Read Anything Good Lately? #3

The Winter Solstice Edition

Hello Friends,

Happy Winter Solstice! As much as I can enjoy burrowing into the darkness of winter, and the introvert in me truly can, I’m always relieved when we begin moving toward the light. Things continue to be difficult for so many. Deep grief, exhaustion, fear, and loss. We’re not in easy times. With the return of the light, comes hope.

I’m grateful for the community we’ve created with Beyond. I’ve been lucky enough to speak with some of our greatest minds and kindest hearts, as well as to publish some profoundly moving artwork and essays—and to share this wisdom and beauty with all of you. This means everything to me. From childhood, my father (who grew up in London during WWII) taught me that if you’re able to help someone then you must do so. So it’s my hope the offerings here provide some ease, gentleness, insight, laughter, joy; a balm for our tired, rattled but buoyant selves.

It’s also been a tremendous pleasure to get to know so many of you. Thank you for subscribing to, sharing, liking, commenting on, and recommending Beyond! I look forward to our next year together.

I’ll be taking next week off to celebrate the holidays, but will be back on January 5th with an interview with Cheryl Strayed. It’s a good one!

Wishing you all a beautiful Winter Solstice and a Happy New Year. As John and Yoko so eloquently sang: “Let’s hope it’s a good one, without any fear.”

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To celebrate the Solstice, I asked a few 2022 interviewees about treasured books that carry them or their families through winter, the result of which is my TBR pile has grown exponentially! (Helpful hint: Have a box of tissues nearby when you read Vanessa Mártir’s response. I’m just saying.)

Joanna Rakoff:

I have a tradition of using the last few weeks of the year both to catch up on Big Books that I missed when they first came out and, conversely, to re-read favorite books. This year, I'll be reading Domenica Ruta's now-classic memoir With or Without You, Hernan Diaz's Trust, and Barbara Kingsolver's The Poisonwood Bible—which my oldest just read for AP Lit and loved—and re-reading Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49 (which I read annually) and Jennifer Egan's The Keep and A Visit from the Goon Squad, largely because my middle child, Pearl, is making her way through Egan's oeuvre and keeps asking me questions like, "why is he in jail?" and what have you, but I read these novels so long ago, I don't have any answers for her!

My youngest child, Izzy, is six, and just began reading on her own, but still insists I read to her each night. And I'm okay with that, because reading to her might be my favorite part of the day. She's somewhat obsessed with books that my older kids loved, too, and I've now read them aloud so many times, I've memorized them. They are: Victoria Jamieson's Roller Girl and All's Faire in Middle School. Raina Telgemeier's Sisters, Smile, Drama, and Ghosts. Also, Judy Blume's Fudge books, which make us both fall off the bed laughing. It's possible that I love these books as much as does she and also possible that I love them more each time I read them. Over winter break, however, she's planned for us to read a series called Dori Fantasmagory.

Dani Shapiro:

I find my attention more fragmented than usual this time of year, so I’ve been gravitating toward shorter works — whether stories, essays, or novellas. I just finished Claire Keegan’s masterful read-in-one-sitting novel, Small Things Like These, and have been dipping into Jess Walter’s wonderful new story collection, The Angel of Rome. I’m obsessed with the journals of Anne Truitt, the latest of which is Yield, an unexpected treasure, edited and compiled long after Truitt’s passing, by her daughter. 

I tend to re-read a Virginia Woolf novel each year, and this winter I think I shall revisit The Waves, as I’m particularly interested in thinking about novels told in multiple voices that add up to a kind of chorus.

Esmé Weijun Wang:

Pain, Parties, Work, by Elizabeth Winder

The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson

Beautiful World, Where Are You, Sally Rooney.

