#margaret renkl

[dk-thrive]

She is right. For the rest of my life, I will not forget seeing those fireflies across the dark field, each one igniting a single flash of brightness, like the flashcubes on my father’s old Instamatic, like the stars themselves come down to the trees.

— Margaret Renkl, from “In Search of the Lost Fireflies” (NY Times, June 17, 2024)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

In a scene filmed at the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Ala., Michael W. Twitty, author of “The Cooking Gene,” reads aloud from placards describing the “crimes” for which Black men were lynched. “I want you to think about what the last meals of these men and women were,” he says. “What does it mean to be a Black woman who cooks on a plantation, who bears your slaveholder’s children? What is the kitchen at that point? The kitchen becomes a space of trauma and turmoil, not just a space where you make good food. These are the narratives that get woven out of the glorification of the South as a moonlight-and-magnolias place.”

Other storytellers in this documentary may seem, on the surface, to have almost nothing to do with the Southern past. Their art responds nevertheless to those historical forces, if only because they grew up in a place that was shaped by them. The screenwriter Qui Nguyen, who grew up in Arkansas as the son of Vietnamese refugees, believes that many people have a “stereotyped idea of what a Southerner looks like, or feels like, or sounds like.” A lot of them, he says, “probably wouldn’t guess this face being a part of it, and yet I’m completely a part of the Southern fabric.”

No writer has a lock on what it means to be Southern, but collectively these voices — straight and queer, old and young, Black and white and brown; writing in fiction and nonfiction, in poetry and song — are telling us an important story about what the South is and what it has been, whether we understand it or not. As the singer-songwriter Adia Victoria says, “Being a Southerner is a strange thing. You ponder about it. You gnaw on it. But you never can quite get to the heart of the South.”

Even more than the region’s oral tradition, that truth explains why this place has raised up far more than its share of storytellers. And why the stories will always, always keep coming.

Margaret Renkl, a contributing Opinion writer, is the author of the books “Graceland, at Last” and “Late Migrations.” Her next book, “The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year,” will be published in October.

[judgingbooksbycovers]

Leaf, Cloud, Crow: A Weekly Backyard Journal

By Margaret Renkl.

[cennettekiunknown]

[sharinglaudatosi]

Margaret Renkl and Wendell Berry

  Margaret Renkl, nature writer and nature lover, asks in a New York Times column "How to Keep Your Own Soul Safe in the Dark," why we bother working to repair and restore our Earth when the forces of environmental destruction are so powerfully ascendant.  And why do our personal and political actions matter?

  For guidance, she refers us to the philosophy that the now 90-year-old Kentucky farmer and writer Wendell Berry expressed in "A Poem of Difficult Hope".  Listen to him read it aloud in this 2013 interview with Bill Moyers (5 min. video):

The young ask the old to hope. What will you tell them?  (W. Berry)

"In the heart of this world, the Lord of Life, who loves us so much, is always present.  He does not abandon us, he does not leave us alone, for he has united himself definitively to our earth, and his love constantly impels us to find new ways forward."  (Laudato Si, 245)

  Sharing Laudato Si' comes to you from the St. Andrew the Apostle Care for Creation Ministry, Brooklyn, New York, affiliated with the Metro New York Catholic Climate Movement.

               Please share!

[johnesimpson]

In Proportion to the Capacity for Delight

Pablo Neruda, Margaret Renkl, et al.: 'In Proportion to the Capacity for Delight'

[Image: “Sometimes, Things Just Jump Out,” by John E. Simpson. (Photo shared here under a Creative Commons License; for more information, see this page at RAMH.)] From whiskey river’s commonplace book: How Much Happens in a Day In the course of a day we shall meet one another. But, in one day, things spring to life— they sell grapes in the street, tomatoes change their skin, the young girl you wanted never came back to the office.

They changed the postman suddenly. The letters now are not the same. A few golden leaves and it’s different; this tree is now well off.

Who would have said that the earth with its ancient skin would change so much?...

