Maggie Ink

The Great Best Books + Best Songs Mashup of 2018

December 1, 2018

This might be my favorite thing I do all year long: It’s a great, big mashup of the best books I enjoyed reading in 2018 (though not necessarily published this year), along with my favorite songs released this year. So if you like a song, you’ll probably like the book I’ve paired it with — and vice versa.

I always like making annual lists of my top books and favorite music as a way to reflect on what I’ve consumed and enjoyed during the year. But last year I smooshed the two lists together, and it changed the whole game. (You can see that here.)

I liked it enough to do it again. So here we go! You’re welcome.

There There • Tommy Orange + Arrows • Haux

A harrowing novel told through intersecting stories of urban Native Americans in Oakland, There There delves into the kind of trauma that endures through generations. I paired it with Arrows, a song of grief and many facets of heartache.

Circe • Madeline Miller + Baby • Bishop Briggs

Circe is a lesser god-turned-island witch who sleeps with inappropriate men, tames wild beasts, and makes questionable decisions for love — similar to the narrator in this Bishop Briggs song, who sings, “My baby’s got a fucked up head, doesn’t matter ’cause he’s so damn good in bed … yeah, he’s fucking crazy, but he’s still my baby.”

Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine • Alan Lightman + New Birth in New England • Phosphorescent

Alan Lightman wrote some of my all-time favorite fiction, so I was already predisposed to enjoy this work of nonfiction, a lyrical meditation that explores the tension between our yearning for permanence and certainty. I’ve paired it with a song about getting older, significant life changes, and a literal birth.

Becoming • Michelle Obama + Better With You • Michl

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why Michelle Obama’s bestselling autobiography is worth reading. Here I’ve paired it with this Michl song for the line, “This house feels better with you.”

As in White House. I want her back in the White House. That house feels better with her.

Michelle, please come home.

They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us • Hanif Abdurraqib + I Like It • Cardi B

I’ve raved about They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us to just about everyone, and I don’t think I ever do this book justice. Abdurraqib is a poet, so the prose is lyrical and precise, and his insightful essays blend pop culture and social justice, covering everything from a Carly Rae Jepsen concert to the shooting of Michael Brown, and everything in between. Each piece was a genuine surprise, and I never knew if I would end up crying or laughing.

I paired Abdurraqib’s collection with this pop confection, because it seems like the kind of thing he might write about someday. Also I’ve liked Cardi B ever since I read about her illegal butt filler injections, back when she was a stripper, because that’s the kind of dedication to craft that I admire.

Less • Andrew Sean Greer + Tieduprightnow • Parcels

Less, which won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction this year, is the story of an aging, failed novelist who receives an invitation to the wedding of his ex-boyfriend. Rather than confront his feelings, the novelist travels around the world and occupies his time in other ways, occasionally with other men.

Tieduprightnow is a perfect match, especially the chorus: “The one I need is tied up right now/So let’s just wait a while/The one I need is tied up right now/So let’s not draw the line …”

Call Me By Your Name • André Aciman + Back to You • Selena Gomez

A summer romance blossoms between a 17-year-old boy and an older scholar staying at his house. It’s a powerful story about intimacy, undeniable attraction, and what happens when passion is indulged. Plus a peach.

This pairs nicely with Back to You, a song of desire from the perspective of someone willing to make the same choices all over again: “I want to hold you when I’m not supposed to/when I’m lying close to someone else/You’re stuck in my head and I can’t get you out of it/If I could do it all again, I know I’d go back to you.”

How to Get Into Our House and Where We Keep the Money • Panio Gianopoulos + The Heart is a Muscle • Gang of Youths

I’m Panio’s biggest fan, so I’ll read anything he writes. Truly. I once read an article he wrote about paying off student loans, even though my personal longterm repayment plan involves faking my own death, so that should tell you something. OF COURSE his achingly beautiful little package of stories ranks at the top of my list.

I paired it with Gang of Youth’s The Heart is a Muscle, because strengthening the heart feels like a good compliment to a book that examines many forms of love: relationships that exist within family, domestic chaos, fumbling for connection, a ridiculous Pomeranian.

But I just read through the lyrics again and realized this might be a Jesus song. Damn it.

Exit West • Mohsin Hamid + Holding On • Nightly

This is an exquisite story about migrants and immigration in which people travel to new countries via literal doors that act as portals, but at the heart of it is the love story of refugees Nadia and Saeed.

I’ve paired it with a sweet pop song about memory and the things we cling to as reminders of love.

