The Writer Who Reads: Recent Episodes
The Writer Who Reads
Just As You Are by Camille Kellogg was described to me as “A queer Pride and Prejudice inspired enemies-to-lovers, featuring a queer magazine and it’s brooding, new investor.“
Well, let me tell you, my experience with this book could be described as enemies-to-lovers as well. Actually, welcome to the first enemies-to-lovers book review on thewriterwhoreads.com.
Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?
September 4, 2023. Lucky for me, my birthday landed on labor day and I packed the day with all my favorite things: Thai food, leisurely strolls through boutique knickknack stores, expensive lattes, and a bookstore or two.
When we happened upon The Ripped Bodice, I practically ran in. The Ripped Bodice is an independent, woman and queer owned bookstore dedicated to romance novels. It’s pink. I walked in like I was home. It was crowded as hell; full of women and few uncomfortable looking straight boyfriends. Right as I felt a bit overwhelmed, my partner popped out of nowhere with a wrapped book.
I had always wanted to buy one of those “blind date with a book” things and leapt at this one. Pride and Prejudice, you say? Queer? Sold.
In classic Writer Who Reads fashion, I didn’t unwrap this book for a good month.
Then, when I finally unwrapped the book and read the first chapter, I threw it in a dusty corner never to be seen again. The first few chapters of this book really annoyed me. It was like someone handed a straight writer a list of stereotypical lesbian things and said, “don’t leave a single detail out.“
Maybe I felt personally attacked because I, too, am a queer in Brooklyn but do not own Doc Martens, have some type of shaved head, or own any suggestive gay t-shirts.
And, while I enjoyed the play on words with the Nether Fields magazine, every element of that office being named after some queer icon was annoying. It took me out of the story every time the “Kioyoko Kitchen (named after Hayley Kiyoko of course)” was mentioned.
Despite sounding like the hater that I am, I can see how this may delight other readers, which has forced me to self reflect. Why was this so irritating to me? Shouldn’t our queer culture – dress and references and language – be celebrated at every turn?
Yes, of course.
Sometimes, however, I find that the culture can hinder genuine self expression. We can’t all love Doc Martens and rainbows, and that’s okay.
Okay, here ends the enemies portion of this review. Let’s fall in love.
I’m moving soon and need to decide which books in my library will move with me. I also accepted that I have a mild (read: aggressive) social media addiction and quit cold turkey. I picked up Just As You Are again to kill two birds with one stone.
Without the cooking videos and wedding content of Instagram to distract me, I trudged through the first 100 pages of the book. I began to enjoy meeting the characters and making the connections to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.
Liz was Elizabeth Bennet
Daria was Fitzwilliam Darcy
Bailey was Charles Bingley
Jane was Jane Bennet
Then the story sucked me in a bit. Then a bit more. Then more.
By page 200, I was invested.
Our main characters hated each other so much, I read on to see if the author could convincingly make them fall in love. There was tension, there was drama, there was pining and secret sexual attraction.
Lust, betrayal, misunderstandings!
These were elements of the classic Pride and Prejudice that we all loved, except there was texting, instagram, and queers! How fun.
I especially loved the diversity of the characters, from race to gender. We get to see Liz work through her own fluctuating gender expression, struggling to find her own personal combination of masculine and feminine.
One of my favorite characters was Jane, of course. I always liked Jane in Pride and Prejudice. This modern Jane was very similarly quiet and reserved, but also a Black trans woman who was damn good at her job. I loved her.
By the end of the book, I couldn’t care less about our rough start. I read the last chapter in bed at 7:00am if that proves how invested I became.
Considering how overwhelmingly white the regency era inspiration for Just As You Are was, this novel could have gotten away with being a cis, white, lesbian book claiming to be groundbreaking. I appreciate Kellogg’s inclusion, believable plot, and complex characters.
Three and half stars.
P.S. I’m logging into Instagram to share this review. Come pull me out if I get sucked in.
I read this book begrudgingly. Actually, I listened to this book. Begrudgingly because Bookstagram took me by the collar and beat it across my face for a consistent year.
I gotta see what Evelyn Hugo is about, I’d think against my own will.
Then one day I found myself reading reviews of the book online. Amid tons of 5-star spoiler-free reviews, one salty loser lady wrote a 2-star review with some vague homophobia. It surprised me. It thrilled me!
