Sarah's kooky compendium of recommended books

Can we read? No. 139

Hi there.

It has been so long since I’ve written anything here, and in many ways, I feel massively disconnected from this newsletter. Back in late summer, I did all of the work to be done here through the end of the year — a semi-unhinged undertaking I seem to have adopted annually, as a way to “take time off behind the scenes” (HA) without anyone ever really knowing.

That plan would have worked, too, if I didn’t have a whole life outside of this project, if I did not arrive at my pillow each night so mentally, emotionally, and physically tapped out, if there were not so many moving parts in the machine (if I did not view my life as a machine).

In many ways, I have no regrets about reaching that daily destination having used myself totally up, having given it all away. I believe my purpose on this planet is to be of service — and that my work in this lifetime is to learn to love and be loved in return — and what further proof do I need that I am carrying that through? In other ways, I admit completely that I may be doing too much (certainly more doing than being), but I’m not interested in doing too little — not now, not here in this moment, not with the gifts I’ve been given.

I’m approaching two years of intense and almost nonstop crisis, upheaval, and change — a long stressful string of events, which I write up in a list once in awhile, just to remind myself that I’m not imagining or exaggerating how hard it has been — and the only way I have survived is to just keep going. It hasn’t mattered if parts of the aforementioned machine have broken down along the way, or if I myself have been stripped to pieces — I’ve Macgyver’d my way through.

And if it has taken more energy than I can even explain — if it still takes that kind of energy, only a small portion of which I can afford to divert here — well, I accept it. Not because I’ve had no other choice — though that’s true, and that’s often how we get through — but because what I’ve rebuilt from the rubble is a beautiful, complex, Rube Goldberg-esque machine. It’s a hell of a lot messier than it used to be, but it’s much more honest. It’s something weirder, and warmer, and wilder. It’s filled with a kind of power that never went away, never disappeared completely, but got disconnected somehow, and has since been plugged back in.

The price has been inordinately high, and I am still paying it, but this new invention — the precious, irreplaceable machine of my life — is mine. It has carried me over. It continues to carry me, weary as I am, through. Right to my pillow each night. Right to wherever I next belong.

I am not the Sarah of February 2023, and no doubt that’s exactly as it should be. Maybe it’s a time machine, maybe it’s a photo booth, maybe it’s a quantum technology we have yet to conceive of that changes me, that changes you.

If we’re willing to give everything we have and then more than we think we can give: imagine what we can rebuild and build anew.

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Meena’s Saturday by Kusum Mepani, illustrated by Tasmeen Ismail (2024)

I received a copy of this book from Penguin Young Readers — all opinions are my own

I love the note on the illustrations in the front matter of this delightful title: “The art for this book was created with pen, watercolor, Conté, pencil, colored pencils, pastels, charcoal, ProMarkers, GrafArt, Photoshop, and love,” as this intense mishmash of materials is indicative of the assortment of things happening in this story, wherein a little girl must rise early each Saturday and, along with her three sisters and her mother, prepare their house to receive family, friends, and neighbors all day long.

There’s a lot of activity here — cleaning and cooking and visiting and most of all, observing — and just as many messages about the nature of traditions, and sometimes, the need for change. Meena resents that her brother gets to lay in bed reading while she and her sisters work their tails off. She watches how her mother never stops moving. She struggles with having to wait for dinner, while the men eat first, even though the women did all the cooking.

She loves these rituals — even the hard work and chaos — but not all of it, and even as she recognizes the ways that these traditions have kept her immigrant family (and many others) afloat, she vows that someday, she’ll leave behind the ways things were done in Gujarat, India and do things a new way, her way.

I won’t spoil the ending of this subtly powerful feminist story for you, only say: someday starts today. Highly recommended.

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One of Each by Mary Ann Hoberman, illustrated by Marjorie Priceman (1997)

Oliver Tolliver, a jaunty dog, loves having one of everything — one chair, one dish, one of each belonging. However, when he realizes he has no one to share his things with, he goes out to meet someone. He finds a cat, who is up for friendship, until she realizes, with only one of everything, there’s no room for her in his life. Can Oliver Tolliver be happy with two of each?

There are lovely, gentle messages here about the joy of companionship and generosity, but more important is the way they’re delivered: Hoberman is the queen of her craft, and her playful rhymes, with their deeply enjoyable meter, matched with Priceman’s signature wild, whimsical illustrations, are a pure joy to read aloud. Toddlers and preschoolers will love this one.

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Mystery on the Docks by Edith Thacher Hurd (1983)

This review first appeared in issue No. 19 — I’ve edited and updated it here

This rather bizarre and amusing tale is the dark, noir story of a rat named Ralph who works in a diner on Pier 46. One day, when he encounters some villainous rats who leave without paying for their food, he follows them and — like the plot of a crime novel where the main protagonist sort of falls into the middle of the action by accident and then spends the rest of the book trying to get out of it — he is captured by their boss, a nefarious fellow who may or may not be involved in the kidnapping of Ralph’s favorite opera singer, Eduardo Bombasto (spoiler alert: the nefarious rat is most definitely involved).

An action-packed chase scene ensues (with many opportunities for over-the-top sound effects, which I encourage you to indulge in no matter how silly you feel) until Eduardo is rescued, the villains come to justice, and Ralph is returned safely to his life on Pier 46. The illustrations here are more entertaining than masterful — ditto the prose — but there’s nothing wrong with a playful romp, a pleasure read, and this one is just plain fun.

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Clara’s Kooky Compendium of Thimblethoughts and Wonderfuzz by Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong, illustrated by Frank Ramspott (2024)

I received a copy of this book from Pomelo Books — opinions are my own

To be clear: I love, love, LOVE Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong. When I interviewed them in 2022, I called myself a mega-fan, and that’s still true, but it’s more than that: they’re my poetry heroes. So when I saw they had a new book out, I flipped with joy.

It’s hard to explain exactly what this book is — Vardell and Wong describe it as an “anthology meets junk journal fused with a graphic novel plus bonus weird and wonderful trivia! In full color throughout, it features 150+ poems plus fun cartoon art and a story about a week in the life of Clara, her family, and friends” — and that’s a darn good description. It’s not a novel in verse, but each short, connected poem tells a bit about Clara and what’s going on in her world, surrounded by “little thoughts the size of a fairy thimble” (thimblethoughts) and “fuzzy wonderings” (wonderfuzz), doodles, facts, questions, and anything/everything else inside a 4th grader’s brain.

Inside shots of Clara's Kooky Compendium...

This is the type of book that would have blown the top of my head off at nine years old, and here’s proof: we live in a house with literally thousands of books, but when my 10yo spotted this, she stopped in her tracks, picked it up, and sat down with it immediately. I think this is a book best enjoyed without the presence of a grownup — hand it to your late elementary- or middle-school-aged reader and get out of the way — but that’s not to say you can’t buddy-read it; that is, let your kiddo enjoy it, and then read it so you can discuss. (I read many parts of it out loud to my husband the night I inhaled it cover to cover. Just saying.)

I am 100% here for anything Vardell and Wong create, and it’s true I’m never coming at any of their books with an unbiased opinion, but it’s also true that this book is simply outstanding. And kooky is the absolute right word.

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Thanks for reading today! If you know someone who might like this newsletter — or any of the books I reviewed today — please pass it on 📤 Word of mouth is still the love language of the internet.

Sarah