[Read the rest]

[amaised44]

[beautsentences]

"With any question of justice, the big picture can feel overwhelming. At those times, I have almost always found it helpful to zoom in, to focus on the same problem at a smaller, more manageable scale. I may not be able to save the zebras and the leopards, but I can help save the zebra swallowtail butterflies and the giant leopard moths. I can do that, at least in my own small yard, by nurturing the host plants they need to reproduce. Making a discernible, measurable difference to my wild neighbors is an act of resistance, too."

Margaret Renkl

[rodwhite]

The leaders won't save us: Put on furious, competent love

Margaret Renkl wrote a prophecy in the NY Times on November 18: “We Can’t Keep Waiting for Our Leaders to Save Us.” Let’s all say that again — that phrase most Christians (and my team, the Anabaptists, in particular) have been saying all along: We can’t keep waiting for our leaders to save us. Even though it is convenient to blame someone else instead of taking responsibility and organizing…

[autizmogenderia]

finally finished reading zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance

[inthevintagekitchen]

Reading While Eating in 2024: Five Recommended Books About Food, Friendship and Appreciation

When December comes around every year, I always love compiling the book list. This month marks the end of 2024, and also the start of the wintertime reading season with the release of the annual Vintage Kitchen recommended book list. Blog stories were a bit sparse this year due to many unanticipated factors, but I’m happy to say that they haven’t hindered this annual tradition of posting a…

[dk-thrive]

When Ada Limón tells you that poetry will make you feel better, you believe her.

In her nearly weekly travels as poet laureate, Ms. Limón has had a lot of practice delivering this message. “Every time I’m around a group of people, the word that keeps coming up is ‘overwhelmed,’” she said. “It’s so meaningful to lean on poetry right now because it does make you slow down. It does make you breathe.”

A poem is built of rests. Each line break, each stanza break and each caesura represents a pause, and in that pause there is room to take a breath. To ponder. To sit, for once in our lives, with mystery. If we can’t find a way to slow down on our own, to take a breath, poems can teach us how.

But Ms. Limón isn’t merely an ambassador for how poetry can heal us. She also makes a subtle but powerful case for how poetry can heal the earth itself. At this time of crisis, when worry governs our days, she wants us to look up from our screens and consider our own connection to the earth. To remember how to breathe by spending some time with the trees that breathe with us...

Whether sweeping and magnificent or nearly microscopic — a majestic national park vista, say, or an ant colony’s communal effort to save its own inadvertently uncovered eggs — the natural world has always been a catalyst for lyricism. “There’s a reason why people go to these incredible natural landscapes and think, ‘I have no words,’” Ms. Limón said. “And yet the poets, we love to see if we can figure out some words: ‘Let’s see if we can name that kind of wonder, that kind of awe.’”

The connection between the beauty of the world and the beauty of the language is more crucial now than it has ever been. In its intimacy, its revelation not just of nature but also of the perceiving self, nature poems offer one of the few paths we have to consider the risks to the natural world in a way that is free of partisan rancor.

— Margaret Renkl, from "How To Breathe With The Trees." On Ada Limón and her new anthology of nature poetry. (NY Times, April 1, 2024)

[macrolit]

By Elisabeth Egan May 18, 2024

“You’d be shocked by how many books have women chained in basements,” Reese Witherspoon said. “I know it happens in the world. I don’t want to read a book about it.”

Nor does she want to read an academic treatise, or a 700-page novel about a tree.

Sitting in her office in Nashville, occasionally dipping into a box of takeout nachos, Witherspoon talked about what she does like to read — and what she looks for in a selection for Reese’s Book Club, which she referred to in a crisp third person.

“It needs to be optimistic,” Witherspoon said. “It needs to be shareable. Do you close this book and say, ‘I know exactly who I want to give it to?’”

But, first and foremost, she wants books by women, with women at the center of the action who save themselves. “Because that’s what women do,” she said. “No one’s coming to save us.”

