Category: .Books & Art.

It’s about time I finally cracked this charming little book open. I’ve had it sitting on my bookshelf for a while. The book is a tribute to bookstores, book lovers, and England. This epistolary novel delivered exactly what I expected it to! If it hadn’t already confirmed what I suspected, namely that I’m not the only soul in the world with a book-reading and book-collecting obsession, then Helene Hanff’s experience would have offered the proof I needed.  

What the book is about:

The book consists of the correspondence, from the late 1940s until the late 1960s, between New York writer and bibliophile Helene Hanff and Frank Doel, an employee at Marks & Co. Booksellers at the eponymous address in London. 

Hanff was a voracious, eclectic reader who couldn’t find good American editions of the books she wanted to read. Responding to an advertisement in a periodical, she wrote to Marks & Co., and began her two decades-long epistolary relationship with Doel.

Her chatty, witty and often teasing letters requesting books and Frank’s more conservative, straightlaced missives form the backbone of the work. As their long-distance, customer-bookseller relationship evolves, Hanff occasionally writes to other store employees, as well as Doel’s wife, the couple’s daughters and the family’s elderly neighbour. 

What gradually emerges is a gentle and moving look at two kindred spirits united by their love of the printed word. Hanff’s descriptions of the physical books are so vivid you can practically smell and feel the sturdy covers and the thick, creamy pages. The book also touches on their differing cultures, Hanff’s writing characterized by frank forthrightness, Doel’s, although no less friendly, by a certain civility and politeness.

Their correspondence isn’t just about books, although there are some amusing, illuminating passages about Chaucer, Samuel Pepys, Jane Austen, John Donne and Laurence Sterne. Early on, Hanff also sends care packages of food and stockings to the bookstore, much-needed in a time of post-World War II rationing.

Furthermore, there are subtle glimpses into history and the changing nature of society: bookstore employees emigrate to other countries to try their luck; the Doels save up money to buy their first used car; Queen Elizabeth II is crowned; Beatlemania descends on London.

But what I love most of all is the portrait that emerges of Hanff herself. A strong and independent single woman who would rather send cash in the mail than fuss with getting a money order, she starts out living in a tiny, cramped apartment and works her way up the publishing and radio drama world, drawing on much of her reading of literature (thanks to the packages from 84, Charing Cross Road) to create her plays. 

What I also admire is how uncluttered this book is. There were other letters, but Hanff trusts the reader to do the work to connect the dots. By reading a “reply” we can intuit what’s being replied to. There are no baggy, self-important, italicized passages about what’s in the letters themselves. And the graceful ending is stunning in its understatement. I’m pleased to finally say I can move this book from the nightstand to the “keepers” shelf. I’m just a bit sorry that it ended all too soon. I could have kept reading about Helene and Frank for days yet. This little gem also serves as a reminder to not put off until tomorrow what you’d love to do today. Time is shorter than we imagine, and the people we wish to meet and the places we yearn to visit are waiting for us. The time is now!

One last thought: Likely, you won’t be surprised to learn that secondhand bookstores are one of my most treasured places on earth to visit or even to have my own just like Marks & Co. one day. Used books are amazing. I love thinking about all the other readers who have previously held these books in their hands. Did they like the book but not well enough to keep it at home on that favorite shelf? Did the person pass away years before and not have a book-loving friend or relative to hand the books down to? Or maybe this fellow bookworm simply ran out of space or packed up, moved, and decided to share a beloved book with some stranger in the future that will connect by some invisible thread. 

The movie is also on YouTube starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Superb!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZN7wptk41A

My great friend Ursula (movie-night soon!) recommended “The Enchanted April” by Elizabeth von Arnim and I have to say that it was a delightful little story that I highly recommend.

What the book is all about:

Four women, previously unknown to one another, leave a dreary winter in England behind to take a one-month April holiday in a small, charming Italian castle after responding to an advertisement in a newspaper. The descriptions of the landscape are very lush and made me wish that I could make such an escape myself after a seemingly never-ending winter. 