Wait wait wait.
This book about a woman with seven husbands is queer? I was immediately in.
I downloaded a copy on Libby and started reading…but something was off. I don’t know if it was the writing or the format but I couldn’t get into it.
Trust me, I know how absurd that sounds. Taylor Jenkins Reid is a great writer. 2017’s The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is her fifth published novel and the one directly following – Daisy Jones & the Six – was made into a mini-series on Prime. This woman knows what she’s doing.
Still, something bugged me about reading Evelyn Hugo. Then, a few months later, that all too familiar cover popped up on my Spotify. Stalking me. Calling to me.
After listening to one chapter, I was hooked. It was like this book was written to be narrated aloud. The narrators (Alma Cuervo, Julia Whelan, and Robin Miles) did a great job jumping from our present day narrator Monique’s point of view to Evelyn’s vivid recounting of the golden age of Hollywood to the snarky tabloid snippets of the past.
It’s an incredible story that I hungrily needed to finish once I became invested. Jenkins Reid is very talented at creating tension and raising questions from the first few pages. Hell, she did this from the cover.
Who is Evelyn Hugo and why should I care?
Why seven husbands?
The novel would have been great with simply answering these questions, but we were given a few delicious and devastating twists as well.
As always, I won’t throw in any spoilers but I will say what worked and didn’t work. I appreciated Monique’s personal storyline, rich with its own history and drama which our author dove into just enough to develop the character. As a Black woman, I enjoyed the representation through Monique (a biracial journalist who has been tasked with writing Evelyn’s life story). I also appreciated the queer storyline and the steamy scenes that read quite poetically – both tasteful and overwhelmingly romantic.
On the other side, I would have loved a bit more character development of Monique’s mother. The ending also seemed to come rather quickly, which could have just been my unwillingness to part from the story.
This review is shorter than my others because I feel like I cheated by listening to an audiobook. I didn’t get to underline especially well-written excerpts or connect with the author’s writing style. Regardless, I have no regrets. I’m grateful to have finally discovered why this book is so beloved. I’m even more grateful to learn that Netflix has been working on bringing this story to the screen.
Now, let me go come up with my dream cast. I’ll see y’all at the premiere.
Four and a half stars.
This book made me sick to my stomach.
I’m skipping my usual review introduction: Omg, I’m such a bad reader. I haven’t written a review in years. Blah blah blah.
No. I have to tell you about the physical reactions that flooded through my body with each and every page. Well, maybe not every page. Lisa Jewell’s 2017 novel, Then She Was Gone actually bored me at first. I found myself putting it down and finding excuses to read other books and do other tasks. Then it got good and everything that wasn’t Then She Was Gone was an inconvenience.
What do you mean you bought tickets to the sold-out Barbie movie that I’ve been dying to see? Don’t you know my book just got good?
Jokes aside, let’s talk about the plot. Without spoiling anything, the story centers around the disappearance of a glittering and popular teenage girl named Ellie. She’s blonde haired, well-mannered, and well-loved. She’s likable. Once Ellie vanishes, we stick close to her mother, Laurel, whose thoughts swirl around Ellie and nothing else…for years. She is a shell of her former self until she is awoken. Then things get even more mysterious and sinister and perplexing than I thought possible. Laurel turns into a detective while coming to terms with the neglect she’s shown to her other two children and husband over the years. Eventually, a few other characters’ voices come into play.
In writing this review, I’m realizing I can’t even tell you what made me want to heave without sharing spoilers. We’re gonna have to start a book club, y’all. But I will say that it wasn’t just blood and gore that had me heaving. It was the slow realizations of betrayal; the intimate kind. Everything was too close, too concentrated. A little nauseating microcosm in one London neighborhood.
It all felt real, too. I’ve heard bits of every part of this story in true crime documentaries and news articles. I hate it all. You should read it.
As this is the writer who reads blog, we should talk about the writing. I’m always in awe when a story is all over the place and still makes sense. How does that work, Lisa Jewell? How does that look in your head? We have multiple narrators who tell the story in various ways: present tense, past tense, letter writing, and some weirdly aggressive form of journal writing. I ate it up. It wasn’t just the plot that kept me turning the page, but the need to get back to my favorite character and/or out of a psychopath’s head.
