Still home, self-quarantining. And still here, reading one book a day for as long as this COVID-19 shelter in place lasts. (This was my stack from the week when I first set this goal.) Week two was a good one.

I’m happy to report that I’ve successfully kept up my one-book-a-day streak—even reading three in one sitting because for the first time in years, I stepped away from my laptop to remove any temptation to work after hours. Two weeks in and I’ve never felt more satiated. No sense of boredom. Minimal mindless scrolling. Better sleep. There’s magic in books, I tell you, and it’s a shame it took years to rediscover and appreciate their beauty.

These were the things I read:

DAY 9: NO ONE BELONGS HERE MORE THAN YOU

I purchased No One Belongs Here More Than You because it was one of those books women my age are supposed to love, and apparently do love, according to Instagram. However, I struggled to connect with it. Perhaps I was distracted (the last two days were particularly stressful dealing with sudden deadlines and unexpected changes)—but really, I think this is a perfect example of how books are meant to come to you. Anything forced (i.e.: not through happenstance discovery or recommendation by someone who truly knows or adores you) will be read with great strain. Case in point.

In short: don’t subscribe to what everyone’s having. You know yourself best. Had I come across this book at another point in my life, may of received it differently. (Or, it simply requires being a different person altogether.) This passage, though, I loved:

“Remember, you don’t have to make the whole world romantic, or even the bedroom. Just a small space in front of your face. Very manageable territory… Because when he looks at you (or she—romance has no biases!), he has to look through the air in front of your face. Is that space polluted?”

It’s a shame I’m so lukewarm about it. The title is so good, and the paperback itself feels so good. Something about the texture of the cover—a light, slippery matte finish with just enough sheen so freshly applied hand cream could never leave an oily print—and the weight of insides. Smooth, even, crisp. All the makings of a potential favorite…  and yet.

In the meantime: I’ve used up my little cube of Starface Hydro-Stars and opened up a new bottle of a longtime favorite, Sunday Riley Good Genes. Good skin to come. Better books to follow.

DAY 10: SWING TIME

Why I waited so long to read Zadie Smith’s acclaimed novel, Swing Time, is beyond me—but I’m so glad it surfaced to the top of my reading list when it did. It’s possible I’m partial because much of this story surrounds dance and a young woman’s relationship to the world around her (her on-and-off again friend, her mother, her father, her job, her love and appreciation for performance); it’s almost too easy—narcissistic, albeit human—to project myself into the storyline, into the mind of the protagonist. (What that says about me is a deep-dive for another time.)

Every other chapter contains a piece worth underlining, worth saving. The first appears in the prologue and is particularly poignant in a time when I’m realizing just how closely I self-identify with my career:

“I felt a wonderful lightness in my body, a ridiculous happiness, it seemed to come from nowhere. I’d lost my job, a certain version of my life, my privacy, yet all these things felt small and petty next to this joyful sense I had watching the dance, and following its precise rhythms in my own body. I felt I was losing track of my physical location, rising above my body, viewing from my life at a distant point. […] A truth was being revealed to me: that I had always tried to attach myself to the light of other people…”

It’s clear that she’s profound—and she’s able to materialize the very feelings (micro-aggressions, unformed thoughts, the things we feel but can’t seem to verbalize) with utter precision. My favorite parts of the book, however, were any passages of or relating to dance. Unsurprising, of course, but her relationship—and mine—with movement is grounded in what it means to be a woman:

“She wanted to see a dancer on stage, sweating, real, not done up in top hats and tails. But elegance attracted me. I liked the way it hid pain.”

Effortlessness, elegance, perfection. All things I (and so many) strive for, performers and women alike—out of a need to create an illusion for society at large. Still, dancers are the “best type of people” because “their bodies,” not their minds, “tell them what to do.” And through dance, Smith/the protagonist is able to seamlessly explore the dissonance between what she seeks in performance and what she sees in her own femininity:

“Romance was beyond me: it required a form of personal mystery I couldn’t manufacture and disliked in others. I couldn’t pretend that my legs do not grow hair or that my body does not excrete a variety of foul substances or that my feet aren’t flat as pancakes. I could not flirt and saw no purpose in flirting. I did not mind dressing up for strangers… but in our rooms, within our intimacy, I could not be a girl, nor could I be anybody’s baby, I could only be a female human, and the sex I understood was the kind that occurs between friends and equals, bracketing conversation, like a shelf of books between bookends.”

TL;DR: I can’t believe I never read the synopsis in the back of the book. To think: I used to be the kid who read the dust jacket or back cover before selecting anything out of the library—and that was just to borrow! Here I am now, buying blind despite knowing it would be a full-time commitment!).

DAY 11: THE WIDOW’S GUIDE TO SEX & DATING

If you know me, it’s no surprise that I adore Carole Radziwill. I loved What Remains, but The Widow’s Guide to Sex & Dating was far from what I’d normally reach for; still, I bought it because Radziwill was its author.

It’s charming, it’s funny, it’s what I wish Sex & the City (the book) was: like the TV series. 

DAY 12: WHAT DO WOMEN WANT?

Another woman I adore: Erica Jong. Fearless, liberated, and spunky in all her glory, I’ve admired Jong since I first discovered an excerpt from Fear of Flying in high school. I haven’t read much else by her since, but when I found this signed copy of  from The Strand, I couldn’t resist. I would’ve purchased it for the cover alone. What Do Women Want? Bread. Roses. Sex. Power.

