But I digress because this is not a blog devoted to roasting the month of March, nor do I care enough to pretend that I like any of the other months besides my birth month (October, hi Libras!) and occasionally December, but only when it involves getting gifts and/or watching Four Christmases unironically. So, here's what I've read so far in the month of March:
(please do not come for me re: my photography skills, art direction, or inability to place four books in a straight grid...thank you!)
How to Be an Anti-Capitalist in the 21st Century by Erik Olin Wright
Ah yes, the One in Which I Become Radicalized. And I'm sure a bunch of you are thinking "well of course you're a socialist, you're unemployed!" to which I say...Actually, I'm not even going to address that criticism because 1) actually no, that's not the truth, Ellen, and also 2) mom?? is that you?? This book should be re-titled An Idiot's Guide to Anti-Capitalism because it reads like a very basic, very watered-down version of something you might read on the quad of your liberal arts college in an attempt to impress that one person sitting across from you who has really good bone structure but also is a Marxist.
Admittedly, I am not a smart person. I went to a smart person's college and have absolutely nothing to show for it except maybe the ability to enter an hour-long trance and emerge with a semi-legible essay. So now that I'm (say it with me!) UNEMPLOYED and also BORED I thought: "well, now's a good time to learn about the world and more importantly, why it sucks so bad". The answer? Capitalism, duh! How to Be An Anticapitalist addresses the issue in very manageable chunks, beginning with a definition of socialism that's built around three guiding principles: equality/fairness, democracy/freedom, and community/solidarity. From there, Wright constructs his vision for eroding capitalism that's as well-intentioned as it is sparse. There are only a few sources cited directly in the text, even fewer footnotes. The arguments are convincing only because there is next to nothing standing in the way— no opposition, no push-back, no self-reflection. And look, I'm not advocating for a sequel to Das Kapital because I didn't understand that the first time I read it, and, like I mentioned earlier, I'm trying to become a smarter person not just a person who reads books for smart people. So, for what it's worth, I appreciate what Erik Olin Wright is doing. I'm trying to become a smarter person but, more importantly, I'm trying to become a better, more well-informed person, and How to Be an Anti-Capitalist is a perfect step towards PLUNDERING JEFF BEZOS OF ALL HE'S WORTH MWAHAHAHAHA.
wow, no thank you by Samantha Irby
Warning: this review is about to sound whack as f*ck. I, a human-being on the internet who's just started a blog, am about to criticize Samantha Irby, a human-being on the internet, for turning her successful blog "BITCHES GOTTA EAT" into three (well-received!!!) essay collections. So yes, I am unsuccessful and therefore nothing like Samantha Irby, but my opinion is valid and even if it's not, here it is anyway: wow, no thank you does not need to be 316 pages. Like most collections I've read, there are at least 2-3 essays that I would have cut altogether (seriously, no one wants to read a 10+ page list of things that are better than sex, especially me, a person who is not having sex and has already figured out the next best thing ((it's sitting in the McDonald's drive-thru, listening to a podcast))). Also, a lot of the essays are just really surface-level. While they reflect on topics such as body positivity, love, and marriage, they rarely move past the initial stage of poking fun at a thing until it becomes ridiculous. And look, that stuff can be really funny, but throughout the collection, small moments of illumination into life and culture were treated as minor detours when compared to the true destination of almost all of the essays: the punchline. Of course, the punchlines are always phenomenal, and I did laugh out loud multiple times while reading this book, but there are plenty of authors whose books are both funny and thoughtful. I decided to read this book after Samantha Irby was announced as a writer for the Sex and the City reboot, and the most cogent review I can give of the book is this: wow, no thank you does absolutely nothing to alleviate the sense of impending doom I feel re: this Samantha-less reboot.
McGlue by Otessa Moshfegh
It was April of 2020 and I was headed home, making the five-hour drive from Chicago to who-knows-where, Michigan to quarantine with my family. College life was basically #canceled, all my friends had escaped to different corners of the continental United States, and I was NOT vibing. Also, I had an audiobook of My Year of Rest and Relaxation playing while I sped past cornfields and industrial silos and cow farms and barns exclusively selling fireworks and cornfields and cornfields and cornfields. When I got home, I told everyone to shut up, I was in the middle of a really good audiobook and could I please have some peace and quiet??? After I finished, I texted everyone I knew, recommending the book as THE quarantine novel. Not necessarily a revolutionary thought but I was hooked and, more importantly, I wanted more. Later that year I read Death in Her Hands and then Homesick for Another World. Most recently I read Eileen, which weirdly made me want to work as a secretary in a prison. JK lol, abolish the prison-industrial complex!
