888 life updates
Ebie reveals her favorite place on earth. Kelly reviews the inscrutable Anaïs Nin. (Plus, our summer reading lists!)
what we’re listening to
K: My good friend and old SPARK colleague, Maya Fawaz, has just released her podcast with The Drag! “Crooked Power” is an immersive journalism project covering the 2010 Ecuador crisis. Maya, who is astute and eloquent in everyday life, is even more so here, where her attention to narrative detail and meticulous production approach synthesizes an otherwise convoluted historical event into something deeply affecting. I know she’s been working on this project for over a year—and I want to shout out how amazingly it’s turned out! If you’re into history, check it out on Spotify. Two episodes have been released.
E: I’m currently listening to hot girl running around europe. Living vicariously through Moya, who’s currently solo-tripping around Europe, and rediscovering a lot of music that I never really paid attention to. Gracie Abrams’s Feels Like has been on repeat. It’s the right amount of sad in that I don’t have to be heartbroken/depressed to enjoy it. Like a bittersweet sort of happy. met you at the right time / this is what it feels like. 💕
what we’re reading
We’re sharing our summer reading lists this week. If you’ve read any of the books we mention here or have suggestions, please let us know your thoughts! <3
K: I’m reading Henry and June, a nonfiction account of a year in writer Anaïs Nin’s life (1931-1932). It is the year she meets couple Henry and June Miller and successively enters into love affairs with them both. This book has, as I’ve repeatedly described to friends, set my head on fire. It is erotic, but in the most non-contrived, liberating way; and strangely pure, too, in the sense that it feels totally undiluted—just as a private diary ought to be.
Taken from the “The Journal of Love,” Anaïs’s collection of unexpurgated (i.e., uncensored) diary entries corresponds temporally with her other collection of entries, those ones expurgated. The Wikipedia page explains: “Nin's source material—her diaries—was able to spawn two dramatically different narratives about the same time period, both widely read and praised. The expurgated diary reveals Nin the philosopher and amateur but astute psychologist. The unexpurgated diary reveals a woman breaking out into wild sexual discovery.”
There’s an obvious comment on the duplicitous nature of female desire to be made here, a clear citation of what Elana Dykewomon describes as lying dormant in nearly all women: “a secret belief that she is just on the edge of madness, that there is some deep, crazy part within her, that she must be on guard constantly against ‘losing control’ — of her temper, of her appetite, of her sexuality, of her feelings, of her ambition, of her secret fantasies, of her mind.”
From an academic standpoint, there really is no better way to engage with the psychical doubleness of women’s romantic and sexual experiences than through something like an intimate diary medium. From a personal standpoint, I’m just totally dumbstruck by how concisely (it’s mentioned multiple times in this book that Anaïs has a rather punishing and “masculine” style of writing) she’s able to put into words such specific feelings as I’d never imagined were describable at all.
As you can probably tell from these glowing reviews, I’ve been on an incredibly successful reading streak (meaning, I like what I’m picking up) this year! I would put Henry and June up there with other 5-star books I’ve read in the last 12 months, such as Giovanni’s Room and Frankenstein.
Here’s my full summer reading list:
Waiting For Godot by Samuel Beckett
Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector (or some other title by her)
Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin by Anaïs Nin
Just Kids by Patti Smith
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson (or some other Gothic title)
The Little Friend by Donna Tartt
E: I just finished Beach Read by Emily Henry. It’s a love story between two writers struggling with writer’s block in neighboring beach houses. They’re polar opposites: Gus writes depressing literary fiction, and January writes sappy romance. So they swap genres and fall in love, obviously.
Romance novels get a bad rep for being a waste of time. It is a lot of fluff with happy endings and meet-cutes - and I can’t dwell in it too long without a) wanting a boyfriend or b) romanticitizing my life to a fault. But I grew up a product of Meg Cabot, Sarah Dessen, and Jenny Han - I learned about sex from reading The Princess Diaries #8, obsessively made lists of all the boys I’ve loved before, and wrote diary entries like I’m the main character of a rom-com. So I’m grateful to Emily Henry for reigniting that spark.
As I’m no longer a never-been-kissed 14-year-old girl, I can read this kind of stuff without desperately wanting it for myself and feeling like I’ve escaped from reality. Her way of writing also contains a lot more character development than her predecessors. It’s no longer about endless summer nights at the beach; it’s grounded in something more, like their writing careers or outlook on life. As un-fluffed as romance novels get, I’d say.
Anyway, here’s my full summer list:
My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante, translated by Ann Goldstein. K got this for my bday, so I’ve been savoring it for as long as possible (because it’s us!! it’s this newsletter!! and I love both dearly).
Time is a Mother by Ocean Vuong. The title alone kills me!!! Haven’t stopped thinking about Ocean’s words since On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous.
After Leaving Mr. Mackenzie by Jean Rhys. I really enjoyed her other book, Wide Sargasso Sea, which is a brilliant spin off of Bronte’s Jane Eyre. This one is a love story of sorts, set in Paris. Thanks Amber for lending it to me! <3
Taipei by Tao lin. The characters are drugged-up, a little strange, and largely based on the author’s life. Love a good autobio-fiction.
Bunny by Mona Awad. K’s recommendation. Seems like The Secret History meets Frankenstein and maybe even My Year of Rest and Relaxation. Excited to read this next.
Book Lovers by Emily Henry. It just came out! Most anticipated novel of 2022! Eliza (our favorite Goodreads connoisseur) also rated it 5 stars, so I have high hopes.
Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers. Recommended to me by my creative writing professor after reading my short story about a girl who murdered her best friend’s ex-boyfriend lol.
These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong. Shakespeare / Romeo & Juliet meets 1920s Shanghai… I wish I had this in high school.
Grapefruit: A Book of Instructions by Yoko Ono. A fun little compilation of poetry/collage/illustration, recommended by my professor last fall. No idea what to expect or where to get it - seems like it’s been out of print. But who knows! I’m sure I’ll stumble upon it at an indie bookstore this summer and it’ll be magical.
P.S. add me on Goodreads :)
what we’re watching
K: I painted my nails and finished a bottle of white wine to lesbian flick staple Imagine Me & You the other night. It (the movie) wasn’t that good 😭💔 Next time I’m in the mood for feel-good wlw, I’ll just rewatch D.E.B.S. Or this Kim and Shego fight scene.
E: I’m watching movies that make me feel like a kid again.
My first time watching Dead Poets was in 7th grade. I forgot about it for a while, until K pulled up a quote from it our sophomore year, when we were both wavering between our traditional majors (Marketing / Econ) and the majors we thought were more meaningful (English, Classics, etc.):
“We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for … That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse … What will your verse be?”
I return to this quote often for different reasons. I needed to hear it then, because it seemed like my life was hopelessly hurled towards being a lawyer. Now, it reminds me that creativity and practicality can peacefully coexist, as we leverage the natural tension between the two. K and I ended up keeping our original majors, maybe to the dismay of past us. But I think growing up is seeing how it all layers on top of each other. Just because I’m taking economic classes doesn’t mean I’m trapped in it forever. Some things you grow into liking, and some things become source material. Knowing what you’re passionate about, what your verse is, is a lifetime thing that requires much more work than the act of switching majors, after all.
how we’re living
K: I’m indulging in my favorite time of the year right now—which, weather-wise and feeling-wise, only lingers in this city for a few brief weeks. There’s been lots of: cleaning, resting, clearing out, watching Amora watch the birds as the 8 AM (!!!) light filters in just right, sinking into sun-warmed chairs on the Starbucks patio with my croissant and journal, napping on the couch, brewing evening tea, and taking aimless walks up and down the rapidly emptying streets. Things will get busy again soon (Cam and I both start work in June, and I’ve already booked tickets to SF!) so this pocket of time is just…it means everything to me. You know how much of a stickler I am for routine.
If Cam is the adventuring dreamer in her Rachel-Green-takes-New-York-City era this summer, I am the homemaker, ordering lamps for our new apartment and bookmarking recipes I can’t wait to make for her when I fly up to visit in August. Will the corner bodega have the strawberry kefir I want her to try? Do houseplant renting services exist? Everyone knows a home is no home without some pothos on the windowsill. I’m fortunate to have a slew of trips lined up for the summer, some to cities I’ve never visited, and others I am dying to return to — yet, embarrassingly, I am the most excited about redecorating the SPARK office, 10 minutes away from my apartment.
Though I love my work, homemaking—not its gender implications, but the intrinsic and androgynous act of making a home—has always been attractive to me. Take this Audrey Hepburn quote:
“It's sad if people think that's (homemaking) a dull existence, [but] you can't just buy an apartment and furnish it and walk away. It's the flowers you choose, the music you play, the smile you have waiting. I want it to be gay and cheerful, a haven in this troubled world. I don't want my husband and children to come home and find a rattled woman. Our era is already rattled enough, isn't it?”
Or this, from Jenny Slate:
“Domesticity is very sacred to me. Making a home is…it’s just, like, the central thing in my life. When I cannot make a home, even in a hotel room, I feel really lost. Putting everything in a certain place on purpose — not just, like, throwing shit down, but putting everything in a certain place on purpose and starting to sort of figure out how the trains run, basically. […] Even when I get into a car, I think about where I’m sitting and how I’m sitting and what I’m touching. And I just try hard to do that.”
So that has been my main preoccupation these last two weeks: slowing down to reconcile with time and space again, which I inevitably lose track of during the semester. Really Feeling It. Like when Taylor says, capture it, remember it, I’ve been taking inventory of all the things I love about my apartment, my campus, and my city because I know my time here is limited; what’s more, I know that when I leave, I’ll never really be able to come back.
E: Admittedly, my track record with this time of the year hasn’t been the best. Long empty stretches of time days blur together nothing really to look forward to when you wake up to bad habits returning my mom making eggs every morning before she goes to work like I’m 17 again and trying to run away from home without a car. And summer in country clubs makes me cry.
I’m feeling good about this summer, though. I’m moving to New York in three days eeeee!! For as long as I can remember, it was all I dreamed about. I’ve imagined watching the first snow from my apartment on a hazy November day, ordering Chinese takeout, the muted sound of people hustling home before the storm gets stronger. I’ve traced and retraced the city through any piece of art I consume. It was my home before I knew how to get there. Like the saying goes, “There are places you haven’t been where you already belong.”
Now that it’s finally happening, I’m worried that I fell in love prematurely. I don’t have that much of a plan. I got my apartment settled just last week. And I don’t know if it has a fire escape, or where I can get groceries. The people there are inspiring, sure, but what if I accidentally slip in a “y’all”? What happens then?
So I don’t think summer will go as I expect. But I’m excited! K and I already made plans to get our first tattoos when she visits in August (actually, I’m still convincing her to get one). Something, I don’t know what yet, will be immortalized then.