“By the end of the week the fig-trees were giving shade, the plum-blossom was out among the olives, the modest weigelias appeared in their fresh pink clothes, and on the rocks sprawled masses of thick-leaved, star-shaped flowers, some vivid purple and some a clear, pale lemon.”

The novel is also sprinkled with humor throughout as the four very different personalities either bluntly clash with one another or surreptitiously try to avoid one or another of the group. I often found myself smiling at some of their little antics and remarks. Each woman begins with her own struggle, discontent, and preconceived notions of what is expected of her as a female member of society.

Lotty Wilkins and Rose Arbuthnot lived a life of relative obscurity in the Hampstead section of London. Both were virtually ignored by their husbands and had the longing to get away from it all. One day, Lotty Wilkins noticed an advertisement in The Times to rent an Italian villa named San Salvatore in April for 60 pounds. Mesmerized by the idea she recruits Arbuthnot to join her. Later, the women ask Lady Caroline Dester and a Mrs Fisher to join them as well, making the pair into a foursome, and, more importantly, making the castle rental into an affordable getaway. 

Even though Wilkins and Arbuthnot made the initial arrangements, Mrs Fisher and Lady Caroline shrewdly arrive at the castle first to claim the better rooms for themselves. The latter two women enjoy a higher standard of living than the former and want to ensure that they have an enjoyable holiday. Almost instantaneously, San Salvatore works its magic on all four women. An air of happiness overtakes them and rather than being bitter with their station in life, they talk of love being in the air. Wilkins and Arbuthnot originally came to the castle to get away from their husbands, but within a week, both women write their husbands asking them to join them in this enchanting setting. 

Within the month, all four women are the best of friends, although this takes time, especially with Mrs Fisher. Mrs Fisher, the elderly widow, leaves England for Italy with the notion that “Hardly anything was really worthwhile, except the past… She had not come away from these friends (in London), these conversable ripe friends, in order to spend her time in Italy chatting with three persons of another generation and defective experience; she had come away merely to avoid the treacheries of a London April.”

And finally, the beautiful, unattached Lady Caroline, never without a suitor to her own exasperation, believes “Worse than jokes in the morning did she hate the idea of husbands.”She wishes to be left completely alone and yet she seems to attract everyone to her, and her coldness and biting remarks towards others go unnoticed due to her overwhelming beauty. “People were exactly like flies. She wished there were nets for keeping them off too. She hit at them with words and frowns, and like the fly they slipped between her blows and were untouched.”

Ultimately, no one is immune to the enchantments of Italy and companionship and each undergoes their own individual transformations. They learn the value of friendship and that “Beauty made you love, and love made you beautiful.”

I thought the writing was basic yet descriptive and the plot to be straightforward with few twists and turns along the way. Von Arnim was writing from personal experience and recreated the Portofino castello where she enjoyed a monthlong holiday. This book was originally published within a year of her excursion, so the memories were fresh, especially the descriptions of the sea air and ever changing flowers. These amazing descriptions of time and place ended up working for me much better than the plot developments. I felt it was a breath of fresh air and a great reminder that a little respite and new acquaintances can help immensely to renew a dampened spirit.

I read a bit about the author Elizabeth von Arnim who strikes me as an interesting person. A writer brought up in influential circles, she married no less than five times in her life, and also enjoyed an affair with writer H.G. Wells after he ended his own affair with Von Arnim’s rival Rebecca West. When one of von Arnim’s disastrous marriages ended in 1921, she decided to spend a month at Italian castello Portofino as a way to clear her head. The idea for The Enchanted April has been born.

Every season, there are those books everyone starts buzzing about: Gone Girl! The Goldfinch! Fifty Shades of Grey. They explode all over your social media feeds and populate the front tables at your local bookstore. (And eventually, they turn into movies.) So, just in time for spring, I rounded up five of some big, and most talked about books…

Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff
There’s a good chance you’ve seen this book’s cover in my Instagram feed (or if you haven’t, that you will very soon). It graced the cover of last weekend’s Times Book Review, where it received paragraph after paragraph of glowing praise. The story of a marriage told first from the husband’s, then wife’s, perspectives presents two very different accounts of the same relationship. If you love inventive prose, emotionally complex characters, plots with intricate puzzle pieces — or simply reading about relationships — this one is for you. Every story has two sides. Every relationship has two perspectives.

