haveyoureadthistoo

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The literary “ick”: my top 10 pet peeves

When it comes to relationships, a lot is said about people’s pet peeves, or what the young kids call “the ick”, meaning traits that completely throw them off someone, usually to the point of no return. But what about literature? People can change, they react to an environment and you’re able to talk through your issues together. Books are a one-way street, you have to take them as they are, which is both beautiful and horrifying.

Like anything related to taste, somebody’s biggest ick can be somebody else’s favourite quality in a novel, so here are my own top 10 literary pet peeves, in no particular order. Some are related to writing style, others to narrative choices, but they all bother me at some level, sometimes completely ruining a book (and an author) forever.

1. Middle-age crisis

Every time I accidentally pick up a book with a main male character in his 40s or 50s, by page 35 he’ll most likely have either left his wife, started drinking/taking drugs, become somebody’s sugar daddy whilst in absolute denial about it and/or turned into a beat generation wannabe on a philosophical journey to find himself. And not a single one of them will acknowledge that they’re going through a middle-age crisis.

This is usually the kind of novel where female characters are either absolutely shallow or old souls in a young hot body. There’s not a therapist in sight. Or a male friend who’ll say: “It’s okay that you’re feeling this way, but it’s not a unique experience to you, you have joined a statistic and should examine your deeper feelings instead of acting on superficial assumptions - the way you were led to believe you should since you were born.” And don’t get me wrong, these tend to be high-praised books. To me, they just feel like a long Kanye monologue.

2. Minorities as resilience martyrs

Nobody’s denying the importance of learning about the struggles of minorities under capitalism and patriarchy. They were particularly relevant to achieve some of the rights I myself have benefited from as a Latino woman, and of course we still have more to conquer. But if we’re only exposing the hurt, and never the victories, how do we expect those same people to feel empowered? How do we lower the burden?

What are we saying? That if you’re not a heterossexual cis white male you can’t really be happy? You have to go through hell every time and the only reward at the end of this painful journey is to be a little less sad? We need more stories featuring diverse characters going through universal human experiences instead of just suffering through their own identity, otherwise what’s the point of fighting for equality?

3. Voyeuristic descriptions of violence

This is somewhat connected to the previous point. I’m not advocating for a perfect world where violence and inequality are not real, but there’s a marked difference between acknowledging violence and glamourising it. What’s the use of step by step visual descriptions of violent acts in fiction? Who’s your audience? It’s triggering for people who have been through it, it’s abhorrent for people who already abhor it, and it’s exciting for people who take pleasure in it. You’re more likely to breed new torturers than to open minds.

When it comes to gender violence, contemporary literature still carries remains of the male gaze that dominated cultural production for most of our existence, and rape scenes in books, plays, films/shows and even music are usually heavily influenced by it. I agree with bell hooks when she says that seeing images that condone violence mainly serve to “affirm the notion that violence is an acceptable means of social control”. So let’s not encourage it.

4. Overstylistic writing

Short sentences. Brain dump. Inescapable flow of thoughts. This is fine for short content, poetry books and psychedelic songs. It can even be nice in occasional bursts, like what Machado de Assis does in “Dom Casmurro”, where there’s a whole chapter describing a dream. Or when it’s more form than narrative, such as Sally Rooney’s choice of removing quotation marks from all her dialogues.

It’s perfectly understandable that authors want to be perceived as unique, but it’s not worth it to sacrifice the quality of your story to assert yourself. Style shouldn’t interfere with storytelling. It should be there to enhance it, not overstage it. (Looking at you, Cormac McCarthy!)

5. Author’s voice taking over the character’s

Nothing kills my suspension of disbelief more effectively than long monologues that have nothing to do with the character construction and a lot to do with what the author thinks. One of the main attributes of a good fiction writer is the ability to NOT do that. You can totally make your world view known through the story, but it can’t be at the characters’ expense. They’re not you. Want to voice your thoughts exactly how you think them, no nuances attached? Write an essay, mate.

6. Bad sex

If it’s supposed to sound sexy and it doesn’t, don’t force it. Glad to be of help.

7. Neverending paragraphs

The main obstacle between me and Virgina Woolf is that I like to breathe. And this comes from somebody who speaks very fast - and very much. But I’ll always allow some time for my listener to say the occasional “yep”. It’s a matter of courtesy. It’s also a matter of taste. Some people like their novels the way they like their hip hop. I don’t. I can’t sing along and shake my ass to a long paragraph. Or maybe I can, but I don’t want to. I want little breaks to sip my tea and eat my cake. Is that too much to ask?

8. Irresponsible conduction of children’s and YA stories

As much as I’m not the right audience for children’s lit and Young Adult books anymore, I still like to read them from time to time, either to get in touch with my fluffy younger self or just to take a peak at “what the kinds are doing”. And invariably I’ll find something problematic in the authors’ choices, almost like they forget they are writing for people whose brains are not fully formed yet.

It’s not that hard, is it? Don’t tell highly susceptible young humans that suicide is freedom. That violence is the answer. That girls are teasers. That eating disorders bring good results. Their world is tiny, every little thing becomes a huge part of their lives. So know your audience, take responsibility. Be the adult.

9. Unplanned series construction

Writing a series is challenging. You need to make each book stand on its own, whilst also taking care that the main thread is going somewhere and that everything fits together nicely. Even if you’re very careful, minor plot holes are inevitable, and that’s ok. What’s not ok is not even thinking about it, just writing new instalments without knowing where you’re going, as though things will just find their way naturally in the end. They don’t. And it’s incredibly frustrating.

