Erica Simmons

Oh boy. What I knew of the premise of this book intrigued me - a dystopian future exploration of agriculture and biotechnology politics. What I did not know was how gruesomely violent and rapey it would be - in ways that felt unnecessary and exploitative. As in, not just depicting violence necessary to move the plot forward or adequately set the context, but eroticizing it.

At first I was confused - this book has gotten so much praise and awards, how could I hate it this much? And then I remembered this book was published in 2009, at a time when prestige TV was almost universally hyper-violent, around when a critic I follow said, “this is the golden age of television if you don't mind watching someone getting shot in the face,” and I opted for less prestigious comedies instead. So for the same reason I tapped out of Game of Thrones after watching 10 too many beheadings in the pilot (I didn't even make it to the gratuitous rape scenes in that show), this book is not for me. Maybe for other people, but not for me.

There were things I really enjoyed about the book. I liked Elna Baker's off-beat humor, and I identified with her struggles as a unique, independent, often-lonely young woman trying to find her place in life and relationships. But the relationships were too big a part of this book. It was exhausting reading story after story about her search for a boyfriend / husband. (I know that's partly because of the religion, but it still got old.)

I loved reading the Canterbury Tales in Middle English in high school, but we only read the Prologue and a few of the tales, given time constraints and the difficulty of the sort-of-different language. I decided to read Ackroyd's modern prose translation as a quicker, easier way to read the rest of the tales. I enjoyed diving back into Chaucer's sarcasm and social commentary (although I was put off by the heavy doses of misogyny and antisemitism in many of the tales). But I found the prose translation disappointing. Part of the joy of Chaucer is the language, and although this felt more casual and less stilted than a modern poetry translation it still match up to the charm of the original.

Now this cookbook I really did read cover-to-cover, and yet I haven't made anything out of it yet! I loved the comic book form - what a great way to provide visuals to illustrate complex cooking processes and the complex mix of flavors, temperatures, and textures that comprise a bowl of ramen. I learned so much about the history and culture of ramen, as well as how to understand everything that goes into a dish. And I do plan to try making some of the recipes myself!

This book is both historically important and engaging. The beginning, especially, was well-written and so sad. The book depicts a society of pervasive corruption and greed which decimates the Rudkus family. It's hard not to be thoroughly cynical by the end, so that even the Socialist ray of hope of the last two chapters (the only hope Sinclair won't dash in the pages of the novel) seems very dim. My interest in the book flagged half-way through; the continuous failures, disappointments, and gruesome, meaningless deaths, although perhaps realistic, get a bit repetitive.

This is such a great cookbook! I love the premise: an ode to Krishna's mother, and to the types of Indian food that an Indian American family would make, with practical substitutions based on available ingredients and relatively quick, easy recipes for a working family. So far all of the recipes I have tried have been delicious: basic dal, sag “paneer” with feta cheese, aloo gobhi, and roasted cauliflower with green pea chutney. Most of the recipes are vegetarian, and a great way to clear out the vegetables in your fridge.

White Teeth is a fun, interesting read. Set in London from the 1970's to 2000, this book tracks the interwoven lives of a number of characters, each with their own complicated ethnic and personal histories. Her depictions of the confusions and stresses that different immigrants and their children face are really touching. Zadie Smith also writes beautifully. There were a number of one-liners and hilariously bitter exchanges that made me laugh throughout.

Okay, I thought this was an interesting book, but I'm really curious (and kind of disturbed) about why my very banal status updates regarding this book - and only this book - have been getting a ton of “likes” by people I don't know. Why have so many strangers liked that I added this to my “Want to Read” list, or that I added it to my “Currently Reading” list, or that I listed it as “Read” but did not rate it or give it a review? (And still, over a month after I finished the book?) WHY ARE SO MANY BOTS INTERESTED IN MY READING OF A BOOK ABOUT THE DYSTOPIAN INTENTIONS AND IMPACTS OF AUTOMATED SOCIAL SERVICES? Has anyone else noticed this? It's really creeping me out...

The following is a true story:

Me, in a San Franscisco bar reading Orientalism.

The blonde girl next to me reading over my shoulder: “So what's Orientalism?”

I explain as best I can in a couple sentences.

Her: “There are so many isms in Asia - like Buddhism and Taoism. You know what book you should read? The Tao of Poo. It's sooo good. It's, like, the perfect way to teach Americans about Eastern Religion.”

Horrified, I look back to my book and take a sip of beer.

My summary thus far, in two sentences: Agamemnon and Achilles squabble over concubines; Achilles loses, sulks. Achaeans and Trojans begin battle, fueled by Gods; many great sons of great men described, then slaughtered.

Update: Spiraling cycles of revenge. Many men become heroes, then die gruesomely.

I had never heard of Alison Roman before this past month, when I kept seeing her referenced among key cooking resources during quarantine times. So I ordered her cookbook from my local independent bookstore. And it is... fine, but disappointing. A lot of the recipes are good but unnecessary - duplicative of what you'd find in Samin Nosrat or Ottolenghi books, but with a more minimalist Instagram aesthetic to the book design. Other recipes seem very basic - wow, let's cook asparagus in olive oil, salt, and pepper - or else unbalanced, with too much of some trendy ingredient (for instance, beets drowning in greek yogurt).

But beyond how unnecessary this book seems, I really didn't like Alison Roman's narrative persona. Starting the vegetables chapter with a photo of her, beautiful and blonde, walking through a produce market with the bold text, “When I was about seven or eight, I had a thing for supermarket shoplifting,” seemed to telegraph the entitled dilettante experimenting with others' livelihoods. And starting the chapter on fruit salads with the sentence, “Before you skip this chapter because of the idea of out-of-season berries, cubed melon, and halved grapes all tossed together really turns you off, just know that it turns me off, too,” also just came off as obnoxious and disdainful of how others eat.

My reaction to this book is of course heightened by her recent negative comments about other cookbook and lifestyle authors, but frankly her book already rubbed me the wrong way, and I think she should look inward before talking ill of others. Not saying I won't use any of her recipes in the future, but I've been reading a lot of cookbooks recently, and this one seems like the least necessary on my shelf.

This book is depressing and infuriating, but an important summary of the many ways that government actions at the federal, state, and local level supported or enforced housing segregation throughout the country. This book helped me understand my own neighborhood / city better, and the ways that systematically barring African Americans from the benefits of post-World War II housing and social programs has created injustices that perpetuate to this day.