour. Through her sleuthing, Khayyam finds her own pride in being a smart, strong Muslim woman. All-in-all, this book was good. Incredibly heavy-handed on the lesson its meaning to teach, leading to some eyeroll-worthy dialogue, and lacking the complexity that makes other books so great, but it did what it came to do. I do wish we could have spent more time in Leila’s brain, or that Ahmed has expanded upon the slight supernatural element she introduces. In my opinion, that’s what would make this good book a fantastic one: balance. Between the two women, between story and thesis, between reality and fantasy. I would have been much more drawn in if that were the case. That said, I did enjoy it. It gave me a respite from the more intense works, and I loved learning about art history and Muslim culture.
Clit Notes by Holly Hughes: Performance art, even when done well, is frigging weird. Let’s get that out of the way, first and foremost. Secondly, let’s acknowledge that, odd as it is, Holly Hughes is a master of the form. This collection of her pieces pulled me in from the get-go. Based on her experiences growing up queer in the conservative Midwest, Hughes’s work is a satire of and query into gender identity, sexuality, white privilege, and existence in late 20th century America. The plays are best described as equal parts stereotypical performance art—think the SNL skit with Emma Stone—and heartfelt vulnerability, delving into trauma and growth with steady hand. Hughes’s subversion is well-used, not simply for shock factor: she challenges us to ask ourselves why we’re so uncomfortable with female sexuality, with discussing sexual experience, with the correct anatomical terms for both male and female bodies. It certainly made me, as a person who’s fairly comfortable with all of it, question myself; I shifted in my seat a few times. But, frankly, that’s what’s good about it. I particularly loved her final two pieces: World Without End and Clit Notes. Discussing her mother’s death and her grief, and her acceptance of herself as a queer woman, respectively, they were the most personal and vulnerable of them all. Weird still, yes, but, god, are they touching. I highly recommend.
Eighty Days: Nellie Bly and Elizabeth Bisland’s History Making Race Around the World by Matthew Goodman: I read this nonfiction on recommendation of my mom, who has talked about it ever since she read it a few years ago. It deserves the heaped praise. Goodman writes his nonfiction more like a novel: though he includes dates and names and numbers, it reads like a dual perspective adventure book, jumping between Nellie and Elizabeth on their trek to circumnavigate the globe faster than Verne’s Phileas Fogg. What was most interesting to me was how my own perspective changed. I came in with some knowledge on Nellie and none on Elizabeth; I loved the former for her revolutionary work and regarded the latter with some dismissal. When I was finished with the book, I adored Elizabeth and had lost a lot of respect for Nellie. Elizabeth, though definitely imperialist, held so much respect for other cultures and grew to love them, talking with the locals and writing of the beauty of her trip; Nellie’s conceited journals showed her to be racist, imperialist, classist, and so very full of herself. Even her earlier writings (Blackwell’s Island, for instance) were more for her own betterment than to improve the plight of the people she studied. God, I was driven nuts by her. Elizabeth, I felt I could be good friends with, and I now love her as a historical figure. Thank you, Goodman, for opening my eyes. Truly, my only complaint about this book is that it could be about 80 pages shorter. Goodman digresses into unneeded tangents a multitude of times, and he becomes quite repetitive after the women cross paths. By the end, I just wanted the book to be done, as it dragged on so very much in the last 100 pages or so. Outside of that, I enjoyed it!
Renegades by Marissa Meyer: Recently, I’ve been on the hunt for good science fiction; I’ve realized it’s one of the few genres I have very little knowledge in (the other is horror, and, frankly, my wimp self is not dealing with that). This one isn’t quite there, but it’s enough on the cusp that it’s given me a good jumping off point. Meyer’s YA novel takes place in a future America, after the dystopia has occurred. The world has begun to lift, with it rising the powers of the prodigies: superpowers, essentially, like that of Marvel or DC. The Renegades are the prodigy superheroes laying down the law, founded to bring an end to the Age of Anarchy. The Anarchists, on the other hand, are prodigy supervillains, the remainder of the squad that brought about aforementioned dystopia. Both, in essence, want the same thing: a world wherein prodigies are treated as human, not feared or killed. It’s just that one has had a much kinder way of going about it. Our two characters are on two different sides: Adrian (alias “Sketch”), son of two of the founding Renegades, and Nova (alias “Nightmare”), the niece of the Anarchist founder. After Nova infiltrates the Renegades, joining Adrian’s team, a sort of Capulet/Montague relationship ensues, punctuated by plentiful action-adventure. It’s the type of novel that would make a good movie. The dialogue is fantastically organic, the relationships are quite compelling, and I loved the character design. All in all, Renegades was a wonderful book, though I must say that, though I want to know what happens next, I’m not dying for the rest of the trilogy, y’know?