“A Series of Unfortunate Events” is one of my biggest literary disappointments. “1Q84” is also deeply unfulfilling - though that’s the least of its issues. Some authors and their fanbase like to push the idea that an open ending is an invitation for the reader to come up with their own ideas, but there’s a giant chasm between an open ending and loose ends. If you don’t want to have the trouble, write one-offs, they’re perfectly legal.

10. Overdescription of characters

Do I need to know that her breasts are round and large? Or that her ageing face still carries traces of a faded beauty, as though beauty expires with age? Is the character’s weight relevant or are you just fatphobic? Some authors tend to give way too many details about their characters’ physical traits, as though they’re describing a criminal who mugged them to a police officer. It’s extremely restrictive to the readers who enjoy the process of creating a mental image of the characters and it’s completely useless to the other half, who picture a blob anyway. More often than not, those descriptions are also quite prejudiced. So maybe don’t.

Thank you for attending my TED talk.

[haveyoureadthistoo]

Hits and misses of 2024 | part 2: the hits

Now that we’ve covered the letdowns, let’s rejoice in the fruity seeds! The fact that 4 of last year’s top 5 come from unintentional purchases - meaning I just came across a copy in a secondhand bookshop and got it with no previous knowledge whatsoever - is a testament to the success of my (lack of) system. Or at least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself to justify buying interesting-looking cheap books at random.

My first great read of the year was a book called “Travellers”, by Nigerian author Helon Habila. It’s a small anthology of short stories about the immigration of African citizens to Europe. Although some of the characters cross paths, each story is complete within itself and illustrates a different angle of that experience, showing the many “whys”, “hows” and “wheres” involved in one’s decision to leave their home country and how, at the same time, once out of there, regardless of previous status, they become a shared identity - the “immigrant”. Unless you’re rich, in which case people will call you an “expat”.

As an immigrant myself, the theme holds a soft spot for me. From bureaucracy to deeper feelings of belonging, the conflicts lived by the characters in the stories were either relatable or strongly empathising. The book, like the experience, is often sad, but not all sad. It’s also about hope, learning and connection. For some of us, more than anything, it’s the only way to either stay alive - or to feel alive.

I’m not one for reading praises, taglines and whatnot in book covers. To be honest, I rarely even read prefaces. So when I picked up “Educated”, by Tara Westover, the story of a woman growing up in a strict Mormon household and fighting her way through education, I had no idea it was non-fiction. Once I did realise that, it changed everything. 

Despite the (increasingly) distorted judgment people seem to pass on schools, the fact is parenthood is our primary source of knowledge - both concrete and abstract. The book is a poignant register of all the pain Tara’s parents passed on to their children because they thought that's what parenthood was supposed to be like, with concepts such as morality and control taking precedence before love and education. An admirable journey, to say the least.

Next is a little novella I found tucked into the back area of Shakespeare & Co. where they keep the discounted secondhand books. “The Pinballs”, by Betsy Byars, is a sweet story that sits somewhere between children’s lit and young adult. It tackles child abandonment in its many versions in a way that's hopeful and light without romanticising or underplaying the trauma.

Whereas some of us might forget our first struggles once we get older, the fact remains that we never fully get rid of the scars they leave behind. I would offer this book to any child and pre-teen in my life in a heartbeat, and even more so to the adults who take care of them. 

As somebody who reads one book at a time and is no longer a young girl with time in her hands, I really value conciseness. Don’t get me wrong, you will find the occasional long tome in my “read” list. I did “Santaram” a few years back, and Tolstoy and Dostoyevski a few years before that. But that is not the norm. At this point I’m probably not going to read “Infinite Jest” and it doesn’t bother me. So every time I come across a book with over 500 pages, my first question is: is it really necessary or is it just ego? And on the rare occasions when the answer is the former, I ask myself another question: do I have the stamina?

When I picked up “The Agony and the Ecstasy”, all I had was a pre-booked trip to Italy and a dream - the dream of going through the whole book before flying back home. Which of course I didn’t. But unlike most of those long books I read before, I actually enjoyed every page, I just didn’t have time to go through them faster. The writing was exciting, the historic bits were fascinating and Michelangelo was a surprisingly interesting character. So a month later, when I finally did finish the book, I found I did not resent it. Nor will you.

And then there were none. (Pun very much intended.) “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” was my last of the top 5 most popular Agatha Christie novels on Goodreads. And it might be my favourite, along with “Murder on the Orient Express”. Out of curiosity, the other three are: “And Then There Were None”, “Death on the Nile” and “The Mysterious Affair at Styles”, making Poirot by far Christie’s most successful detective. At this point, I don’t even try too hard to solve the crime in my head. I never do. She’s just too good. Especially when the setting is Britain, I feel like that is where she shines. Some of her novels that are set in more “exotic” places, with characters from other cultures and ethnicities, tend to bother me for the outdated foreign outlook they present, but not Britain. Good old Britain has mostly remained the same. And good old Agatha did a marvellous job with this one.

It took me a couple of days to write about the books I didn’t like, but then it was months before I followed up with my highlights of the year. That says a lot about humanity, doesn’t it? Why is it so much easier to point flaws than virtues? Maybe I’ll read a book about it. As long as it’s not 800 pages again.

[haveyoureadthistoo]

Hits and misses of 2024 | part 1: the misses

My “2024 in books” was a year of intense secondhand purchasing, library borrowing and even some digital literary reading for work. A good balance of revisits and new discoveries, especially Japanese authors, and a rare occurrence of spending a whole month with a single book - and not resenting it.