Witherspoon, 48, has now been a presence in the book world for a decade. Her productions of novels like “Big Little Lies,” “Little Fires Everywhere” and “The Last Thing He Told Me” are foundations of the binge-watching canon. Her book club picks reliably land on the best-seller list for weeks, months or, in the case of “Where the Crawdads Sing,” years. In 2023, print sales for the club’s selections outpaced those of Oprah’s Book Club and Read With Jenna, according to Circana Bookscan, adding up to 2.3 million copies sold.

So how did an actor who dropped out of college (fine, Stanford) become one of the most influential people in an industry known for being intractable and slightly tweedy?

It started with Witherspoon’s frustration over the film industry’s skimpy representation of women onscreen — especially seasoned, strong, smart, brave, mysterious, complicated and, yes, dangerous women.

“When I was about 34, I stopped reading interesting scripts,” she said.

Witherspoon had already made a name for herself with “Election,” “Legally Blonde” and “Walk the Line.” But, by 2010, Hollywood was in flux: Streaming services were gaining traction. DVDs were following VHS tapes to the land of forgotten technology.

“When there’s a big economic shift in the media business, it’s not the superhero movies or independent films we lose out on,” Witherspoon said. “It’s the middle, which is usually where women live. The family drama. The romantic comedy. So I decided to fund a company to make those kinds of movies.”

In 2012, she started the production company Pacific Standard with Bruna Papandrea. Its first projects were film adaptations of books: “Gone Girl” and “Wild,” which both opened in theaters in 2014.

Growing up in Nashville, Witherspoon knew the value of a library card. She caught the bug early, she said, from her grandmother, Dorothea Draper Witherspoon, who taught first grade and devoured Danielle Steel novels in a “big cozy lounger” while sipping iced tea from a glass “with a little paper towel wrapped around it.”

This attention to detail is a smoke signal of sorts: Witherspoon is a person of words.

When she was in high school, Witherspoon stayed after class to badger her English teacher — Margaret Renkl, now a contributing opinion writer for The New York Times — about books that weren’t part of the curriculum. When Witherspoon first moved to Los Angeles, books helped prepare her for the “chaos” of filmmaking; “The Making of the African Queen” by Katharine Hepburn was a particular favorite.

So it made sense that, as soon as Witherspoon joined Instagram, she started sharing book recommendations. Authors were tickled and readers shopped accordingly. In 2017, Witherspoon made it official: Reese’s Book Club became a part of her new company, Hello Sunshine.

The timing was fortuitous, according to Pamela Dorman, senior vice president and publisher of Pamela Dorman Books/Viking, who edited the club’s inaugural pick, “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine.” “The book world needed something to help boost sales in a new way,” she said.

Reese’s Book Club was that something: “Eleanor Oliphant” spent 85 weeks on the paperback best-seller list. The club’s second pick, “The Alice Network,” spent nearly four months on the weekly best-seller lists and two months on the audio list. Its third, “The Lying Game,” spent 18 weeks on the weekly lists.

“There’s nothing better than getting that phone call,” added Dorman, who has now edited two more Reese’s Book Club selections.

Kiley Reid’s debut novel, “Such a Fun Age,” got the nod in January 2020. She said, “When I was on book tour, a lot of women would tell me, ‘I haven’t read a book in four years, but I trust Reese.’” Four years later, on tour for her second novel, “Come and Get It,” Reid met women who were reading 100 books a year.

Witherspoon tapped into a sweet spot between literary and commercial fiction, with a few essay collections and memoirs sprinkled in. She turned out to be the literary equivalent of a fit model — a reliable bellwether for readers in search of intelligent, discussion-worthy fare, hold the Proust. She wanted to help narrow down the choices for busy readers, she said, “to bring the book club out of your grandma’s living room and online.”

She added: “The unexpected piece of it all was the economic impact on these authors’ lives.”

One writer became the first person in her family to own a home. “She texted me a picture of the key,” Witherspoon said. “I burst into tears.”

Witherspoon considers a handful of books each month. Submissions from publishers are culled by a small group that includes Sarah Harden, chief executive of Hello Sunshine; Gretchen Schreiber, manager of books (her original title was “bookworm”); and Jon Baker, whose team at Baker Literary Scouting scours the market for promising manuscripts.