Everybody Rise by Stephanie Clifford
Set in New York just before the 2008 recession, this debut novel (and instant bestseller) from a veteran New York Times writer has earned her the title of “a modern-day Edith Wharton.” Part social satire, part cautionary tale, Everybody Rise tells the story of Evelyn, a well-meaning but endearingly flawed protagonist who tries to make it in high society. With a tightly-wound plot and plenty of funny moments, I’m halfway through and enjoying it so far.

Purity by Jonathan Franzen
Hailed by critics as a “magnum opus,” the latest novel from the author of Freedom and The Corrections might be the most-hyped book of the season. The novel’s protagonist is Pip “Purity” Tyler, a young woman grappling with a pointless job, crippling student debt and a toxic relationship with her mom… along with plenty of sex, travel and murder. With his ambitious narratives and unmatched literary prose, Franzen has been called the finest writer of today. Like The Goldfinch in 2013, this is one of those tomes seemingly everyone will read. (Or pretend to read. Or purchase and keep telling themselves they’re going to read.)

A Window Opens by Elisabeth Egan
This debut novel from the books editor at Glamour has made appearances on countless “best of” lists and drawn comparisons to Bridget Jones’ Diary and I Don’t Know How She Does It. The book follows Alice, a mostly happily married mother of three, who is proud of her “balancing act,” until life inevitably gets in the way. People magazine hailed it as “a fresh, funny take on the age-old struggle to have it all.” The stream of glowing praise (and nearly 5-star Amazon rating!) have made it next on my list.

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert
The new nonfiction offering from the author of Eat, Pray, Love is Gilbert’s first foray into “self help” territory. Drawing from her own experience, she promises an honest examination of the creative process, including how to find the “strange jewels” hidden within each of us. If it’s anywhere close to as inspiring as her TED talk on the subject, it’s sure to be wonderful. And after all, who couldn’t use a little (big) magic?

What are you reading these days? Are there any books you’re looking forward to checking out? I’d love to hear!

And now, one of my favorite topics: books. What are you reading these days? There is no shortage of amazing books right now and I am here for it. Both fiction and nonfiction, from hilarious to poignant, here’s what I have been reading…

Save Me the Plums by Ruth Reichl
Confession: I don’t care about food. Don’t get me wrong — I eat food, I make food. Sometimes, I’ll get unnaturally excited about a bucatini cacio e pepe. But I am not one of those people for whom reading about flavors and textures and ingredients holds any weight. That’s how good Ruth Reichl is: she’s a writer, who just so happens to focus on food. And anything she writes, I will read. Reichl’s latest memoir chronicles her time as the editor-in-chief of Gourmet, and covers everything from wavering over accepting the job to not knowing how a magazine works to worrying how to be a boss to the very real guilt of balancing career and parenthood. She approaches every subject in her frank, friend-who-tells-the-best-stories-and-keeps-no-secrets way. The result is compulsively readable, much like — sorry, can’t help myself — a dish you want to gobble up. If you like books by Stanley Tucci, go read Ruth Reichl.

Southern Lady Code by Helen Ellis
At first, I did not want to read Southern Lady Code. The cover was cute. It came recommended by people I trust. But I am not a Southern lady, and I feared the humor would be lost on me. I could not have been more wrong. Southern Lady code is “the technique by which, if you don’t have something nice to say, you say something not-so-nice in a nice way.” This essay collection had me howling — truly howling — with laughter. One evening while reading, my boyfriend put his book down to say, “WHAT are you laughing at?” which prompted me to read an entire chapter aloud. Ellis describes everything, from puzzles to airplane etiquette to riding the subway with a panty liner stuck to her back, in a way that is very, very funny. Run, don’t walk. 