Amidst all of that, Jewell gives us some great writing. I would call her writing style balanced. Easy to read, clear, and laced with some really beautiful lines. Like when Laurel has a moment of self-reflection:
She’s talking in lazy clichés, using words that don’t quite add up to the sum of her disquiet.
p136
Maybe I just really love the word disquiet. Or maybe I liked how Laurel always seemed to call herself out internally because I can relate. Speaking of Laurel’s mind, there’s this bit in chapter 23 after another character shares their feelings:
The pronouncement is both surprising and completely predictable. She can’t process it fast enough and there is a small but prominent silence.
p129
I love how succinct Jewell is here. In two short sentences she says so much about Laurel’s emotional state, her ideas about this character, and gives a peak into the aftermath. The silence will affect them both.
As I wrap up this review, I’m remembering a moment right before the book got can’t-put-it-down good. My partner’s sister saw my book on the counter and mentioned that she’d read it awhile ago. She said something liked, “I can’t really remember much about it but it was really good.” Now that I’ve finished and gone through six stages of nausea, I need to ask her how she’d managed to forget the plot.
This book will stay with me. I’ll probably have the occasional nightmare. If I have a teenage daughter, she may never be allowed outside alone. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll forget on purpose.
At any rate, I thoroughly enjoyed this read and Lisa Jewell’s ability to stir a world’s worth of feelings within me in 356 pages.
Four and half stars.
Wow. It’s been over 5 years since I’ve written one of these updates!
My poem, “For October” was published in the July-August issue of The Gay & Lesbian Review and I just got my hands on a copy! This is the first poem I’ve ever had published and the first time I’m seeing my work in print. You can buy a print or digital copy here if you’re so inclined.
There’s nothing like finding out your creative work is being published. It’s exciting, affirming, and thrilling. It’s also always a little (read: very) terrifying for me. This time feels even more terrifying because I’m wading into a new genre: poetry.
My poetry writing started in college when I was really into intertwining religious themes from my Catholic upbringing with my queer identity. I left the church but kept the mysticism. Eventually, I moved onto love poems. I’m one of those mushy stereotypical love poets. Even worse, I really catch my stride in poetry when I’m teetering on romantic desperation and longing. Break my heart, don’t give me the attention I want? At least I’ve got some good writing content out of it.
I wrote “For October” in 2018, submitted it to The G&LR in the summer of 2022, and received word it would be published a year later. It’s been a long journey. The momentary love-madness captured in “For October” has gone. The woman who inspired it is gone. The veneration and self-sacrifice is gone. Still, I’m comforted that a significant moment in my past can live somewhere in its full intensity.
Until the next one.
x
Nitehawk Cinema in Williamsburg had a special brunch screening of Pride and Prejudice (2005) back in February. I’m usually looking for any excuse to go to Nitehawk, mostly because I’m a sucker for a quality fried chicken sandwich, strong frozen drink, and an elevated theatre experience. But when I saw that one of my favorite movies was playing, I bought two tickets immediately.
I invited one of my girlfriends, ready to swoon over broody Mr. Darcy together while getting splendidly day drunk. She texted me that morning to let me know she couldn’t make it, apologizing for the last minute cancellation. I told her it was okay and turned over in bed with a sinister smile.
“What are you doing today?” I asked my partner, knowing they had no choice.
I’ve already gushed over Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice online, so I’ll rein myself in here.
However, it was amazing to watch the timeless adaption on the big screen for the first time. The soundtrack is perfect. The bucolic landscapes and beautiful homes are all captured gorgeously on film. The writing and acting are intoxicating. I could watch Elizabeth (Keira Knightley) and Darcy (Matthew Macfadyen) communicate through silent body language for hours. It was such a treat to enjoy, half-drunk and cuddled up with my partner who either genuinely enjoyed the film or lied to avoid the destruction of our relationship.
Anyway, I’m here with a gift.
Sometimes when I’m over music and podcasts, I’ll play an audiobook. Sometimes I’m indecisive and I want a music / audiobook combination. Thus, The Writer Who Reads Spotify was born.
The Pride and Prejudice playlist is first up. I’ve spliced Wendy Ellison Mullen’s reading of Jane Austen’s novel with Dario Marianelli and Jean-Yves Thibaudet’s breathtaking movie soundtrack. It yields a perfectly balanced listening experience. Give it a listen and let me know what you think!