McGlue is the first published work of Moshfegh's and the last in my completionist arc. The novella follows the drunken musings of a 19th-century sailor who may or may not have killed his best friend but again, he's super drunk, like, 95% of the novel. The writing is, as always, superbly acidic, the characters equally unforgiving as they navigate the banal, almost surreal environs of Moshfegh's imagination. But writing like that isn't always palatable, and McGlue occasionally falls into patterns of no-holds-barred nihilism that is enjoyable only after you've read it. Does that make sense? My Year of Rest and Relaxation, for example, had a similar style of evisceration, but the protagonist was weirdly relatable and the entire project of sleeping for an entire year was as exciting as it was depressing. Homesick for Another World, however, fared less favorably in my imagination, mainly because short stories, as a form, do not provide enough substance to counteract the mental fatigue of reading about miserable people living miserable lives while thinking miserable thoughts in miserable spaces.
BRIEF SIDE NOTE: Ottessa Moshfegh Novels Ranked on Bleakness, According to Me!
(doomscroll vibes)
1. Homesick for Another World
2. McGlue
3. Eileen
4. Death in Her Hands
5. My Year of Rest and Relaxation
(okay, things aren't THAT bad vibes)
Back to our scheduled programming: McGlue is good but also hard to read. If you're a fan of alcoholism, sailors, and/or the "bro" subcategory of gay porn, then McGlue is the novella for you!
Paul takes the form of a mortal girl by Andrea Lawlor
Hmmm what to say about the plot of Paul takes the form of a mortal girl?
Hmmm what to say about the style of Paul takes the form of a mortal girl?
Hmmm what to say about the writing of Paul takes the form of a mortal girl?
Hmmm what to say about Paul takes the form of a mortal girl?
Short answer: I have no idea!
Paul takes the form of a mortal girl is all about defying expectations. Every word, every sentence, every paragraph, every chapter is laced with wild child energy that makes the novel both immensely entertaining and completely uncategorizable. On the cover, Eileen Myles describes the book as "tight", while Maggie Nelson goes for a simple "hot". The New York Times is a little more generous, describing it as "difficult to quote in a family newspaper". Well folks, this is certainly NOT a family newspaper so here's the real tea: Paul takes the form of a mortal girl includes a lot of sex. Like, a lot. And not just the kind you'd see on Grey's Anatomy, but the kind that's dirty and awkward and uncomfortable and weird and rebellious and destructive and scary and sweet and...yeah, there's a lot of sex. And sex means different things at different times in the novel, partly because Paul, the titular character, is a queer shapeshifter who can go from muscular leather daddy to femme lesbian with just a thought. Have I not mentioned that yet? Whoops!
So yeah, Paul is, like, totally defying gender and genre as they navigate queer life across the country, dealing with all the things that college-aged people deal with: awkward bar encounters, awkward hookups, awkward first dates, etc. Paul, they're just like us except way, way cooler and also nothing like us because, again, THEY ARE A SHAPESHIFTER WHO HAS A LOT OF SEX.
If I have one critique, it's that reading Paul takes the form of a mortal girl can be occasionally exhausting. Have you ever met a person who's so infinitely cooler than you it gets kinda annoying? Like, no I haven't heard of this Swedish underground electronic death metal group that's all the rage on alt-twitter right now and no I haven't heard of this movie that can only be viewed in Brooklyn on a full moon and no, I haven't heard of any of these things and now I feel infinitely less cool because of it. Well, that's how reading Paul takes the form of a mortal girl can occasionally feel. There are a lot of cultural references in this book, the majority of which come from the 90s. For context: I was born in 1997 and raised on Disney Channel, so I understood approximately 0% of the culture referenced which was FRUSTRATING. Also, "cool" as a mode of storytelling can become monotonous and alienating when there's a sense of superiority that underlines that "coolness". Or maybe I'm just insecure but seriously, who knew "Hole" was the name of a band???
Welp, there you go! The four books I've read in the terrible month of March. Bye for now!
xoxoxoxo,
still unemployed, still pretending not to care
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