Rachel

I really enjoy Rebecca Solnit's writing style and essay structures. I started reading this book before the election, and the essays I read were fresh and inspiring. Because of life and work, I had to take a break, and then the election happened. Reading the rest of this book after the election was a much different experience for me. In this moment, it's harder for me to share Solnit's hope about the progress that we've made (especially in her essay “Worlds Collide in a Luxury Suite: Some Thoughts on the IMF, Global Injustice, and a Stranger on a Train,” about the head of IMF being accused of sexual assault) as a society. The essays that specifically explore how far feminism has come and how unsuccessful Republicans will be at chipping away at womens' rights were really difficult for me to read with any investment or hope right now. I kept thinking, “Would she still say all this, now that a misogynistic, racist, xenophobic, ableist sexual predator is our next president? What does she say/think now?” That's all my own shit though – all of her essays are well-written, engaging and approachable. The essays I found myself invested in were “Grandmother Spider” and “Woolf's Darkness: Embracing the Inexplicable.” “Grandmother Spider” encourages us (women) to take control of the narrative, to not be erased in the (hi)stories that are told about us. “Woolf's Darkness” was a salve for my post-election heart. Her words about despair and optimism as attitudes that are equally certain about the future and equally unproductive were particularly salient for me, especially now.

What I love about Rainbow Rowell's writing, whether she's writing adult or YA fiction, is how unadorned and engaging it is. She makes writing and storytelling look effortless, and her dialogue is fresh and real. Landline is the first of Rowell's adult fiction I've read, and I loved it. I love the mystery of the magic phone, and the layers it adds to the dynamic and development of the relationship and the main character. It's a way for us to be able to look back at how the relationship developed and how it got here; it's also a way for the main character to engage with the past and evolve. Its magic is never explained, which I'm okay with.

The other thing I adore about Rainbow Rowell is that she gets relationships. She captures the thrill and breathlessness and joy of teenage loves, first loves, and the beginnings of relationships. With Landline, she also captures the quiet fire that is a long-term relationship, and how that fire either gets maintained or smothered to embers. Her characters aren't always the most likeable (whatever that means), but they're complex and messy and trying to figure shit out – just like real people. I've read Eleanor and Park, Fangirl, and Landline, and I've seen myself in each of those books. That feels really difficult to do.

I finished Landline while flying across the country with a terrible cold. Maybe it was exhaustion, but the last third of Landline kept punching me in the heart and I finally broke out into an ugly-cry on the plane. I tried to hide it, because I was sitting close to the bathroom and people were constantly walking past my seat or standing in line next to my seat, but I finally thought, “Oh, fuck it. This book deserves an ugly cry at 10,000 feet.”

This is the second Kathleen O'Reilly book I've read, and I'm definitely a fan. Her characters have very real flaws and insecurities that they work through together and on their own. There was one subplot that didn't seem to have anything to do with the main plot – I thought it was going to serve as conflict later on, but it never came up again. I'm glad that subplot didn't emerge again, but it seems puzzling to have it there.

Okay, yeah, so I read a book called “Sex, Straight Up.” Yes, the title is terrible, and the cover doesn't match the tone of the book either. This book was unexpectedly sweet and fulfilling. Each character was dealing with some heavy stuff: loss; grief; regret; unrealized potential; the need to be bolder and more vulnerable; the desire to take up more room and take a place at the table because it's not going to be given to you. Those struggles are real, and I enjoyed watching each character grow into the new versions of themselves.

Molly Ringwald wove an interesting web that centers around a separation. All the characters were written beautifully; they were flawed and human in all of their thoughts and emotions. My favorite was the titular story, “When It Happens To You.” I love how, as a reader, I assumed I was reading a second-person POV story, but it became a direct address. That turn took my breath away, and when I finished, I had to close the book and sit for awhile to think and absorb. I was pleasantly surprised by this book – can't wait for another one from Molly Ringwald.