Not only is Witherspoon focused on stories by women — “the Bechdel test writ large,” Baker said — but also, “Nothing makes her happier than getting something out in the world that you might not see otherwise.”

When transgender rights were in the headlines in 2018, the club chose “This Is How It Always Is,” Laurie Frankel’s novel about a family grappling with related issues in the petri dish of their own home. “We track the long tail of our book club picks and this one, without fail, continues to sell,” Baker said.

Witherspoon’s early readers look for a balance of voices, backgrounds and experiences. They also pay attention to the calendar. “Everyone knows December and May are the busiest months for women,” Harden said, referring to the mad rush of the holidays and the end of the school year. “You don’t want to read a literary doorstop then. What do you want to read on summer break? What do you want to read in January?”

Occasionally the group chooses a book that isn’t brand-new, as with the club’s April pick, “The Most Fun We Ever Had,” from 2019. When Claire Lombardo learned that her almost-five-year-old novel had been anointed, she thought there had been a mistake; after all, her new book, “Same As it Ever Was,” is coming out next month. “It’s wild,” Lombardo said. “It’s not something that I was expecting.”

Sales of “The Most Fun We Ever Had” increased by 10,000 percent after the announcement, according to Doubleday. Within the first two weeks, 27,000 copies were sold. The book has been optioned by Hello Sunshine.

Witherspoon preferred not to elaborate on a few subjects: competition with other top-shelf book clubs (“We try not to pick the same books”); the lone author who declined to be part of hers (“I have a lot of respect for her clarity”); and the 2025 book she’s already called dibs on (“You can’t imagine that Edith Wharton or Graham Greene didn’t write it”).

But she was eager to set the record straight on two fronts. Her team doesn’t get the rights to every book — “It’s just how the cookie crumbles,” she said — and, Reese’s Book Club doesn’t make money off sales of its picks. Earnings come from brand collaborations and affiliate revenue.

This is true of all celebrity book clubs. An endorsement from one of them is a free shot of publicity, but one might argue that Reese’s Book Club does a bit more for its books and authors than most. Not only does it promote each book from hardcover to paperback, it supports authors in subsequent phases of their careers.

Take Reid, for instance. More than three years after Reese’s Book Club picked her first novel, it hosted a cover reveal for “Come and Get It,” which came out in January. This isn’t the same as a yellow seal on the cover, but it’s still a spotlight with the potential to be seen by the club’s 2.9 million Instagram followers.

“I definitely felt like I was joining a very large community,” Reid said.

“Alum” writers tend to stay connected with one another via social media, swapping woot woots and advice. They’re also invited to participate in Hello Sunshine events and Lit Up, a mentorship program for underrepresented writers. Participants get editing and coaching from Reese’s Book Club authors, plus a marketing commitment from the club when their manuscripts are submitted to agents and editors.

“I describe publishing and where we sit in terms of being on a river,” Schreiber said. “We’re downstream; we’re looking at what they’re picking. Lit Up gave us the ability to look upstream and say, ‘We’d like to make a change here.’”

The first Lit Up-incubated novel, “Time and Time Again” by Chatham Greenfield, is coming out from Bloomsbury YA in July. Five more fellows have announced the sales of their books.

As Reese’s Book Club approaches a milestone — the 100th pick, to be announced in September — it continues to adapt to changes in the market. Print sales for club selections peaked at five million in 2020, and they’ve softened since then, according to Circana Bookscan. In 2021, Candle Media, a Blackstone-backed media company, bought Hello Sunshine for $900 million. Witherspoon is a member of Candle Media’s board. She is currently co-producing a “Legally Blonde” prequel series for Amazon Prime Video.

This month, Reese’s Book Club will unveil an exclusive audio partnership with Apple, allowing readers to find all the picks in one place on the Apple Books app. “I want people to stop saying, ‘I didn’t really read it, I just listened,’” Witherspoon said. “Stop that. If you listened, you read it. There’s no right way to absorb a book.”