Starting with the low points, we need to talk about Lionel Shriver. If you didn’t get the little pun there, she’s the author of “We Need to Talk about Kevin”, a divisive, but definitely striking book. When I finished reading it in 2023, it made me want to hear more from the author, so I looked up her old guest appearances at BBC Book Club and… hated it. But ok, writers are often introverts who might not handle press events very well, I thought. I should have trusted my gut feeling, though.

“Should We Stay or Should We Go” starts from an interesting premise: a middle-aged couple make a pact to end their lives before they reach a point where they have to physically depend on others, and the book goes on to explore different scenarios - one of them gives up, or they make a new pact for later, or an accident happens, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, Shriver uses the entire novel as cheap, poorly argued propaganda for her conservative views. Even the title is a wordplay with Brexit - which she heartily supports, even though she’s not even British.

The result is a tiresome book with unlikeable characters going through endless unrelatable versions of the future that go from outdated sci-fi realities to a crass depiction of communism in which foreigners from poor countries finally invade the homes of good, left-leaning British citizens. I suppose there’s not much you can expect from an anti-vaxx. I’m definitely done with this author.

My next disappointment was a lot milder. I can see Antal Szerb’s “Journey by Moonlight” serving its purpose for a more traditional academic male audience. I personally can’t relate to stories of men going through midlife crises unless they’re REALLY good, like the excellent film “Another Round”. To make it worse, Szerb also borrows from the likes of Kerouac to portray a voluntary penniless expedition of a man of means to “experience real life”, which is another pet peeve of mine.

There is the occasional thought-provoking reflection, and a somewhat progressive view for a book written in 1937 Hungary, but there was no common ground for me. The female characters, while not necessarily bad, felt like the love counterparts in every single Woody Allen film - quirky and unchanging. Overall a wrong fit.

When I came across Elaine Morgan’s “The Descent of Woman” in a charity shop and read in the cover that it “exploded the myth of Man, the Mighty Hunter” I was very excited. The introduction was quite good, doing a recap of deterministic assumptions of sex, and I was so here for the way she referred to the exacerbated belief in men as natural hunters as “tarzanism”, but when it got to the science… it was just a bit shaky.

I wouldn’t call her aquatic ape theory pseudoscience, but it definitely felt more speculative than hard fact. The anthropological analysis was stronger than the scientific one, and sometimes there were whole blocks of pages focused on the latter, which caused me to disconnect from the main train of thought.

In another case of unmet expectations, I picked up my first Albert Camus in 2024. I want to think it was just a bad fit, but “The Fall” was definitely not a hit for me. The best way I can describe it is, “Remains of the Day” aims at “Strangers on the Train”, but hits “The Catcher in the Rye” instead. It’s the story of a lonely, but delusional privileged man facing a moral conundrum after acting on impulse.

The philosophy is solid, but very simple. The first person narration turns it into an extensive monologue that reads more like a long TED talk you would only attend if the speaker were your friend. Like with Szerb’s novel, I can also see this as a book catered for male audiences, so I can understand the appeal it might hold for some (male) readers, but I can think of better examples that explore the exact same point - in fewer pages.

Last but not least in the disappointment shelf is a children’s book I could have totally avoided if only I had paid attention to the title instead of getting caught up in the cute cover. A.L. Kennedy’s “The Little Snake” is, you guessed it, a reimagining of “The Little Prince” - one of my biggest resentments in literary history.

On the positive side, the female character is not a whiny rejected flower, there is more spontaneous love and less "responsible forever for what you have tamed". It’s about a poor girl trying to keep her dreams alive in an apocalyptic scenario, aided by her somewhat magical snake friend. Once I finally understood the trap I had fallen into, I even hoped it would turn out to be a good replacement for its original inspiration. Unfortunately, the ending is the same irresponsible, romantic rubbish I so strongly despise. What a pity.

Disappointment is a part of reading. Well, of life, really. Most of the time it’s about expectations raised and not met, or plain incompatibility. I always try to do a quick search before buying a new book to see if it seems like a good fit for me, but it’s not a failproof method - thank God. It’s important to read stuff we don’t like from time to time, even if just to learn a little bit about ourselves and what we truly appreciate. A toast to bad reads!

[haveyoureadthistoo]

The lives of others: fictional memoirs

Human beings are peculiar creatures. Take away the basic features that distinguish us as a species and we can be so vastly dissimilar as to kill one another over our differences. Ironically enough, each one of us tends to sprout into several different versions of ourselves based on the choices we make and the experiences we have as we age and mature, to the point that we can barely recognise or associate with our younger selves as we look back.

That’s part of the fascination of fictional memoirs, in particular those that extend throughout a character’s entire life spam. They tend to be huge books, filled with many characters whose names are not always easy to remember and whose imaginary faces we have to change in our minds as we go forward, or sometimes back and forth, through the decades. I see how that can be a deal breaker to some, but you know what? I like it. Often better than actual memoirs.

The first book that comes to mind is “The Signature of All Things”, by Elizabeth Gilbert, which I would describe as, drum roll please - a botanical drama. Alma is a (Capricorn, through and through) woman born in a newly rich family in the year 1800. Gilbert does us a favour and uses as many round numbers as possible so we can situate ourselves easily in time. As Alma grows up (and old) we go through several different subgenres, starting with the obvious coming-of-age and ending in a classic adventure in the style of Jules Verne and Robert Louis Stevenson.

I was positively surprised, as the latter is a markedly male-dominated genre, and Gilbert brilliantly succeeds by managing to maintain the excitement of the journey without giving up the more well-rounded character-driven narrative she has set up from the beginning. In fact, Alma is a typical self-centred, isolated intellectual, so every social connection she makes has a bigger and deeper meaning. Even her approach to sex has a scientific interest as well as physical. And all that comes wrapped in lots of fun facts about bryophytes, so buckle up, my botany-lover friends!