The Farm by Joanne Ramos
Full disclosure: I just started The Farm last night, but you know those books that immediately draw you in and suddenly you can’t think of anything else? Joanne Ramos, formerly a staffer at the Economist, wrote this debut novel — a cracking, chilling but also human page-turner about Jane, a Filipino immigrant, who goes to “The Farm,” a retreat where for nine months, you get organic meals, daily massages and big money. The catch? You can’t leave the grounds, you’re constantly monitored and you’re cut off from your regular life, while you focus on producing the perfect baby — for someone else. If you liked The Handmaid’s Tale, I think you’ll love this book. Can’t wait to read it in bed tonight.

Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri
A few weeks ago, when I wrote about my newly discovered love of short stories, I was thrilled when people chimed in with favorite collections. The author that got the most shout-outs was Jhumpa Lahiri. Lahiri won a Pulitzer for her first book, Interpreter of Maladies, and a movie was made from her novel, The Namesake— but I decided to start with her 2009 collection Unaccustomed Earth. Like most of her writing, Lahiri focuses on the Bengali immigrant experience in America, zeroing in on themes of belonging, family and home. What is most impressive to me is there’s often nothing exceptional about the setting or person. But man… she gets it. A big thank you to those who recommended this beautiful book.

Normal People by Sally Rooney 
This is one of those novels that a) you don’t want to ever end b) when it ends, you can’t bring yourself to read anything new because you want to live in the story for as long as possible. Rooney, who is 28, broke onto the scene two years ago with her critically acclaimed (and wildly popular) Conversations with Friends. Her second book follows two Irish high school kids who hail from different worlds: Connell is working class and popular, Marianne is wealthy and weird. Once they head to Trinity College in Dublin, the ever-present tension of these basic truths informs their love story as it evolves from secret and sexual to deep and beautiful to intense and life-saving.

What are you reading right now? Have you read anything great lately? I’d love to hear…

I received awesome feedback after posting the last book recommendation. Thank you! Then I came up with an idea. I am a voracious reader with a huge library (pictured above is one of many bookshelves, sigh!) at home. Since I love books so much, I will write weekly book recommendations or small reviews every Thursday. Why? Because I want you to read. And of course head over to your local bookstore and purchase some books.

Today I want to share some of my favorite memoirs…

How to Stay Married by Harrison Scott Key. I spent an entire weekend clutching this book to my chest. I even read it in the car. Harrison is hilarious but also introspective, repentant and clear-eyed about why his wife ended up cheating on him and how they tried to reconcile, repeatedly. I laughed out loud, while also rethinking all my past relationships. I will read anything he writes from now on.

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett: This novel follows light-skinned Black twin sisters who grow up to live in two very different worlds — one white, one Black. I could not get off the couch reading this book and read it past sunset.

The Girls of Summer by Katie Bishop. This escapist thrill is a coming-of-age story meets midlife malaise, in Greece! Who knew that was the perfect combination?! With two timelines in one woman’s life — her teenage summer of love and intrigue in Greece with a much older man who has suspicious friends, and then later as an older woman in a humdrum marriage — the reader is catapulted back and forth between the Greek islands and London, between passion and feeling stuck. My favorite part — aside from the plot, which unfolds in a delicious, heart-pounding way — are the quieter lines about the lives not lived. There’s a soulfulness to the whole story.

Hope by Andrew Ridker. This dark comedy had me laughing out loud in recognition of some of the characters. It follows the Greenspan family in Brookline, Massachusetts, and what happens when the cardiologist dad is forced out of his profession after falsifying blood samples. A perfect read.

Everything All at Once by Steph Catudal. The way Steph writes, even about ordinary things, takes my breath away. But her life story — her brother’s childhood cancer, her father’s early death from lung cancer, and the cancer that comes for her beloved endurance-athlete husband — is incredibly powerful. The details she describes, the slivers of pain, and her inquiry into faith is just different from other memoirs. It’s so real and gratifying.

My son (10 years-old) looked over my shoulder while I wrote this article. “Mom, this is great but you also need a kids book recommendation section! Right on! So here it goes:

My son loves books by David Walliams. The books are for children ages 7-12 and super funny which actually makes my son want to read. Walliams’ books are also great to read aloud to your child (which I still do almost every night!)

