double book birthday!

It is finally August 6th! I have been waiting for this day for so long because two of the best books I’ve read in the past year are out today, hurrah! Double book birthday!

(This is one of the frustrating aspects of getting advanced copies of things, waiting so long to be able to share fabulous new book discoveries.)

First, SAVE YOURSELF by the wonderful Kelly Braffet.

save yourselfI never know how to describe this book which I personally think of as an excellent quality in a novel. I’ve seen it called a thriller but it’s the kind of thriller that occurs in your backyard, in your neighborhood, at your convenience store. Where things have gone wrong before and will go wrong again and all you can do is keep turning the pages. One of those extraordinary books where the characters feel like living, breathing people. Dark and bleak yet so compelling. You know that feeling when you’re reading and you’re scared about what might happen but you have to find out and you feel all conflicted and nervous and it’s just delicious? That feeling. A lot.

This is the first novel of Kelly’s that I’ve read and I’m very much looking forward to reading her previous books. (Kelly is also featured in this fabulous NYT Magazine article about the absurdly talented King family.)

And sharing the auspicious August 6th book birthday, THE RATHBONES by Janice Clark.

rathbonesMy name is on the cover there so I think it’s probably obvious that I loved this one, but here’s the whole quote:

“Part odyssey, part ancestral mystery and part sea shanty, all brilliantly entwined and soaked in Greek myth. Mercy’s journey over sea and shore and through extraordinary family history is a remarkable tale, both epic and intimate. The Rathbones itself feels as though it was loom-woven or carved in whalebone. Beautifully crafted and elegantly told. A siren song of a story.”

I was super nervous when I picked this up because it seemed like it could have gone amiss with the layering of the Odyssey with whales and New England but it steers itself through this beautiful inbetween of reality and myth. It’s Janice’s debut novel and I cannot wait for her next one but I will be patient because I’m not one to talk on such a subject.

Go forth! Buy books! Read on beaches with sand between your toes or lounged upon backyard grass or couch curled or wherever your reading spot of preference is! It’s only August, still plenty of summer reading time.

flax-golden tales: impending doom in fluffy coats

sheep

impending doom in fluffy coats

The fence won’t hold, when it comes down to it.

Everyone knows this—the fear is of when and not of if—but it is not a subject for discussion.

The fence is only the semblance of protection. A gesture. A symbol.

Better than nothing.

Easier than meeting death head on.

When the sheep get hungry enough, it will be nothing to them to break it.

They will crush the rusted barbed wire between their teeth like young grass.

And we’ll be next.

 

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

in lieu of proper post, watch this

Busy busy around here, even before I got caught in the rain this morning, so now things are both busy and soggy.

In lieu of proper post, I shall put this here so you can watch it and join me in hoping that this ends up being as good as it looks like it could be:

I haven’t really loved a new movie in quite awhile, I am keeping my crossables crossed about this one. Love this trailer. Also love that song, and have yet to tire of listening to that Of Monsters and Men album even though I play it constantly.

(If this is loading slow it’s also over here.)

flax-golden tales: the best revenge

best revengethe best revenge

I made lists of meanings and astrological correspondences but now that I’m in the store I feel lost.

There are so many shelves and faced with all the ingredients in separate jars and bottles I’m instantly overwhelmed trying to remember how they’re supposed to be combined and what everything means and what it is I need.

And I don’t really know what it is that I need so I stare at the faded label on a jar of white sage and try not to cry.

The shopkeeper, a tall guy with cobalt blue dreadlocks and a nice smile, asks me if I’m okay and I manage a nod.

I expect him to ask me what I’m looking for so I try to come up with a proper answer. Protection, maybe. Or revenge.

But he doesn’t ask, he just offers me a cup of yerba mate tea with lemongrass and suddenly we’re talking about how tea tastes better when served in proper cups rather than paper ones and discussing literature and cinnamon and fate.

I don’t end up buying anything, he won’t even let me pay for the tea.

As I’m leaving he gives me a single violet from a pot on the windowsill and tells me that living well is the best revenge.

 

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

natural history

One of the things I love about living in NYC is that there are entire other worlds here, where you can forget that you’re in the middle of Manhattan and feel like you’re somewhere else entirely.

We went to the American Museum of Natural History today. I haven’t visited in a very long time and I’d forgotten how wonderful and maze-like and fascinating it is.

We saw a lot of whales in a fabulous exhibit that we were not allowed to take photographs in. (The whales kept reminding me of The Rathbones which I can finally tell you to read in about a week and a half.)

I learned that sea otters have the densest fur of any mammal. I became enamored of a tiger and a fluffy-footed owl. I found things that inspired writing ideas in shadowy corners when I wasn’t even looking for them, but maybe they were looking for me.

And of course, we only managed a fraction of the galleries, so we shall have to go back.

ocean

owl

gems

lynx and bunny

kitty friend

(All photos are Adam’s, he brought his camera and I just had my phone, though I did get a good Instagram of the lynx.)

flax-golden tales: undisclosed intentions of departing angels

departing angelsundisclosed intentions of departing angels

The angels left the cemetery yesterday, I don’t think anyone saw them go except for me. There were other people around but they all seemed preoccupied with thoughts and stones and flowers.

The angels stepped down from monuments and mausoleums and walked quietly away.

One of them passed by where I was sitting and left a single feather in its wake, soft but cold and grey as stone. I pressed it carefully between the pages of my notebook but it was gone when I got home.

Today the news is calling the disappearance thievery or vandalism or performance art.

I doubt they’d believe me if I informed them that the angels left of their own accord.

Besides, it’s not my business. I’m sure the angels had their reasons.

Perhaps they were needed elsewhere.

 

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.