Uncommon Women and Others by Wendy Wasserstein: I read three Wasserstein plays in September (the other two following), an anthology trio that I should’ve gotten around to long ago. I so enjoyed reading them; seeing them laid out in chronological order was fascinating, too, as I could see the changes and improvements in Wasserstein’s style, almost becoming more grounded. Her first premiere—this one, Uncommon Women and Others—takes on a touch of absurdism, reminiscent of plays like Godot in the dialogue structure. It is slightly haphazard, more staccato than interconnected. That said, I enjoyed the oddity of the characters, a group of young women attending college in the 1950s/60s, and their highly individualized personalities. Seeing their grappling with womanhood and the balance between career and family is something both so specific to their time period and quite resonant in today’s culture. That persistence is cause for important query, I think: why have we progressed so little in that realm? Over fifty years later, Wasserstein’s talk of women having to choose between the two, never able to have both, is a discussion we’re still having. Why is that? Her characters ask that, too, as we jump to their reunion ten years later: one is a career woman, one a stay-at-home wife, one a trophy wife, one a freelancer, none entirely happy yet. However, as one professes, by forty-five, they’re going to be “pretty fucking amazing.” That optimism is contagious. Quite the enjoyable play, all-in-all!
Isn’t It Romantic? by Wendy Wasserstein: This was my least favorite of Wasserstein’s plays. Following two friends and their foibles on a move back to NYC, Isn’t It Romantic? is another feminist play exploring the idea of the “independent woman” versus the “married woman,” a prominent binary at the time of Wasserstein’s writing. Janie and Harriet waver between the two, causing arguments as one switches to the other side or vice versa. Janie, a freelance screenwriter, is supposed to marry the nice Jewish boy she meets, but is unsure if she actually loves him and his forceful decision-making; Harriet, an ambitious businesswoman, is supposed to climb the corporate ladder just like her mother, but is drawn to marriage after having an affair with her married coworker. The subversion of expectations and the dichotomy provided by the two women is so very interesting; I loved the way Wasserstein structured the piece, scene changes provided by voicemails telling us what’s happening in the offstage world. Unfortunately, I feel like this was Wasserstein’s transitional period. It didn’t flow as well as her other two pieces, the near-absurdist humor clashing with the grounding of the dialogue. Therefore, not my favorite.
The Heidi Chronicles by Wendy Wasserstein: It’s easy to see why this is Wasserstein’s most beloved work. Truly, within the first two pages, I was hooked. Wasserstein came into her own with The Heidi Chronicles: the characters are grounded in vulnerability and confidence; the dialogue works that balance between organic, dynamic, and drive with ease; the arc of each character holds close to no flaws. Following art historian Heidi throughout the years, from a final high school dance to a 30something single, Wasserstein gives us an open-hearted portrait of a woman navigating life in all its transitions. We see her triumph, her heartbreak, her joy, her pain; we explore the shades of feminism and sexuality, the struggle to shatter a glass ceiling, the fight between demure and proud. Wasserstein manages to address politics and human rights while still giving us a world that feels real and grounded, without overwhelm for the audience. The Heidi Chronicles is a master class in how to write character. And, best of all, it ends with incredible optimism and independence, Heidi looking towards the future with hope and excitement. Gah, I just loved it.
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman: I started Spooktober a touch early this year, happily so! This was my first Gaiman: though I love him as a person, I have, embarrassingly, never read his novels. I’ve become immediately addicted upon reading this one. An Alice in Wonderland adaptation before Alice retellings became cool, Neverwhere takes us to the world of London Below, an alternate dimension that exists in London’s sewers. Those that have fallen through the cracks go there, and have for millennia: the Below has its own baronies, fiefdoms, and hierarchies, crafted of families of orphans, the homeless, and the ostracized. Richard Mayhew, of London Above, finds himself accidentally there after helping Door, a woman from Below. Thus begins an adventure that becomes instant classic. Gaiman excels at what I would classify as “creepy whimsy,” crafting an unsettling, highly specific environment with words of fantastical evocation. His world is specific, but his characters are general enough that you can envision them most any way you want. His descriptions are Jabberwocky-esque, letting his reader’s imagination run wild within the confines of his world creation. It’s a phenomenal way to craft art, welcoming and compelling. I read it within a few days. Utter perfection.