Touch • Courtney Maum • Everybody Wants to Be Famous • Superorganism

Touch is a sharp, insightful novel that skewers high-tech, modern consumer culture, and it was one of my best reading experiences of the year. Not only did it make me laugh, but I thought about the characters for a long time after I finished the book. I’m pairing it with Everybody Wants to Be Famous, because that’s an obvious match for a satire about a culture based on likes.

Citizen: An American Lyric • Claudia Rankine + This is America • Childish Gambino

Citizen contains some of the most urgent, important writing I’ve ever read, and it dovetails so perfectly with this Childish Gambino song (and video) that looks at what it means to be a person of color in America.

Silence: In the Age of Noise • Erling Kagge • Nevermind • Dennis Lloyd

It might seem weird to pair a song with a book about finding space for silence in a busy an chaotic world. And it is weird, which is exactly why I placed it with a quiet, slow burn of a song called Nevermind.

Woman World • Aminder Dhaliwal + Make Me Feel • Janelle Monáe

Woman World is about a world without men, and I read it just after the Kavanaugh hearings, which made this charming comic even more of a delight. In Woman World, women rebuild society but better (the new flag is simply a picture of Beyoncé’s thighs) and study relics of the former world, like “Paul Blart: Mall Cop.”

Woman World started as an Instagram comic, so the graphic novel version doesn’t have a strong storyline to pull the reader through the book. But the panels are so cute and funny, it makes for a quick, entertaining read anyway. I paired it with the great bisexual anthem of 2018, although any Janelle Monáe song would work.

Ohio • Stephen Markley + Wait By the River • Lord Huron

My experience of reading Ohio involved a lot of googling. First because the fictional town in this novel felt so real, I swore I had been there. And the characters — I knew them all.

Then I googled because I developed a deep, profound writer crush on author Stephen Markley. Every time I read a passage that I swore was the best thing I’ve ever read, it was followed by another greatest thing I’ve ever read.

Ohio is the story of four former classmates who converge one night in their hometown, a small rust belt town that has been gutted by the recession, opioids, and the loss of industry. It’s melancholy and perceptive, examining the Midwest through the compassionate lens of someone who’s been there.

I paired the book with this Lord Huron song about mistakes and second chances, which would resonate with any of the imperfect, disillusioned characters at the heart of this story. Also because “If I can’t change the weather, maybe I can change your mind” destroys me. Just like Markley’s writing.

Wonder Valley • Ivy Pochoda + One Trick Ponies • Kurt Vile

I actually just started this book, so I can’t say yet that it’s one of my favorite reads of the year — mostly I just wanted an excuse to post this Kurt Vile song, which sounds like the desert to me.

“Some are weird as hell, but we love ’em/ Some are one trick ponies but we embrace ’em.”

I’ll have another post soon with a few more favorite tunes from 2018; I just couldn’t make them work with any books. In the meantime, what did I miss? Tell me about the books and songs you loved this year.

My grave error

October 11, 2018

Ever had one of those conversations in which you know you’re saying the wrong thing — you feel yourself saying the absolute worst words — but you can’t stop yourself? It’s like when you’re headed for a car crash and time becomes stretchy and slow, but it’s too late. You’re already on a trajectory.

That’s what happened recently when I watched Coco with my 4-year-old son, Everest. We’ve seen the movie before, but this was the first time that he fully realized the skeletons were dead people. Of course he had questions — and that’s when a car crash spilled out of my mouth.

E: Are they really dead? Like dead dead?

ME: Oh, yes. Dead like our cat.

E: Dead like Kung Pao? … Why did they die?

ME: Well, everybody dies.

E: EVERYBODY DIES?

ME: Yes.

E: Even me?

ME: Yes, even you. But don’t worry. I’ll probably die a long time before you.

I can’t even count the number of therapy appointments Everest will eventually have based on that one conversation.

It didn’t phase him too much in the moment, but he’s 4. Sometimes it takes him days to process something, and then seemingly out of nowhere he’ll say, “Wait. So tigers DON’T lay eggs?” So I fully expect him to circle back to this at a very inappropriate time: “What do you mean I’m going to die like my cat?!?”

Most likely this will happen in a public space.

42 things I’ve learned

August 6, 2018

I recently celebrated a birthday, and it’s weird. Even though I’m officially middle-aged, I still feel like I’m arriving late to my own life. There are so many things I wanted to have accomplished by now and places I imagined I’d be. At the very least, I thought I’d be the benevolent but firm dictator of a tiny country.