Other examples of character-driven fictional memoirs are the sweet “The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot”, by Marianne Cronin, set in a cancer hospital ward, where 17-year-old Lenni and 83-year-old Margot reminisce on their joint 100 years of life as they develop an art project together; the bestseller “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo”, by Taylor Jenkins Reid, where an old Hollywood star gets candid about her past in a conservative industry that held more secrets than truths; and a personal favourite, Valérie Perin’s breathtaking “Fresh Water for Flowers”, whose main character is a cemetery’s groundskeeper with a tragic and melancholy past that slowly unfolds as we accompany her in her peaceful routine, getting a glimpse here and there of the life of the people buried in the cemetery - their families, friends and lovers.

As we enter the realm of historical fiction, Isabel Allende’s “Violeta” is a good example of a fictional main character living in a very real world. Following a similar structure to “The Signature of All Things”, the book starts with Violeta’s birth in 1920 (again a round number!), amidst the Spanish flu pandemic, and ends with Violeta’s 100th birthday in 2020, this time amidst the coronavirus pandemic. Through Violeta’s personal story, full of twists and turns, we are educated on 100 years of political turmoil in South America, with Violeta’s own political awakening coming about during the military dictatorship in Chile.

Another fictional memoir that can be quite educational is Jorge Amado’s “Tent of Miracles”, using the death of a fictional poet named Pedro Archanjo to go back and forth in time and dive into Brazil’s racial history, from Afro-American religions and culture to the origins and ramifications of racial prejudice. Despite the very serious subject, Amado’s characteristic satire and mild debauchery are very present, making it an unexpected light read.

But perhaps the most popular branch of historical fiction is the fictional biography of real-life characters. Taking our subject matter here, which are narratives that span through decades of a character’s life, Irving Stone is a recent discovery I’m very excited about. So far I’ve only read “The Agony and the Ecstasy”, a very complete, 800-page long fictional biography of Michelangelo whose level of detail is so impressive and the tone is so on point that for a while I felt I was living in Renaissance Italy.

I’m sure the research required to pen such a novel is akin to that of a PhD, with the degree of difficulty increasing as you go further back in time. Which I suppose was what led Sue Monk-Kidd to rely more heavily in guesswork with “The Book of Longings”, set in the time of Jesus Christ, mixing biblical sources and historical speculation to recount the origins of Christianity, but with an added element that instigates debate in academic circles: that Jesus Christ could have had a wife. Despite a few exaggerations to match contemporary perspective, the author does a really good job of making the book both unoffensive to Christians and appealing to non-Christians.

Some other authors prefer to write in instalments, with each book reflecting a different stage in the main character’s life. L. M. Montgomery’s “Anne of Green Gables” series starts when Anne is only 11 and by the end of the last book she is 75 - and no longer the protagonist. Meanwhile, the more poignant “My Brilliant Friend” series, by Elena Ferrante, follows characters Lena and Lila from their early childhood all the way to their 60s, with protagonism shifting between the two friends as their lives take different paths throughout each book, despite Lena being the full-time narrator.

And then there are the more peculiar variations of the genre - such as Virginia Woolf’s “Orlando”, a mix of romance, history, semibiography and magical realism spanning 350 years in the life of main character Orlando; “Us”, by David Nicholls, which is not the fictional memoir of a person, but of a 25-year marriage that has come to an end; Khaled Hosseini’s “And the Mountains Echoed”, with each chapter conducted by a different character, covering 60 years of Afghan history; and, of course, “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, by Gabriel García Márquez, an unmatched family epic whose incredible metaphor of the cyclic nature of human beings continues to resonate two generations after it was first released.

No question has tormented our species harder than the meaning of existence. This might be part of our unconscious reason to seek biographies, real or not. We go looking for directions on how to live our lives - and leave with the comfortable (and true) realisation that no two people have ever walked the same path on Earth. More than that, we learn that plans change, goals evolve and, whilst time might not heal all wounds, it certainly makes them better. It makes us better.

[haveyoureadthistoo]

November to remember, a booklist

The month is November. Too late for ghost stories, too early for Christmas tales. It’s sweater weather, but it rains unexpectedly. You grab your umbrella for a quick stroll and walk past that weird mix of rotting pumpkins on the streets and the first signs of fairy lights on the façades. What should you read in such liminal times?

Here’s a small list of recommendations, ranging from cute and cosy to the right amount of obnoxious. Think Franklin the turtle playing with his friends in the countryside, but also Emma Thompson in “Love Actually” listening to Joni Mitchell after finding out she’s been cheated on - because November can be messy and all over the place like that.

1. ANNE OF AVONLEA, by Lucy Maud Montgomery

I know, I know. Anne’s most notable quote is in praise of October, not its cousin November. But this is actually the sequel to “Anne of Green Gables”. Anne is now a proper teenager, full of manners and anxious about the future, but still very much a storyteller at heart, ready to fall head over heels over the first sign of a beautiful blooming garden or an enchanting starry sky. It’s heartwarming, funny and a bit sad, just like the month in question.

2. COLD COMFORT FARM, by Stella Gibbons

For the Amy Sherman-Palladino fans out there, think Mrs Maisel living in 1930’s Stars Hollow. The setting is funnily suffocating, the characters are whimsical and the dialogue is clever. It feels like eating apple pie on a big wooden kitchen table and washing it down with proper ale.