The cheekiness! The truth!

If you’re new to the ideas of feminism (or are eager to explore them, as a woman), this is definitely a book of essays worth reading. A pop culture focus makes such expansive a topic digestible, and in under 200 pages, you’re given a breadth of topics to mull over. If you’re not, it’s still worthwhile: the simplicity is refreshing and because it’s written through a lens very “of its time,” it’s all the more winsome. After you read this, read Women Who Run with the Wolves.

One of the most interesting essays, perhaps, is a piece on Hillary Clinton and her inability to appeal to women who are just like her. Though Jong wrote about Clinton as a First Lady, the analysis rings true for her loss in the 2016 presidential campaign, sadly—which speaks volumes of how little American society has changed in the last two decades.

“We should weep for Hillary Clinton rather than revile her. She is a perfect example of why life is so tough for brainy women. The constant transformations of her public image revealed the terrible contortions expected of us. Look pretty but be (secretly) smart. Conform in public, cry in private. Make the money, but don’t seem to be aggressive. Swallow everything your husband asks you to swallow, but somehow keep your own identity. Hillary Rodham Clinton shows us just how impossible all these conflicting demands are to fulfill. And the television camera acts like a lie detector, showing her deep discomfort with all her forced metamorphoses.”

The point of this collection, though, is to shed light on all that’s wrong with society—but also reinforce that “female power cannot be suppressed; it can only be driven underground.”

Do read it. It’s everything you’d expect from Erica Jong. Throw on a lipstick, own your sensuality, and empower yourself with the tenants of equality. We can have it all.

DAY 12 (CONT’D): OPEN ME

My copy of Lisa Locascio’s Open Me is another reason why I’m a proponent of buying used books: somehow, from God knows who, I got my hands on a galley! (Book geeks will understand how cool this is.)

I devoured it within one sitting. There are moments of beautiful imagery—of violet, as the color of passion—amongst others that brought great frustration (not sexual, just bewilderment at the silliness of it all). It’s sad, sensual, a little aggravating, but overall, it’s enjoyable if you’re someone who wants a romance read without the awkward smut.

Never one to resist a theme, I suddenly felt the urge to revisit Tom Ford Black Orchid while reading this. A bottle of Heretic Parfum’s Dirty Violet would have been especially apropos, but Black Orchid was the headiest, dirtiest perfume on hand. It’s a doozy, but it certainly got me in the mood.

DAY 12 (STILL!): THE SPY

Paulo Coelho’s The Spy was the third (and final book) I read Friday night. Somehow, inadvertently, I’m choosing books within a theme: I had no idea that this was about the notorious Mata Hari, burlesque dancer turned (unsuccessful) spy! How timely; I’ve had an obsession with burlesque since childhood, but recently, it’s resurfaced and I’ve been studying, researching, reading obsessively about the art of it.

But about the book. Like all other works by Coelho, it’s an easy, under-one-hour read. It’s fascinating because it’s told form Mata Hari’s perspective—and the novel is enjoyable. Read it clear of mind and sans expectations, without seeking a message as monumental as the moral in The Alchemist … though I’ll leave you with this one:

“I am going to dance. I am going to remember every musical note and move my body to the rhythm, because it shows me who I am—a free woman!

Because that’s what I always sought: freedom. I did not seek love..it has come and gone…”

DAY 13: SEX AND RAGE

I bought Sex and Rage after my first trip to Los Angeles because I loved the city so much and wanted more of it. What I didn’t realize, though, that I picked it up almost exactly a year later, since LA. (I know I keep saying this but how can I not ignore the magical timing of every book that’s come my way)?

Eve Babitz is so distinctly LA in the way that Joan Didion is San Francisco Californian. Babitz is Didion, but dishy: she captures all the insecurities, the obsession with celeb-dom, the fixation with appearance—qualities in stark contrast to LA’s idea of New York, and therefore grounds for great trepidation towards it East Coast rival. And yet: there’s beauty in the West Coast blues, too.

It’s toxic, intoxicating, and glamorous. I can’t wait to read more of her work.

DAY 14: DEAR JENNY, WE ARE ALL FIND

I bought Dear Jenny, We Are All Find because Sour Heart resonated with me so deeply that I was ravenous for more of Jenny Zhang’s work. There’s a deep, dark, ugliness to her writing that I would typically find repelling (see above in Swing Time: I, too, prefer elegance in truth over visibility of pain—a trait taught to me as a woman, as a first-generation Chinese-American), but through Zhang’s storytelling, it’s honest, haunting, and heartbreaking.

The question of “What is erosion?” prompts one of her pieces; her response:

“We do not eat at Chinese restaurants unless owned by first or second wave Orientalists sure of their past.”

Tell me there isn’t heartache or truth in such simple a sentiment. Or in this, which reverberated in my heart:

“I regret the heart we were captured in

in there I was not a nice person

in there I was a forgetful person

in there I required to know everyone

before anyone can know me

in there no one knew me

in there I was so alone

I might as well have been out there

which is where I am

out here and the deepness of my mother’s thoughts

so weighty and impressive

I nearly faint from the love I was nearly capable of”

I can’t stop thinking about this poem.

.   .   .

xx