So I’m still trying to catch up, but I did figure out some stuff along the way. Here are 42 of them:

1. Creating a network, whether it’s professional or more personal, is a matter of quality over quantity.

2. Floss every day.

3. You will smoke like you are invincible, because that’s how young people smoke. It is something you are successful at: puffing, dragging, clicking and flipping a Zippo, lighting cigarettes in the wind. And when you quit, you will miss it. So just don’t start.

4. If you work best in the mornings, stop trying to be a night owl. And vice versa.

5. People who dance at parties almost always have more fun than people who don’t.

6. Wear what makes you feel good.

7. But not jumpsuits.

8. Imposter syndrome is a real beast. The only way to fight through is to “fake it ’til you make it,” which is a cliché, but it’s a cliché for a reason.

9. If given a choice in a public restroom, never use the first stall (it’s overused) or the last stall (where people hide to poop). Go middle stall or go home.

10. There’s no shame in making money or asking for what you’re worth.

11. Put something beautiful and something strange on every page. That’s writing advice from Megan Mayhew Bergman, but it easily expands to become something more like a lifestyle. Be purposeful in finding something beautiful and something strange in each day.

12. You had that one friend who split dinner checks down to the penny. (Everyone had that friend. Emphasis on the had part.) Don’t be that person.

13. Stop apologizing for what you want, for the space you take up, for living your life, for what you enjoy, for what you know to be true. You are not sorry. There’s nothing sorry about you.

14. You cannot understand the place you come from until you leave it.

15. Try everything. At least one bite.

16. You’ll never heal in the same environment that made you sick. (I either read this in a tweet or on a teabag. Either way, it’s true.)

17. Take your ego out of the equation.

18. But maintain a tiny bit of ego. You’re great.

19. Push yourself until it’s impossible to turn back and there’s no other option but to move forward. (This lesson comes courtesy of day three on your four-day hike to Machu Picchu.)

20. There is no better bean than a chickpea.

21. If you have the opportunity to be selfless, take it. Remember that extending care to others is really a form of caring for yourself.

22. Comfort kills creativity.

23. Walk until you find the answer. Author Jenny Offill rattled off the Greek phrase for this, which you can’t remember and can’t find with any amount of Googling, but anyway that’s not the point. The point is to take a hike whenever you can’t figure something out, and keep walking until the solution surfaces.

24. Self-consciousness wastes valuable energy that could be better used for dancing.

25. Say yes more often.

26. Own your mistakes. Like, if you’re in spin class and your shoelace gets tangled with the pedal and you fall off the bike, it’s better to throw your hands in the air and pretend you just did a fancy dismount than to slink away in shame. NOT THAT IT’S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU.

27. Treat everyone you meet like it’s their birthday.

28. A few things to carry because you’ll never know when you’ll need them: A packet of tissues, chewable Pepto tablets, plastic bags. If you’re traveling, also bring a wedge-shaped door stopper, a whistle, and a flat rubber sink stopper.

29. Follow your curiosity. It will drive you to weird places.

30. Indulge the weird.

31. Set fair, realistic goals. And when I say “fair,” I mean fair to yourself. You’re probably never going to be a champion surfer. But you could take a surf class.

32. Take notes.

33. Let go of your expectations. They inevitably lead to disappointment. That’s not to say you should minimize your hope or anticipation — those are great things to have. But whenever you expect a location or an event or a person to be something epic, something soul-shattering, it can’t possibly live up to the hype. Kind of like prom. Prom is built up to be the most magical moment of a young person’s life, and it actually kind of sucks.

34. Vote in every election.

35. Just take the leap. Back when you were a skydiver, only one part of the jump frightened you — getting out of the aircraft. You had to play mental games with yourself and pretend you were Angelina Jolie’s stunt double, that kind of thing. But once you were in the air, you relaxed into it and let the sky hold you up, which is the most glorious feeling in the world. So do whatever it takes to get out of the plane. You’ll be happy you did.

36. Nobody cares how your thighs look.

37. Decisions made purely out of fear only lead to more chaos and upheaval.

38. Almost nothing is meant to last forever. Not material goods, not relationships, not a perfect trip. Let things go before holding on to them suffocates you.

39. Have a map. Literally and figuratively. You’re guilty of wandering around until you get yourself lost, which is fine — sometimes it’s actually the best. But often things would have been easier if you’d have just carried a map. This goes beyond travel and into your personal and professional life, where your wise, knowledgable friends would be happy to help guide you.