Vanessa Mártir:

When I think of the holidays of the past, I think of a photo my mother sent me years ago of a Noche Buena (Xmas eve) in mid-1980s Brooklyn. The 6 foot plastic tree in the background is heavily decorated like my second mom Millie did every year, so much sparkly garland and tinsel, bright lights and shiny ornaments, you can barely see any of the needles. I can still hear the gold ornament that emitted a loud male cardinal chirp. Millie buried it deep in the crevices of the tree, & we kids took turns searching for it. The first person to find it got a prize & bragging rights. In the pic, my older brother Juan Carlos is mid-dance move, his arms are bent, one over his head, his lips are slightly pursed like he’s feeling the rhythm. I’m in front of him, dancing too, my arms up, hair in barrettes away from my face, I’m looking at him in a way that shows he’s already my hero. 

As adults he loved dragging me around the city, to 5th Ave and Madison, boutiques and galleries along the cobble streets of Soho that neither of us could afford. He planned family outings to Macy’s Santaland and the tree in Rockefeller Center. Carlos loved this time of year, so it’s been a sad time for me since he died in 2013, and became even more dreadful when his only child Justin Andrew was murdered in mid-December last year. 

Justin was my first child—when my brother got locked up my first year of college when Justin was just one, I took my brother’s place, picking my nephew up weekends to take him to museums and parks. I can still see him running down the hall of the 9th floor of John Jay Hall, his giggles ricocheted off the walls. 

I have a clear memory of reading Clement Clarke Moore’s Twas the Night Before Christmas to him that year, sitting on the floor of my dorm room, Justin sitting snug on my lap, the book in front of us. He pointed at the pictures with his pudgy finger, then looked up at me, as if to say: “what’s that, titi?” I responded: that’s a star, that’s a tree, that’s Santa Claus.

The other day at Walmart my Titi Sulma spotted a beautifully crafted Twas the Night Before Christmas. I remember her reading it to us as kids, then to her children and ours, and now her grandson. 

It’s her whose kept the traditions alive, a matriarch, she is the keeper of these traditions and rituals that I worry will go with the older generation when they depart. 

“Grab it,” she said excitedly when I told her the book was on sale for $5. The memory of Justin and I in my tiny dorm room in John Jay Hall flashed across my mind, and for the first time in a long time I wasn’t sad when I remembered him, my first child. I remembered my brother and holidays of long ago, and I remembered that picture.

“I’m gonna read it on Christmas Eve,” she said with a big smile. 

I blinked hard and said: “Make sure you wait for me before you do.” 

Me:

I love Katherine May’s Wintering. I’ve read (and listened to) this more times than I can count and was lucky enough to speak with Katherine in October. It’s a beautifully reflective and soothing exploration of this season. I also enjoy revisiting some childhood favorites such as Mr. Willowby’s Christmas Tree. And with time off from interview prep, I’m going to delve into Michelle Obama’s The Light We Carry.

I also want to mention a few newsletters that I’ve really enjoyed this year.

Oldster: Sari Botton “explores what it means to travel through time in a human body” with such grace, humor, and dignity. There are beautiful essays and illuminating questionnaires and interviews on growing older—at any age. This was the first newsletter I subscribed to. And quite possibly, Beyond wouldn’t exist without Sari’s unflagging support and guidance.

Café Anne: This makes me miss my beloved NYC like nothing else! Anne Kadet is brilliant and hilarious and bursting with curiosity. She investigates everything from the guinea pig explosion to dueling next-door-neighbor bagel shops. And offers wonderful interviews with folks she meets on her wanderings.

Both Are True: Alex Dobrenko has the most marvelous mind. It’s one part anxious meanderings, one part humorous imaginings, and the rest is all tenderness. I’m not even sure how to describe this one but I’d encourage you to check it out!

Noted: I’ve just discovered Jillian Hess’ simply exquisite newsletter of notebooks and their famous note-takers. James Baldwin, Agatha Christie, and Frida Kahlo are a few of the many I’ve enjoyed. Seeing the note-takers’ handwriting touches my heart. And Jillian provides thoughtful and compelling context.  

Dear Sugar: Cheryl Strayed is a wonder of kindness, wisdom, love, humor, and practical advice. If you’re not already familiar with Dear Sugar, now’s the time to change that.

How about you? What books do you or your loved ones enjoy this time of year?