Also, let’s be friends on Spotify! I’ll be adding more audiobook playlists, author playlists, and playlists that’ll help you write.
Socialize With Us:
Twitter @twwreads
Instagram @writerwhoreads
Spotify @thewriterwhoreads
Pinterest @thewriterwhoreads
In this episode, we discuss the life of author Claude McKay—a Jamaican-born activist and writer who was an important part of the Harlem Renaissance.
We examine a number of his poems as part of our “Nostalgia” theme, exploring subjects like grieving familial loss, romantic love, and the fight for racial equality in the United States and beyond.
Please join us as we try to read a little more, write a little better, and explore the human condition—together.
Readings: The Tropics in New York, December, 1919, Romance, If We Must Die
Resources:
Poetry Foundation
Biography.com
Libcom.org
Grade Saver
Jamaican Information Service
African American Poetry
Socialize With Us:
Twitter @twwreads
Instagram @writerwhoreads
In this episode, we journey into the lush and soulful musings of author Eudora Welty—a woman who used plain observation to confect rich and dynamic portraits of everyday life in the American south. We examine one of her short stories as part of our “Nostalgia” theme, and carve into complex subjects like narrative reliability, the
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In this episode, we talk about two of our favorite topics: food and southern culture. Please join us as we try to read a little more, write a little better, and explore the human condition—together. Listen and subscribe on Apple, Google, and Spotify.
This is my first review since August 2018. Do I even know how to write a book review anymore? Did I ever? I’m pretty sure my last review of a novel by Octavia E. Butler was mostly a love note anyway. It should be no surprise that this one will be the same. Before we
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ In this episode, we take an inquisitive peek into the multilayered work of Creole playwright Victor Sejour—a dramatist who wielded satire like a weapon against 19th-century social prejudices and used real life tragedy to instigate audience introspection. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ We analyze one of his plays as part of our Morality theme, and tear into
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In this episode, we explore the little-known yet masterfully crafted work of author Edward Prime-Stevenson—a man who faced persecution with bravado and used his talent to strip away social stigmas. We analyze one of his novels as part of our “Morality” theme, and dig into compelling subjects like the historical/contemporary implications of gayness, unconventional
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In this episode, we survey the subtle and unflinching craftsmanship of writer Wu Zao—a woman whose boldly spun poetic narratives reflect the unconventionality with which she lived her life. We analyze a segment of her work as part of our “Poetry Appreciation” theme, while simultaneously dissecting intricate topics like sexual self-identification, romantic fixation, and
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In this episode, we pour over the sinuous work and idealistic perspective of poet Agustina Andrade—a woman whose lyrical sensibilities and quixotic writing style came to define Argentine poetry at the end of the nineteenth-century. We analyze two of her poems as part of our “Poetry Appreciation” theme, and dissect thought-provoking topics like
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In this episode, we peer into the unconventional life and prose of author Fredrika Bremer—a woman whose writing ignited a global shift towards the recognition of women’s rights. We analyze an excerpt of her work as part of our “Femininity” theme and discuss moving themes like feminism, independence, and personal conviction. Please join us as
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In this episode, we look into the compelling world view and craftmanship of playwright Mamie Burrill—a woman who used the art of drama to incite powerful social and moral debates during the early twentieth-century. We analyze one of her plays as part of our “Femininity” theme and discuss timely topics like reproductive rights, cultural
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In this episode, we take a quick break from literary exploration and lay our analytical routine temporarily to the wayside. To celebrate the 10th installment of The Writer Who Reads podcast, we laugh our way through a candid conversation about our friendship and rummage through a heap of mutual memories. Please join us as we
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In this episode, we review the trailblazing life and work of Alan L. Hart, M.D., a man whose quiet determination and fortitude sparked a slow-moving change in American social attitudes. We analyze one of his short stories as part of our “Rebirth” theme, and hash over resonant issues like gender identity, self-acceptance and liberty. Please
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In this episode, we consider the unorthodox outlook and craftsmanship of writer Hannah Hurnard—a woman whose literary technique is steeped in the subtle froth of empathy. We analyze one of her novels as part of our “Rebirth” theme, and reflect upon heady themes like faith, compassion, and emotional growth. Please join us as we
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In this episode, we commemorate the humanitarianism and grit of memoirist Olaudah Equiano, also known as Gustavus Vassa — a man whose fortitude and ardor helped redefine the concept of freedom in the British Empire. We analyze his autobiography as part of our “Black History Month” theme, and discuss meaningful subjects independence, national identity, and
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In this episode, we examine the groundbreaking life and work of author Jessie Redmon Fauset—a woman whose tact and dynamism helped launch the Harlem Renaissance. We analyze a selection of her poetry as part of our “Black History Month” theme, and talk through tough topics like racial exoticism, American beauty standards and social empathy. Please
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Happy Mardi Gras! Today is a big, sloppy, happy day for this writer who reads. But, before I start day-drinking, I thought I’d share our latest podcast episode: In this episode, we celebrate the supple words and imagination of writer Alice Dunbar-Nelson, a woman whose phrasing drips with the lurid richness of her Creole heritage.