3. THE FORGOTTEN GARDEN, by Kate Morton

I would argue that all Kate Morton’s novels I’ve read so far have a November mood. Beautiful, abandoned landscapes, filled with melancholy and the promise of a fresh start. In this book, we follow three different timelines, representing three different generations of women. There’s a family secret to unfold and we can only put it together by accessing the memories and feelings of all three characters. It’s like a grown-up fairy tale, with old letters, antiques, a vast garden and a hidden maze. Victorian England, ladies and gentlemen.

4. ROOFTOPPERS, by Katherine Rundell

If Lucy Maud Montgomery and Philip Pullman wrote a novel together, this would probably be it. It has Montgomery’s magical writing style, but none of its innocence, borrowing instead from Pullman’s more cynical plot constructions - reckless guardians, children getting hurt and mysterious artifacts. Cold and transient like the season.

5. THE QUEEN'S FOOL, by Philippa Gregory

Are you a Tudor aficionado like myself? Then you will enjoy this book. Especially with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits, sitting by the window and watching it get dark at 5pm. There’s not enough historical fiction written about the Tudor queens. Unlike other Gregory novels, though, Mary and Elizabeth are not the narrators here. Our conductor is Hannah, a young woman under their employment, first Mary, then Elizabeth, and who’s a little bit of a psychic with a complicated history herself. Pick this up and you're in for dangerous politics, some mysticism and lots of love.

6. THE DIARY OF A NOBODY, by George and Weedon Grossmith

Reading somebody’s diary has its share of pleasure, but it can feel very overwhelming if it gets too deep and personal, like you were invading their privacy. That is not the case here. Charles Pooter is an absurdly sensible man, boring in every sense of the word to all who know him, but that’s what makes his diary so amusing. His self-awareness is hilarious. Lots of middle child energy, just like November.

7. PIRANESI, by Susanna Clarke

Weird and wonderful. A well-executed attempt at discussing second life and simulation without the embarrassing tech, replacing that with art instead. Taking a synesthetic licence here, in my head this book is the same as the National Monument of Scotland, in Edinburgh. A Parthenon-like construction on top of a hill, dating from the early 19th century, which was left unfinished due to lack of funds and became its own thing - on one side, an urban view of the city; on the other side, the lushy greens of Holyrood Park and Arthur’s Seat. Beautiful and liminal.

8. THE READERS OF BROKEN WHEEL RECOMMEND, by Katarina Bivald

You know how every bookworm dreams of setting up their own bookshop in a cosy small town filled with quirky people? This is it. Nothing happens, but people happen. And books, lots of them. If spoilers make you upset, know that there are many conversations about well-known novels, but it adds to the charm. Maybe I’m cheating and this is an October book. Then again, it could be a Christmas book just as well, so there you go.

9. CONVERSATIONS WITH FRIENDS, by Sally Rooney

Frances is going through this very November-ish phase that comes to all university students, particularly those from the arts & humanities. The excitement of those first years is over, but the presumptuousness lingers. You think you’re very mature and at the same time cling to out-of-the-ordinary opinions and experiences so you don’t turn up boring and sad like the older people you know. The perfect prey for somebody going through another November-ish stage of life - the early 30s. Trust me, I know. I’ve been through both. Before you ask, I think the pretentious writing goes hand in hand with the rawness of the character’s first person narration, very obnoxious and sentimental. Like youth.

10. THE RAINY MOON AND OTHER STORIES, by Colette

Now, if you’re looking for a collection of short stories instead, look no further. Reading Colette is like listening to an observant, artistic friend telling you stories about interesting people she crossed paths with. Refreshing, progressive and good-hearted. Perfect to add a little bit of personality to the month.

Enjoy!

[haveyoureadthistoo]

My most read authors

Growing up, I loved answering questionnaires. Who’s your closest friend? What’s your best quality? If you could trade places with one person for a whole year, who would it be? I would answer fast and surely, regardless of how definitive the questions sounded. Cut to now, when I’m supposed to know myself better, and I can’t pick favourites to save my life. All that confidence was lost somewhere between discovering too much and figuring out I knew too little.

For a long time, I said Jane Austen was my favourite author. Then Jorge Amado and Ernest Hemingway threatened to take her place for a spell. In the past 10 years, Kurt Vonnegut has steadily gained a spot in my heart. The bottom line is, I don’t know.

Looking into Bookstats, I found out that, of all the authors I’ve read, only about a third were visited more than once, and sometimes just because I was reading a whole series. For instance, my most read author is Lemony Snicket, but just because I’ve read the whole “A Series of Unfortunate Events”, which in my mind counts as one, not thirteen, since it’s the same characters in a continuous story.

Following that logic, these would be my realistic top read authors:

AGATHA CHRISTIE

It all started with “And Then There Were None”, which was an excellent, if lucky choice to begin with. Very often that first book will determine your whole relationship with the author. That’s why I haven’t read as many Stephen King books, for instance. My first experience was bad and it took me years to try again. I also don’t like the way his books make me feel in general, but that’s another topic altogether.

Speaking of King, he and Christie both fall into that category of authors with impossibly high numbers of books published in their lifetime. Let’s call them high achievers. So, if you’re an avid reader, you’ll probably have at least one high achiever as part of your top read list, be them a favourite or not.

Agatha Christie is definitely one of the best, if not the best, crime novelists of all time and I can’t say I’ve ever found any fault with the carefully crafted investigative plots of her books. There is, however, the occasional racist, sexist or simply classist comment that makes you cringe - until you remember she lived in a racist, sexist and classist society, so it’s not surprising, even if it is enraging. Still, because those personal views can every now and then affect character construction as well, it makes her a reliable, but not always consistent choice, so I wouldn’t necessarily call her one of my all-time favourites.

