Still at home, reading one book a day for as long as this quarantine lasts.

DAY 61: DEVOTION (WHY I WRITE) + THE YEAR OF THE MONKEY

I love the way Patti Smith sees and experiences the world. Everything is ritualistic. Absolute poetry. And although her first few books (Just Kids, M Train) still hold rank as my favorites thus far, Devotion and The Year of the Monkey are beautiful reads. You see Smith–her heart, her soul—and through her openness, you understand her.

DAY 62: THE GIVENNESS OF THINGS

This is the first of Marilynne Robinson’s works I’ve read (Gilead, her Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, is now in my cart) and though it took a few essays for me to acclimate and settle into her rhythm, there was no question of her peerlessness. And that closing interview with Obama during his presidency! I miss him, I think we all do.

(A warning, though: much of her reflections and criticisms are delivered with a dose of Christianity. It’s not offensive or overbearing, but religion is present, and so clearly informs her deductions.)

DAY 63: WHILE THE GODS WERE SLEEPING

I can’t recommend this book enough. It’s beautiful, written with such vivid, gorgeous imagery that transports. (And I’ll leave it at that.)

DAY 63 (CONT’D): AMERICANAH

After While the Gods Were Sleeping, I was left entranced and in the mood for something else to bury myself within. I opened Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah with the intention of just starting it—only I couldn’t put it down until the last page, nearly three hours later. It’s no secret that Adichie can write, and no contest that everything she publishes is more than just another story.

“[Americans] never said ‘I don’t know.’ They said, instead, ‘I’m not sure,’ which did not give up any information but still suggested the possibility of knowledge. And they ambled, the Americans, they walked without rhythm. They avoided giving direct instructions […] When you tripped and fell, when you choked, when misfortune befell you, they did not say ‘Sorry.’ They said ‘Are you okay?’ when it was obvious that you were not.”

For unpacking things like above—something my immigrant parents (and me, even as a first-gen American) never understood—and for this, too:

“Ifemelu wanted to fling the phone away. Keep her in mind. Why would Ginika even repeat such an empty expression, ‘keep her in mind’?”

DAY 64: THE SUN AND HER FLOWERS

I always love seeing a writer’s sophomore book. How have they changed? Will they write with a newfound wildness—empowered by the first release—or will that publication’s success (failure, or lukewarm reception) stunt or entrap them? Rupi Kaur’s follow-up to milk and honey isn’t milk and honey (save the distinct formatting), but it’s still her, just more of her this time.

And I loved the sun and her flowers for it.

DAY 65: THE BRIEF WONDROUS LIFE OF OSCAR WAO

It’s strange to read a book and recognize the places—like the college you went to, the highway you drove up and down twice daily during your commute, even the Japanese shopping center that you too frequented as a kid in search of imported stationery and interesting snacks. Every time Junot Díaz makes a reference to something I actually know, I’m jerked out of the storyline and into my own memories—but it’s exactly why his work is so brilliant. It’s a love story at the core, but it’s one that we know because novel or not, it’s real.

A true reflection of the American experience, sans glamour and filters.

DAY 66: THE ESSENTIAL RUMI

I bought this at one of the campus bookstores during my freshman year in college, and every so often (when I remembered), I’d open to a random page and read a passage in the morning. Once spring semester was over and I was back home for the summer, The Essential Rumi was shelved. It remained untouched for years, even when I moved out and was reminded of its existence. I had no interest in revisiting Rumi then, until last week.

Reading it now unearthed so many memories of who I was then. Nostalgia—finding it and attempting to recreate it—seems to be the theme of this quarantine.

DAY 66 (CONT’D): AMERICAN DIRT

I typically have an aversion to popular books, but anything that makes Oprah’s Book Club is one I’ll make an exception for. And I’m so glad I did—American Dirt was gripping. Heart-wrenching. Anxiety-inducing in all the best ways possible because for a couple hundred pages, we’re just able to see and feel the horrifying truths experienced by so many. It barely scratches the surface,  of course, but this story will teach you softness. Empathy. Gratitude. (And hopefully, inspire us all to do what we can to help.)

Simply put: American Dirt was impossible to put down.

DAY 67: THE THIEF’S JOURNAL

Sartre and (Patti) Smith were admirers of Jean Genet, so naturally, I felt compelled to hunt down a first-edition print of The Thief’s Journal. The lyricism is near unparalleled, and the narrator’s unabashed exploration of homosexuality, deception, and larceny is revolutionary.

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