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In this episode, we consider the intrepid technique and character of author Zitkala-Sa—a woman who gave voice to a stifled civilization and deified the languid splendor of the prairie. We analyze one of her essays as part of our ‘Unapologetic Living’ theme, and wade through complex topics like cultural assimilation, spiritualism, and racial identity. Please join
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In this episode, we examine the spirited style and observations of artist Natalie Clifford Barney—a woman who tore through conventionality and redefined the bounds of feminine self-expression. We analyze two of her poems as part of our ‘Unapologetic Living’ theme, and dive into complicated subjects like self-acceptance, homoeroticism, and intimacy. Please join us as we try
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With no hope of playing it cool, I am here to share some serious news! My latest short story, Before Anything, Black, has been published in Deep South Magazine. From the website: … her winning story, which takes place on a university campus, addresses the concept of white feminism and black/queer identity set in the South. We
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In this episode, we investigate the bold life and work of author Willa Cather—a woman who used her pen to transcribe the broad social richness of the American heartland. We analyze her novel “O Pioneers!” as part of our ‘Secrets’ theme, and delve into topics like gender, sexuality, and cultural identity. Please join us as we
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My sister recommended this book to me with a tone that was more demanding than anything. See, she knows I’ve been “writing a book” that teeters on science fiction and explores some heavy topics. Kindred teeters on science fiction and forcibly explores antebellum slavery. It’s a complex novel, a timeless work of literary genius. Kindred
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I may be the writer who doesn’t read enough, but I am also the writer who writes a ton. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m the writer that writes some, then decides that half of it is crap. I am the writer who writes a bit. What I’m trying to say is…I got something else published!
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This review could easily consist of three intense all-caps sentences, which would cover every emotion possible. Part of me is angry that I ever set eyes on the book, and another part is grateful that I have this mess of a protagonist to distract you all from my hiatus from this blog and…fiction reading. For
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I fought with myself about this one. This entire blog is about the writer who reads, not the writer who writes. If I wanted to post about writing I would have to make a Writer Who Writes blog. I had that “intelligent” thought and kept my writerly updates to myself and my 200 or so Facebook
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Ransom Riggs is the author of this dark twist of fiction, and he’s gotten some rather extraordinary recognition for the novel, which was released by Quirk Books in 2011. Peculiar Children (yes, it’s a nickname) made the #1 New York Times Bestseller List, was called the next Harry Potter by CNN, and was referred to as “Tim Burton-esque” by USA today.
I believe that’s enough praise for Mr. Riggs.
Excuse me, my jealousy is showing.
I’ve read some rather lukewarm reviews of this autobiography and I don’t understand them. I like tall people. I like Action. I like spy stories. I like travel. I like hard lives lived easy. I like real women who get things done; who occasionally cry. I like interracial couples. I like family and reality.
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*I will try not to include any spoilers in any of my reviews, now until the end of time. Amen. In the About Me section you heard me describe my “struggle” with books. I admitted that I am picky and maybe even a bit strange. Well, I lied. I didn’t lie. I under-exaggerated. Stay with
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Gillian Flynn’s “Gone Girl” makes me want to start a book club. Not some new, trendy (I hate to say—hipsteresque) book club where we drink PBR out of eternally dingy thrift store goblets, and talk about vinyls more than books. I’m talking a real book club. I want a gaggle of forty-somethings with wrinkled mommy-pooches,
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