HARUKI MURAKAMI

In my mid-20s, I was really focused on finding new voices. By new, I mean outside of my general bubble, which was basically Latin America and English-speaking countries. So when I picked up “Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” it did feel fresh in terms of story. Now that I’ve been in touch with other Japanese and Korean authors, I can’t help but look at Murakami more as a transitional option, as there’s a lot of Western influence on the way his novels are structured.

What really drew me to his books was the added magical, speculative element that permeated an otherwise mundane and very real character or setting. Maybe it’s the Pisces Moon to my Capricorn Sun, but that combination really works for me - when well done. A few books later, “1Q84” was such a disappointment that I still haven’t managed to like his other stuff as much as I liked those first novels I read. In fact, I started perceiving new flaws, or rather personal pet peeves in his style.

But alas, I don’t speak Japanese. Therefore I can only have access to translated versions, which makes it harder for me to be too decisive about my opinion. My partner loves his books, so I still pick up a new one occasionally, hoping to feel the way I did before. No luck so far.

ROALD DAHL

You know what? Roald Dahl, J. R. R. Tolkien, Walt Disney. Same energy. Grown man on the outside, creative children on the inside. And I’m all here for it.

I didn’t read any of Dahl’s books as a child, but I was obsessed with the Danny DeVito adaptation of “Matilda”, a common occurrence amongst bookworms, I’m sure. “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” was also part of my childhood, but it was an older film, so I was much more into the Tim Burton version that came out later, when I was already in my teens. I would periodically gather sweets and randomly watch it for the millionth time.

In 2014, having had the opportunity to watch “Matilda - the Musical” in London, I came across the book in a charity shop the day after, just like magic! My expectations were so high. And, to my relief, I loved it. Since then, there have been many others and I’ve never rated any of them below 4 stars on Goodreads. Dahl just exhales strong chatty grandpa vibes and I find it magical.

JANE AUSTEN

It is a truth universally acknowledged that you can’t talk about Jane Austen without making some wordplay with this iconic sentence to begin with. “Pride and Prejudice” is the book I read most times in my life and I intend to continue rereading it every couple of years for the rest of my existence. It’s flawless. The characters, the dialogue, the descriptions, even the dancing.

I know every teenage girl in an English-speaking country is introduced to Jane Austen at school, but in my case it was a big coincidence. The 2005 adaptation came out without any buzz in Brazil. I just randomly rented it one day (yes, I am renting-videos years old), but couldn’t find the time to watch it and was about to return it unwatched when an acquaintance offered to copy the DVD for me so I could watch it later. Thank you, acquaintance.

After obsessing over the film with my best friend, I bought the Portuguese translation of the book and we both read it several times. I can’t say I ever felt the same about Austen’s other books, though I really liked most of them, except for boring “Mansfield Park”. Still, the cleverness and wittiness, paired with a carefully developed romance is just unmatched. Especially considering she was an unmarried woman writing in the early 19th century.

It’s amazing how the majority of male authors strongly enjoy discrediting Jane Austen. That is such a red flag for me as a reader - and as a woman. I don’t know if they speak without even reading the books or if they just don’t get them. The criticism is never in the realm of taste, but in such objective terms that it becomes impossible for me to respect the critic, and therefore their work. Austen is my forever hero and everyone should read her.

KURT VONNEGUT JR.

White. Male. US author. Writing about war. It was a clear "swipe left" for me, but I just had to try. And he proved me wrong. So wrong. My experience with Vonnegut is similar to my experience with the TV show “The Wire”. War on drugs has to be the worst theme ever, so how come the show is so wonderful? And how come Vonnegut’s books are so wonderful? The answer is: good writing.

Some authors are great with plot development, but their character construction is a bit underwhelming. Some authors are the other way around. Vonnegut is a master of both and writes the most clever, mind-blowing sentences to top it off, without sounding pretentious or bringing the whole mood down. It’s a perfect match for me.

His interviews and masterclasses are a spectacle of their own. If you’ve never read any of his books, just promise me you’ll try.

PHILIPPA GREGORY

I think Gregory was my first real experience with historical fiction. I’m a little obsessed with the Tudors. I don’t think fiction, with all its given freedom, has produced such mindblowing characters as Henry VIII and Elizabeth I. So when you decide to come up with a clever literary account of their lives and you do it well… I mean, it’s just *chef’s kiss*.

I’ve only ever read her Tudor books, but I enjoyed them immensely. As a contemporary woman, she manages to dive into those female characters with something other than the regular male gaze through which they have been historically catalogued. The intelligence, the lust, the cunning - and yes, the romance.

She’s a victim of people’s disregard for romance. As though all her research and her complex creative process were undermined by her wish to entertain. But whatever, at least she’s a rich victim.

CECELIA AHERN

We all need an emotional pillow, and mine is an Irish girlie who carved a substantial writing career to herself on top of being the daughter of a former prime minister and singing in a pop group that almost made it to Eurovision.

It’s been a while since I last read one of her books, but Cecelia Ahern helped me navigate complex emotions from my late teens to my mid-20s, and I’m grateful for that. Her books might be severely tear-inducing, but they’re so full of hope, too. Happy endings and all that. An ode to love in all its forms.

JORGE AMADO

I can’t begin to explain Jorge Amado in English. It’s even hard to place him outside the Northeast of Brazil. His prose is so clever, seductive and fundamentally nordestina, I’m not sure it could ever be properly translated.