Also, for those curious, between August and September, I did an ample amount of research into geek theatre and producing classical theatre in a post-#MeToo world. I won’t link the essays here, as we aren’t all utter academia nerds like me, but they were fascinating.
Watched
Verity Ritchie: Verity Ritchie (known as verilybitchie on YouTube) came up on my suggesteds this past month, and I immediately fell into the rabbit hole of their well-researched, highly entertaining video essays on gender, sexuality, and entertainment. Among others, I’ve watched “How Bisexuality Changed Video Games,” “The Lesbian Vampire in Film (A Deep Dive),” and “The Bisexual History of Dracula,” once again getting into the spooky mood before October hit. They’re all so very good, so much so that I’ve made Jay watch as least one with me. I’ve had practice with feminist theory and feminist analyses, but I’m still a bit of a young one when it comes to queer theory. I love watching what someone like Verity gets from these subjects, and learning more on what to look out for, be aware of, and call out, both within my own work and others’. On top of that, Verity has the best dry humor I’ve heard in a while, their editing skills are A+, and the subject matter they choose is new, unique, and refreshing. I’m looking forward to following and learning from this one for a while.
Some Other YouTubers!: I spent a lot of time with podcasts, music, and writing this month, so I haven’t watched a ton. Outside of Verity, a list of YouTubers that I have been consistently loving the past few months: Ciara Foster, Kalyn Nicholson, Khadija Mbowe, Nayna Florence, Hannah Elise, and A Frolic Through Fiction.
Listened
Codex: History of Video Games (Tyler Ostby and Mike Coletta): I love learning about the variety of ways stories can be told; I especially love learning about things the people I love are passionate about. This podcast combines both. I’m not far in (I’m still in the Atari/Coleco era), but I’m very much enjoying both the information and the presentation of this podcast. Though it pulls primarily from one book, by Steven L. Kent, it’s clear that Tyler and Mike are incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about the gaming industry. They detail the inception and progression chronologically at first, later delving into the histories of individual games and developers; the info is clear and concise, the dynamic between these two is hilarious, and it’s outlined in such an entertaining, compelling way. They struck a fantastic balance from the get-go, and I’ve loved listening to them so far. I’m learning a lot, let me tell you!
What’s Her Name (Dr. Katie Nelson and Olive Meikle): I’ve chatted about this podcast before, but wanted to include it, anyway. I’m still listening, learning, and loving!
More Than a Muse (Sadie and Stauney): Created by two young artists (a singer/songwriter and a graphic designer), More Than a Muse explores women artists of all concentrations throughout history, each either dismissed or forgotten; on occasion, they’ll also dive into more general histories (their most recent episode, upon this writing, is on the political history of dance). They combine their research with their own experiences as female-identifying artists, crafting a full view of what it means to be woman and artist. Not only that, but these two are fantastic on audio: it’s a quality that’s difficult to describe, easier to hear. This podcast has two great hosts, interesting and important subject matter, and beautifully consistent presentation. I’m so glad I found it.