Are you ready to meet the worst parents ever? Sure, some parents are embarrassing – but they’re nothing on this lot. These ten tales of the world’s most spectacularly silly mums and deliriously dads will leave you rocking with laughter. Pinch your nose for Peter Pong, the man with the stinkiest feet in the world… and of course, Supermum! (that’s me!)

What books do you recommend? I’d love to hear…

Last night, I was putting my son to bed…

Before that, we spent half an hour in our sauna, and he is usually pretty tired after. But when he was in bed and I kissed him goodnight, nine-year-old Joel drowsily asked, “Want to lie down and chat for a bit?” I was secretly thinking how excited I was to read my Nora Ephron book “I remember nothing” and almost declined. And of course, it would have been fine for me to say no – it was already 9:00 p.m. and we had spent the whole long weekend together. Plus, my book!

But, suddenly, I remembered something else I’d recently read: The Emotional Lives of Teenagers by Lisa Damour, PhD. In her brilliant guide, she explains the importance of letting kids “call the meeting” — in other words, they should be able to decide when they open up about their feelings, their emotions, and their lives. Instead of parents always asking The Big Questions at the dinner table, when kids might be tired or not in the mood, we can wait for each child to invite us in, whether that’s in the car, at bedtime, or whenever they’re ready to share.

Here’s an excerpt from Damour’s book:

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with greeting our teens at the end of the day with a friendly ‘How was school?’ But we should be prepared for that conversation to go nowhere. Why? Because teenagers, at their very core, are autonomy-seeking creatures. When we ask a teenager about his day at a moment that works for us, we are in effect calling him to a meeting for which we ourselves has set both the time and the agenda… The same teen who stays at a distance during the day may pull up close at night. When this happens, let’s remember that we’re being called to a meeting we want to attend.”

Yes! As Joel invited me to stay and talk, I remembered this advice and changed my answer. “Sure, I’d love to,” I told him. “Scooch over.”

For the next 20 minutes, we lay together in the dark, stars above us, and he poured out his sweet heart. We talked about his hopes and dreams; our pre-Austria life in Canada where we spent so much time at his favourite playground and had tons of caramel ice cream; we played a funny numbers game; he shared all sorts of musings. It was a precious time together, and I’m so, so glad I attended his meeting.

So, I wondered as I headed to bed afterwards, how do we encourage kids to seek us out as listening ears? “By being around,” writes Damour. “Over time, I have come to think that teenagers feel most at ease when they know where their folks are, in much the same way that securely attached toddlers keep track of their parents’ movements around the house even as they pursue their activities. Further, having us nearby means that teenagers can readily talk with us about the topics they care about when, for them, the moment strikes.”

In order to be around, one of her friends reads in the same room as his teenage daughter as she does her homework; another folds laundry next to her kids watching TV. “For my part, I save my customarily drawn-out kitchen cleaning for times I know my girls are going to be home,” says Damour. “In this way, I am available, utterly interruptible, and right in their traffic pattern, just in case they have a sudden urge to talk.”

Smart, right? Any other insights you’ve learned along the way? I love hearing thoughtful tips, especially as my boy approaches his teenage years.

What always works for us is when I at least once a day, look him in the eye, smile and tell him, ‘I love you.’

One of the questions I am asked most is, how do I read as much as I do? Sometimes it’s mere curiosity, sometimes the query is tinged with frustration. You have a child, a house, and a huge garden, ffs.

I get it. It is irritating to see someone do so much of something that you feel you have no time for. I feel similarly riveted and envious when I see people on Insta having the time to do their hair so nicely every day or the time to go to pilates so often. So I am going to try and answer this question as fully and honestly as I can while musing on this idea of time and why reading is somehow seen as a more productive use of it than other hobbies.

Historically, I have shied away from answering this question, because to answer it would be to acknowledge that yes, I do read a lot. And that to do so might imply that I think I am smart, or diligent, or – perish the thought – well read. I actually don’t think I am particularly well-read, btw. I read a lot, but have enormous gaps in my literary education. But pretending I don’t read a lot is like pretending I go spinning every day. It is an intractable truth.