Thinking mainstream, if you’ve enjoyed “One Hundred Years of Solitude” and can understand why the fisherman in “The Old Man and the Sea” did not give up, then you´ll probably find a place in your heart for Jorge Amado. I certainly did.

He came to me at the right time, too. As a classic Brazilian author, he might have ended up as a mandatory reading at school and it would have been too soon for me. The first book I read was “Mar Morto” (Dead Sea) when I was 19 and it was the perfect book for such a romantic and passionate age. His books can be tragic, funny, historical and sometimes all of the above. I might not be able to call him my undisputed favourite, but he’s definitely my favourite Latin American author.

What I take from this is that my reading goals and perceptions are always changing - because I myself am always changing. There are books in my top 10 whose authors I never thought to seek again, same as there are authors I keep revisiting just because they’re so consistent that I know exactly what to expect.

Besides the despair of realising we’ll never have enough time to read all the books we’d like to read in this lifetime, there is also the relief of knowing we will never run out of good books - of all kinds, for all moods. They're just perfect like that, aren't they?

[haveyoureadthistoo]

Unpopular opinions

If you're human and living on this planet, you have certainly at least once got into a heated debate with somebody over something that was entirely up to taste. When it comes to culture, especially books, other aspects such as high expectations, political views and personal life experiences can also play a part, to the point where it's sometimes difficult to figure out why you didn't like that novel that everybody else is praising so hard.

My first big disappointment came from where I least expected it to. My queen Jane Austen. How could such a witty, talented author have penned something as dull as “Mansfield Park”? I could barely find any of the traits I so loved about her other novels, apart from maybe Lady Bertram and her impossible pug. It took me ages to finish and by the end of it I almost wished I hadn’t read it. But the following year I read “Emma” and reread “Pride and Prejudice” for the zillionth time, and my sense of wonder was restored.

In 2016, I finally decided to read “The Little Prince”, ready for a comfort book. Instead, I found a manual for sexist behaviour and unhealthy codependency disguised as sweet words and a love story. It took me so much by surprise that I could barely register the beautiful writing and the clever metaphors. All I could think was - how is this a timeless children’s classic when it glorifies egocentrism and self harm? Unlike many of the books I wish I had read at a younger age, this time I was relieved to be dealing with it at the end of my prefrontal cortex development, when I at least knew better.

Not long after that, I picked up another classic, “Lord of the Flies”. This time, I didn’t have strong feelings about it, I just failed to connect - and to believe. The writing bothered me, the excessive descriptions threw me off and the concept just didn’t ring true. The idea that we’re all just wild animals deep inside, ready to behave irrationally at the lowest provocation is just too convenient. It kills any productive discussion. But Piggy was such a cutie, poor guy.

My next bad ride was “1Q84”, which marred my admiration for Haruki Murakami. From that point onwards, I started perceiving flaws that didn’t seem to be there before, as though with every new book I was always reading the same thing with small adjustments. Woody Allen comes to mind. I could suddenly see the man behind the author. So many things displeased me, from bad character development to lazy narrative structure, not to mention all the unsexy sex scenes and the attempt at justifying sexual assault with religion. By the time I was done with the trilogy, I just knew I could never read again the books I had already read and loved because it might taint my beautiful memories.

2019 was the last time I faced a beloved classic and was left with a bitter taste. As a nature lover and philosophy admirer, it had always been a given that I would fall head over heels with “Walden”. I was writing a short film that was all about wilderness and community life, so it seemed like the perfect time to finally embrace my beautiful hardcover copy of the book. I certainly did not expect to find what a Goodreads user defined as: “The tale of a man who dared to live in his parents backyard and eat dinner with them, and then lived to write about it.” I felt cheated on. Ideologically and financially.

I might sound harsh in my comments, but I still rated all these books 2 stars out of 5. They’re books. Full books. Written by real people - something we take for granted now, but might live to miss one day. And it’s perfectly fine that some people worship them. Well, to some extent.

The bottom line is, I disliked them for different reasons. I take no issue with people enjoying “Mansfield Park” or “Lord of the Flies”, whose faults listed here are of a very personal nature. You can also choose to ignore the author’s privilege in “Walden” and manage to focus on the positive, if abstract conclusions. Even “1Q84” can hold a reverential place to somebody who sees it as a big mysterious symbolism for something I couldn’t see. Same goes for “The Little Prince”, which might just elicit good childhood memories regardless of the actual words - though I would never in a million years give it to an actual child.

Speaking of childhood memories, it’s also perfectly ok to change your mind. Something that spoke to you when you were little can feel a little distant when you’re an adult. Even something you liked or loathed in your 20s might feel better or worse within a decade (or four). We are constantly changing. And so are our passions. You don’t have to hate something just because you didn’t love it, nor do you have to pretend you’re still passionate about something that belongs in a different time, to a different you.

And it’s so natural that we disagree. Not everything has to turn into a fight. Our opposing tastes are not supposed to elicit war, but rather to give us personality and something to talk about. They are conversation starters, idea sparkers. We shouldn’t have to hide our true opinions, the same way we shouldn’t only listen to other people with the same opinion.

So yes, praise what you like, respect what you don’t. And let’s all collectively forget “The Little Prince”.

[haveyoureadthistoo]

A reader's journey

Harder than the anxiety about all the books I won’t be able to read in my lifetime is the guilt of lost time. Even though I can’t remember a period in time in which I simply did not read, there were moments of distance, followed by moments of reawakening.

I know I was simply living life and wouldn’t go so far as to say I regret those moments, but I can’t help the melancholy of coming across a book now that would have resonated so beautifully with previous, less developed versions of myself. I suppose it’ll keep happening as I go through different stages in life anyway, but it made me think back on my journey as a reader.