Heiress and Birthplace (Novo Amor): Novo Amor is another of those indie artists that is perfect for background music, whether it be for relaxation, household chores, or work. I had these two albums on in the background of several writing sessions throughout September, and it always provided some good, easy focus. Atmospheric and calm, emotive and sure, Novo Amor will forever be a gentle favorite. Current Faves: “Freehand;” “State Lines”
The Unofficial Bridgerton Musical (Abigail Barlow and Emily Bear): Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve probably heard of both Bridgerton and this subsequent fan musical. Abigail Barlow and Emily Bear are a composer/lyricist team to be reckoned with, bursting onto the MT scene with this album. It. Is. Stunning. It was already phenomenal with the barebones orchestrations they used on TikTok and Instagram to document their journey; now, with Bear’s full orchestrations backing up Barlow’s vocals, it’s become even more beautiful. Their ability to jump between musical stylings (each character has their own match) is admirable, the cohesive variance keeping their listeners engaged the whole of the time. Bear’s orchestrations are soaring, stunning, wondrous. And, my god, the lyrics. As a writer and a fledgling lyricist myself, I can’t help but stop to admire their cleverness, their clarity, their adaptive brilliance. Barlow walks the line between Top 40 and musical theatre perfectly. The two of them together are brilliant, and I cannot wait to see where they go from here. Current Faves: “If I Were a Man,” “Balancing the Scales,” and “Ocean Away” (get ready for your heart to SOAR at that finale climax)
The Hello Girls (Peter Mills and Cara Reichel): I finally finished listening, fully, to this recommendation this past month (sorry for my lateness, Miranda!). My historical heart was overjoyed at this big band musical, telling the story of the Hello Girls of World War I. Female operators sent to the front lines, their work was imperative to the United States surviving the war, yet they’re never spoken of. Mills and Reichel have developed compelling, confident characters based on real people; they’ve told this story through the music of the time, jazz and ragtime and early swing. Music-wise, the harmonies are impeccable, tight trios and quartets that leave goosebumps swarming up your arms. Lyrics-wise, it is clever, funny, heart-breaking and serious in all the right ways. I loved listening to it, and I would kill to see it live. Hopefully, a new production is on the horizon. Current Faves: “See You on the Other Side,” “Lives on the Line,” “Cryptic Triptych,” “Twenty,” and “Making History”
Jasper in Deadland (Ryan Scott Oliver): This was by far my favorite musical theatre listen of the month. I took forever to listen to this album, and I absolutely should not have. Oliver has crafted something brilliant with this, a pop/rock musical retelling of Alice in Wonderland. Following Jasper, an insecure young man, as he travels to Deadland (read: the Underworld, near the River Lethe) to rescue his friend, the story is a Gothic fiction, addressing grief, remembrance, friendship, family, and what it means to truly live. The music is definitively rock, jumping between intense ballads and belt-central; the freaking ensemble on this piece is insane with their harmonies. The lyricism combines Carroll riddles with grounded philosophy. All in all, it is an addictive piece, one that I’ve been listening to on repeat. Current Faves: “The Killing, “Living Dead,” and “Lifesong”
Chemtrails Over the Country Club (Lana Del Ray): I count myself on middle ground when it comes to Lana Del Ray. I love her work when I listen to it, but I tend to go to other things first. I feel the same way about this album. Del Ray’s voice is lovely, with a dark warmth to it, and I find her lyrics to be evocative and entrancing. I just don’t listen to her all that often. Still, a good album. Ya did it again, girl. Current Faves: “White Dress” and “Not All Who Wander Are Lost”
Someday We Will Foresee Obstacles (Syd Matters): This is an old Syd Matters album, originally released in 2007, but, after getting back into the Life is Strange soundtrack, I wanted to listen to some more of their work. They did not disappoint. Gentle and lilting, with depth and addictive rhythm, this album is one that could function as both background music and when you just need to emote. I’ve used it while writing or journaling several times, and it’s been reliably perfect. Current Faves: “To All of You,” “Obstacles,” and “Someday Sometimes”
If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power (Halsey): You may not know this about me, but I love Halsey. Everything this beautiful artist does, whether it be music, fashion, makeup, or weird photography, I’m over here losing my mind. I. Love. Them. I was a little late on the listening of this, but I wanted it to be a moment where I could really just sit and listen and absorb. And my god, they’ve done it again. Halsey’s latest album is a masterpiece of storytelling, intentionally dark and villainous. It would make for a fantastic inspiration soundtrack for a villain, in fact. The lyrics weave a tale of trauma, survival, loyalty, and love, the album arcing from a place of true manipulation (with the “ask for forgiveness, never permission” of “The Tradition”) to the bittersweetness of love and loss (“Darling, you will bury me before I bury you”). It’s like listening to a character portrait. Musically, they shift between slow ponderings and quick, vengeful instrumentation, which keeps you engaged entirely. I. Loved it. So. Much. Current Faves: “Ya’aburnee” (my ultimate favorite of the album), “The Tradition,” “Lilith,” “I am not a woman, I’m a god,” and “The Lighthouse”
That's all for now, my friends. Sending love!
Rhiannon