I have read voraciously – at times, obsessively – since I was tiny. I took a book into every classroom, and I read in queues and during meals and on the toilet and on the bus/train home from a night out. As a child, my mother would take me to the library and we would get out the maximum 14 books. I could easily read for 8 hours a day, aged 9. I fucking loved it. I still fucking love it. I am easily over-stimulated, I have a racing brain, and reading takes me out of myself. It is my self-care, my meditation, my way to find an equilibrium in order to face the world. The novelist Emma Straub puts it perfectly:

My love for books arrived pre-memory. There is no before. Books were always my stalwart companions, my escape hatches, my private joys.

Reading a lot I can do. Reading is perhaps the only thing I know I can do. It is no more a skill – something I burnish and work at or feel proud of – than it is part of me. As the writer reader Zadie Smith observed in 2011 of her bibliomania:

For me, being a reader, in summer or at any other time, isn’t a “lifestyle choice.” Rather, I made the choice—if that’s what it was—so long ago, it has taken on an inescapable character in my mind. I think that if I were a very good swimmer, I would be proud to be so, but being proud of being a reader, in my case, is like being proud you have feet.

So yes, bestow up me no praise for simply doing a lot of something I like doing and I wish it would be even a part of my work. I get most of my writings for this blog or my books done after work. My work is a great playground to collect stories by simply watching people and listening to stories. I will take written or mental notes and work on the fineprint at home. As for where I find the time to read – in lieu of giving you an hourly breakdown of my week I will offer you these transparencies (not!!! tips).

• I do not have a regular exercise routine. And when I exercise, I usually listen to books on my phone. I love audiobooks while jogging.
• Cold outside: I read. Warm outside: I read. Snowstorm outside: Cozied up inside with hot chocolate and I read. You get the picture.
• I do not keep many (social media) apps on my phone, not because I am holier than thou, but because it makes me a jittery mess and I hate the time it eats. That saves me, say, 30 mins a day? I know someone who spends HOURS on Twitter. (That’s a very conservative estimate, I’d hazard.)
• I do not really cook, except for maybe once or twice a week. I heat. Cheese sandwiches in the sandwich maker, quiche, pasta, soup. I do not labour over my food for more than 20 mins and in the division of our household labour, my son helps me cook. (while I read to him, ha!)
• I read anytime I travel anywhere. Train, car, bus, plane – I make a point of getting out a book.
• I watch Netflix only a few nights a week (this is an insomnia thing as much as a reading thing) and I rarely go out. At least 3 nights a week I either read or write when my kid is in bed. Usually for 2/3 hours a night – which, as I am a fast reader, can be the bulk of a 300-page book. 
• There was a very stressful time in my life a couple of years ago and insomnia has caused me tremendous amounts of stress and exhaustion and resulted in a veritable shit ton of reading. In a bad bout, I may have slept for only one or two hours a night, which can easily make for a book a night. Not very healthy, I know but these times are over.

This is how I rack up the hours. It is not the right way to live a life, it’s just the way I live mine. So why does reading come with the moral signifiers that other hobbies do not – the signifiers that make so many people feel bad when they are not doing it? It is partly due to articles like this, with their somewhat flattening headlines on how reading makes you a better person. 

To be clear, I do think reading brings enormous benefits. It is a wonderful way to learn about the world and develop compassion, as well as language. I hope my child loves reading (I think he does) – but not because I think it will make him a worthier person than if he doesn’t.

When I hear people with young kids tell me they haven’t read a book for two years and they desperately want to, but how can they?? I hear someone who doesn’t need to read to get to sleep (lucky fuckers). I hear someone, perhaps, who likes scrolling through their phone, or watching Netflix every evening, or listening to a podcast series long into the night, or cooking something slow and delicious with a glass of wine in their hand while jazz plays softly in the background. (I want to be that person) I hear someone, in other words, who has found other ways to feed themselves.