My parents were not readers. Nor was my oldest sister, who was almost 15 years my senior. I don’t remember seeing books around the house that weren’t my own. My paternal grandfather liked to read national classics and western fiction, but he lived far away in the countryside. I also had an uncle who was a poet and another who was a lyricist, though not necessarily readers.

So I’m not really sure what got me into reading. Maybe it was just genetics. Maybe it was the right teacher. Or maybe it was watching “Matilda” over and over again. Overall I was a very active child who loved nothing more than running around the school courtyard - unless I got a new book to read. Then I would sit hypnotised in the bleachers and read the whole thing in one go, rereading it again and again until it was time to give it back.

We were required to read just a handful of books for school every year, but after a while I started getting books from the school library as well. After my dad died, I got slightly rebellious, not doing all of my homework, forging my mom’s signature on school communications and on one occasion hiding a library book I forgot to return - until my mom found it under the sofa and went with me to give it back, apologise and pay the small fee. I was around 8 at the time and it might have been my first ever reading gap, but I can’t remember if it really came to that or if it was just that one isolated incident.

Apart from school, my only other source of books was an aunt who was a teacher. There was also the occasional old copy my mom would uncover from her childhood archive, like “Pollyanna”. We were not in the habit of going to bookshops and I didn’t really ask for specific new books, I just got whatever I was given and didn’t mind reading xeroxed copies, which would often be the case to save some money at home. And I could colour the cover with sharpies, which was fun.

One memorable xeroxed copy I read for school was of a Brazilian book called “My Sweet Orange Tree”, when I was 10. It’s the story of a somewhat poor boy who develops a loving friendship with an old man and an orange tree, but the old man dies, run over by a car, and the tree is cut when the boy falls ill. It was the first time I cried reading a book, and there weren’t many after that.

Then there came a transient couple of years as I navigated my pre-teens. My reading was steady, but sparse. Until I watched “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” twice in a row and decided it was time to get on with the books. I had read the first one when I was 9, but it was a bit of a chaotic experience. Besides, spoilers were not a big thing in the early 2000s, so I was fine just watching the films. This time, though, everybody talked about the details left behind and I wanted to know.

That was 2006. I didn’t have an allowance and money was tight at home, so what I did was start the traditional piggy bank and save every leftover penny from what my mom gave me for school meals, plus whatever little cash I got from relatives on my birthday. One of my aunts had a friend who worked in a big bookshop chain and used his employee’s discount to sell me the books for a lower price. I saved enough money to buy book 4, read it several times until I had the money for book 5, and so on.

Around the same time, I discovered Jane Austen after falling in love with the 2005 adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice” - and with Mr. Darcy, of course. I have no idea how many times I’ve read that book in my life. At that point I was fully back into reading, even if I just reread everything over and over. Luckily for me, my best friend at the time loved stories as much as I did, so we obsessed over books together, exchanged them often and even started buying some cheap, easy novels in English to learn the language.

Once I got into university, it was hard to keep up my streak. The good thing was, I learned about secondhand bookshops and got some jewels to add to my collection. I was also introduced to Book Depository. The currency exchange was so cheap back then, and they weren’t owned by Amazon yet, so I was suddenly getting these unimaginable books in English for very low prices. I had a small scholarship and all the money I got went into books - and concerts, and drinks, if I’m being honest. Still, I wasn’t reading that much, and in retrospect I wish I were. I think it would have helped me navigate my early 20s better.

What finally got me back on track was getting a new scholarship, this time to spend a year abroad. Enter England: beautiful parks, lots of charity shops, cosy cafés and scenic train rides. If that didn’t work the charm, nothing else would. It helped me recover some of the magic that was starting to fade as I got deeper into adulthood. When I got back to Brazil in early 2014, I had a whole suitcase filled with books and notebooks.

I also had a smartphone and my own computer, so the distraction thing took a while to settle. By 2016, a mix of acquired habit and unemployment (which is the realistic word for occasional freelancing) led me to yearly numbers I could never deem possible. It naturally went down over the years, what with work, study and the inescapable social media addiction, but I don’t think it’ll ever go away now. Books are so intrinsically part of my personality, and even my career, that I could never part with them for more than a day.

Even if I did, I know it wouldn’t be forever. Like a true friend, they would be waiting for me with open arms - anytime, anywhere.

[haveyoureadthistoo]

"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth."

Autumn's here, you got your new candles, washed your cosy brown sweater, grabbed a cup of tea and started thinking - wouldn't it be nice if I could find another book-related blog, where another bookworm goes into another series of posts about her own reading journey?

Before you make up your mind about giving it a go or dropping it altogether, let me try to lure you into thinking this will be interesting with a few facts about myself, like they do with contestants in reality television - but in this case all facts will be true. I think. I'm a screenwriter. My first show was illegally downloaded and posted to YouTube, which I think is as good a praise as an official award. I have lived in a few different countries, always surrounding myself with more books than I can read, neatly organised in colour-coded bookshelfs. Last year, I wrote a book to my friend's 3-year-old son and he really liked it, which AGAIN feels as good as an official award. Maybe better in this case. And, last but not least, Pippin once read my short film script! By Pippin I mean Scottish actor Billy Boyd, and no, he did not accept the part, but hey, he READ IT. For those still here, I'll try my best to post some cool and personal stuff as frequently as possible. You can also follow me on Instagram, Goodreads and Fable. Extra points* if you can tell me the author of the title quote without Googling it. *Points can't be exchanged for anything, but it's always good to earn points.