She feels that Hollywood has changed over the years: “Consumers are more discerning about wanting to hear stories that are generated by a woman.”

Even as she’s looking forward, Witherspoon remembers her grandmother, the one who set her on this path.

“Somebody came up to me at the gym the other day and he said” — here she put on a gentle Southern drawl — “‘I’m going to tell you something I bet you didn’t hear today.’ And he goes, ‘Your grandma taught me how to read.’”

Another smoke signal, and a reminder of what lives on.

[judgingbooksbycovers]

The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year

By Margaret Renkl.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this essay written by Margaret Renkl, and published in the New York Times:

Just before dark on New Year’s Eve, I filled all the bird feeders, and I didn’t skimp on the good stuff: black nyjer thistle for the finches, two kinds of suet for the woodpeckers, whole peanuts for the crows and the blue jays, a high-protein woodland mix dense with shelled peanuts and sunflower hearts for everybody. The birds would wake to a New Year’s feast. I thought of it as the avian equivalent of the black-eyed peas and greens that the humans in the house would be eating for good luck later in the day. In 2025 we will be needing all the luck we can get.

I confess I wasn’t thinking only of the birds when I set out that banquet. According to birding tradition, the first bird you see on New Year’s morning is your theme bird for the year. It’s a game, really, not a true tradition, but it can be instructive to ponder what that first bird’s traits might teach us about the world or ourselves, and I was seeding the field for a fine first bird. A crow for wit and wile, perhaps? A wren for curiosity? A house finch for sociability or a goldfinch for renewal?

There is so much natural food in our yard — drupes and berries and grubs and the like — that I don’t hang out bird feeders except during winter. Even then, visits to our feeders are scant, except in the early mornings. If I took care to put my glasses on before I pulled the curtains open, I would see my first bird well enough to identify it. Some years I forget, and my first bird is a blur of wings and a departing rump.

On the very coldest mornings, birds tend to be both still and quiet, conserving energy to keep warm. Last year I looked for an hour before I saw my first bird. This New Year’s Day dawned very cold, too, and the wind, though light, was bitter. I saw no birds when I opened the bedroom curtains, but I had better luck peering through the glass of the back door: Two northern cardinals — a male and a female — were sheltering in a dead sapling beside our deck.

Male cardinals’ vibrant red color, black mask and jaunty crest are beloved among even those who have little interest in birds, but I prefer the more muted colors of the females. This one was impossible to photograph among the drab branches of the dead tree, but her mate was keeping watch over her, and she was likewise keeping watch over him.

Cardinals have many symbolic associations that make them especially resonant first birds on New Year’s Day. For Christians, they represent the blood of Christ and therefore sacrifice and redemption. The persistence of their pair bond across seasons and the male’s courtship ritual of feeding the female have made them symbols of devotion. The bereaved often believe the appearance of a cardinal means a loved one is sending a message of reassurance from the beyond, a reminder in grief that those we love have not left us entirely. That we are not alone in a cold, lonely world.

But as I watched these cardinals on New Year’s morning, I didn’t think first of symbols. At the dawn of a year that seems almost certain to make this country into an unrecognizable place, to make this world even less hospitable to birds and everybody else, it turns out I am less interested in symbolic associations than in practicalities.

The new administration, led by a felon who tried to overturn the results of a fair election, has pledged to deport 11 million undocumented immigrants, using military force if necessary, and end constitutionally protected birthright citizenship. He intends to permit more drilling��on federal lands and to roll back regulations intended to limit environmental poisons and greenhouse gases. And all of that is only the beginning.

Seeing those cardinals watching over each other, I wondered: What can I, too, do to be more watchful? To take more care?

Birds don’t exist to serve as symbols, and yet they can’t help meaning something to the symbol-making species watching them through a window or a storm door. On this Inauguration Day that brings no hope for help from elected officials to address climate change or to protect vulnerable species, including our own, the living world is showing us what to do: In the dark days already gathering, we will need to do our best to look out for one another and for the creatures we love.

[le-bronzage-est-delicieux]

Margaret Renkl