I think, when it comes to our disposable hours, we make time for the things we want to do. I read because it is what I want to do, frequently to the exclusion of other things. I may think that I want to get into a solid pilates routine, or cook a meal out of a cookbook, or go to more gallery openings and museums, but in reality, I only want to want to. I will find ways, as I always do, to not do the other stuff, so that I can find time to read. So if you want to want read, don’t force it. As long as you are finding ways to nourish yourself, cut yourself some slack. Screw the books! Do what makes you happy.

We all have stuff we want to want to do. Sometimes we just have to go for it. This little something that makes up happy. And maybe when you finally make headway through the book cleaved to the surface of your nightstand, I’ll finally commit to a thrice-weekly pilates routine, and my reading will, with its big girl panties on, take a backseat for a while.

New editions of [Roald Dahl’s] children’s classics, including ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,’ have been altered to eliminate words deemed inappropriate. A backlash ensued.” — New York Times

– – –

Dear Censoring people,

These days we are deeply concerned in changing things. Names, sauces, food names, street names, song lycics (Udo Jürgens!!), and whatnot. According to some, changing trivial things while the world is slowly coming to an end with so much other bullshit going on is more important. Bullshit like this shifts the focus from wars, climate issues, our kids, our youth who are staring into their phones all day and don’t know what a palindrome is, healthy food and many other stuff people should talk about instead.

So, we are changing words and meanings in books now. So nobody gets offended. Everything is gender-neutral, non-binary, you name it. Are we losing it? When I read the article in The New York Times on censoring and altering the children’s classic “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” among other Roald Dahl books, I got really angry. Now these idiots want to censor books as well? As an author, I say enough is enough. I am easy going but when it comes to censoring books I might turn into the Incredible Hulk. I mean, hey you people who change my beloved books. You’re censors. You’re not editors, and you’re not writers. Your censors. You are exactly what Orwell warned us about. My other question is: Where does this all go? Are we censoring all books now? Entire encyclopaedias?

I am annoyed. Enough is enough!

Without the author’s consent (e.g. Roald Dahl, Udo Jürgens and his songs), you are changing and omitting words that the author wrote. That makes you a censor.

What you’re doing is insane. See? I said it.

The most telling example of your condescension is when you removed the word “cashier” from one of Dahl’s books. Apparently, you think the word “cashier” is offensive. Well, hundreds of thousands of actual people are cashiers, and they don’t agree. They don’t think their mere existence is offensive.

You have no right to diminish their occupation or any other.

You have no right to take words from Dahl or any author.

If you were to get away with what you did – and rest assured, you will not get away with it – then every book in human history could be subject to the same censorship. Every book ever published has something in it that can be perceived as offensive. By some lightweights who then cry themselves to sleep at night over the word “fat”, or over “only men have been mentioned we have to add the female, or all 69 different genders that seem to exist now as well”. By the precedent you set, even the most carefully calibrated book written today, censored by censors like you, will be censored by someone else tomorrow.

The problem with censorship is that it has no end. Think of it: you censored Dahl’s books in the United States. What if the Germans wanted to censor them to suit their needs? And then the Chinese to suit theirs?

Get it? Once one group of censors gets to do their filthy work, then everyone will have their go.

If literature is to survive, we have two choices. Either:

a) No censorship, period, full stop, because it’s horrifying, or

b) Endless, unlimited censorship—a world where every craven group like yours has free reign to mangle every book ever written

No one wants your world. A book is a piece of art. Are you changing paintings next? Maybe someone is offended. Oh, no need for that because paintings are being destroyed by these idiots who glue themselves to them in museums. Do you censor all history books next and add all pronouns available? Don’t forget to include the LGBTQIA2S+ community. The what? LGTBQIA2S+ is an acronym for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer and/or Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Two-Spirit, and the countless affirmative ways in which people choose to self-identify. Also, basketballs and raccoons.

Roald Dahl will turn around in his grave. So will George Orwell.

All enlightened readers hate you.

The history of world literature is against you.

You are anti-art.

You are anti-freedom.

Art must be free. Art must be unsafe. Art must be controversial. Art must have dangerous words and ideas in it. Otherwise, it’s not art.

You are afraid of books. Afraid of ideas. You condescend to everyone by thinking you should be the judge of what is said and read.

Here’s how art is supposed to work: Someone writes a book. They write it with passion, with abandon, with honesty and lyricism and even a bit of recklessness. It is of their time, using the words of their time. Allan Ginsberg’s famous poem Howl rings a bell? No? I figured.

Readers respond to this recklessness, this abandon, this rawness, this timeliness. The only books that ever mattered to anyone are raw, are unbridled, are risky, and timely. Then, if a parent or teacher reads the book to a kid, and there’s a part that’s risky or controversial, discussions can be held. If the book is old, then the words and sentiments of that time can be taken into account.

It’s not hard.

That is how we learn.

All art has context.

All art is born of its time. It reflects its time.

People who come to the art later can handle the context, the different words, the different attitudes. People can handle it because we are complex creatures capable of complex thoughts.

Censors think everyone is stupid.

Censors think it is their job to dumb down every piece of art till it says nothing to anyone.

George Orwell was right all along. Go read his book as long as it is not censored and find out that he predicted all this bullshit!

Fuck you, censors!

Me, an avid reader, author, writer, and all the people in the world who love books art.

Last year, Joel, my nine-year-old son, asked me, “Where are my great-grandmas and great-grandpas?” Both my grandmas and grandpas passed away within a very short time in the past two years. When Joel asked about my grandparents, my first impulse was to avoid the conversation since death felt like such a complicated, painful topic.

Before my grandparents’ deaths, I’d had a lot of exposure to death due to my work as a police officer but fortunately little exposure to loss within my family. As I grew older, I learned more about grief, which (slowly) has helped me live with my emotions. The process made me understand the importance of talking about grief, as it is an inevitable part of life for us all.

So, I didn’t ignore Joel’s question. I researched how to talk to kids about death and then explained to him that they all had died. Now I regularly talk to him about death and what grief feels like. One way we have continued the conversation is by reading children’s books. Here are my five favorites: 

1. The Dead Bird by Margaret Wise Brown (ages 4-7). “The bird was dead when the children found it,” is the first line of the book. A group of friends decide to say goodbye by burying the bird in the woods, as well as singing “the way grown-up people did when someone died.” This book gently introduces the concept of death and mourning to young kids. I have read this many, many times to Fianna. She usually just listens, but she recently asked “If our dog dies, can we have a celebration for her, too?” 

2. The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld (ages 2-6). Taylor builds a tower of blocks but it gets knocked down. Different animals come to offer comfort, like the chicken who tries to get Taylor to talk or the hyena who laughs about it. But the rabbit listens as Taylor works through many emotions. This book illustrates how we can support loved ones by simply being there. Both my girls love this book.

3. Why Do I Feel So Sad? by Tracy Lambert (ages 4-8). Written by a counsellor who specializes in loss, this book shares different reasons why we may feel grief — death, divorce, changing schools, losing friendships — and things kids can do to try to feel better, like moving their bodies, expressing themselves through music and talking to friends. In the end, Lambert also shares advice for parents, including how to talk to children about grief.

4. King and the Dragonflies by Kacen Callender (ages 8-12). In this award-winning chapter book, 12-year-old King loses his older brother, Khalid — and, in his grief, believes Khalid has turned into a dragonfly. The book deals with race, sexuality, friendships and love. I was moved by the bravery the character displayed in learning to love himself, and I can’t wait to read this book to my kids in a few years.

5. When You Trap a Tiger by Tae Keller (ages 9+). When Lily was a child, her halmoni (Korean for grandmother) told her folk stories about tigers. When Halmoni becomes ill, Lily, her mother, and her older sister move in to help care for her. Shortly after their move, a magical tiger from Halmoni’s stories comes to life and Lily is forced to face the tiger while also grappling with the reality of Halmoni’s failing health. When You Trap a Tiger is a beautiful story of illness, family, and learning to find your way.

What are your favorite books about grief? Do you have any grief experiences you hope will be written about?