40. Whenever you feel the most frightened, you’re on the brink of something amazing.

41. Every scary thing prepares you for the next scary thing.

42. There is more good in the world than bad. This is the absolute truth.

A confession: The biggest mistake I’ve made as a parent (so far)

June 28, 2018

If I’d just purchased pretzel twists instead of pretzel sticks, we never would have had a problem.

Here’s what happened instead.

Everest whined for a snack, and I tossed a bag of pretzel sticks to him in the backseat. Not the healthiest snack, to be sure. Also maybe not the safest to have in the car. But it was a 40-minute drive from our house to the child care facility, and that can feel like 40 days when a child is profoundly unhappy.

“Mommy, look!” he called to me from the backseat.

I didn’t want to look because I was driving.

“Look,” he urged. “It’s our savior.”

At that point, I LOOKED.

Everest held two pretzel sticks in the air, arranged like a lopsided X, more like a cross.

“Our savior,” he said again.

You know when you get a migraine and your vision sparkles and blurs at the edges, and the world becomes sharp and throbbing? It was like that, but rage. A ragegraine.

“Our savior?” I said. “Where did you learn that?”

“At school.”

White hot rage with a little bit of blue fire at the center.

I want my child to learn about Christianity eventually — I believe it’s a necessary foundation to understand a lot of literature, art, history, so on — but I want him to learn it in the context of other world religions.

“Our savior,” Everest repeated. “I like our savior.”

Honestly, I had hoped to delay this part of parenting. I don’t feel equipped to teach my child about religion, because I continue to struggle with spirituality myself. My own belief system is constantly in flux — currently a bizarre Buddhist Hindu Quaker amalgam, informed by a childhood steeped in the Lutheran church, plus a dash of Catholicism. And I was furious that someone forced me into that situation when I wasn’t ready.

“What do it mean?” Everest asked, and I didn’t have any answers.

Just a few months earlier, our beloved cat passed away. Everest struggled with the concept of death and continued to ask about Kung Pao Kitten daily. How could I possibly explain what the cross symbolizes without having another difficult conversation about what it means to suffer and die?

From the school parking lot, I contacted a few parents who also had children in that class, and I told them about the “our savior” thing. They were shocked — but they insisted their children never said anything even remotely similar.

Then I tried to casually discuss it with the teacher: “Everest said the funniest thing today … do you know where he could have picked that up?”

After the teacher denied having any religious discussions in the classroom, I had a meeting with the school director, who also assured me that the facility is religion-free.

He must have learned it from another kid, I decided.

“I bet it was that asshole Beckett*,” I texted to a friend.

On the way home that afternoon, Everest said it again. And again, I stewed.

I brought my child to school the following day, but it was only to gather his things. We’d had enough. There were other issues, so it wasn’t entirely about “our savior” — when Everest moved from the toddler ladybug room to the older geckos, he never really warmed up to his new teacher. Several items of his clothing went missing. Twice he came home wearing some other kid’s underwear. And once that asshole Beckett called me a “sick pervert” for giving Everest a kiss goodbye.

So I pulled Everest from the school.

We found a new school, one that’s only a 7-minute drive away, not 40. He’s happy there. The place doesn’t have an enormous outdoor play area or a garden like his former school, but it makes up for that with a terrific staff, a great program, and some really wonderful families. I’m grateful we were able to find a spot there.

It’s been about 9 or 10 months since Everest switched facilities — long enough that the current place isn’t his new school anymore, it’s just school. He’s bigger now and more developed. He’s learned so much. His vocabulary is expansive, and he can enunciate far more clearly.

Recently, I gave Everest pretzel sticks as a snack.

“Mommy, look!” he said. Again, he had the two sticks positioned like a cross.

Not again, I thought.

“It’s an X,” he said. “Like my friend at my old school. Xavier.”

That’s when the reality of what I’d done hit me with a gut punch. I pulled my child from his school for saying the name of his friend. X-avier.

Not our savior.

*Name has been changed to protect the real a-hole toddler

Resistance for introverts

June 19, 2018

It’s time to get serious about actively resisting the cruel and inhumane policies of this administration. But what if you’re not the kind of person who wants to be on the front lines, marching and phone banking? Is there a place for introverts in all this?

Hell yeah. Come on in, the resistance is fine.

I’ve jotted down a few ideas here, but this is certainly not a comprehensive list. See what you can do. Then read some articles about incarcerated babies as young as 3 months old who have been stolen from their families … and get angrier. And then do a couple more things.

Here we go:

Make a phone call.

Just kidding. Phone calls are terrible. I only speak to three people on the phone, and one of them brings me food. But if you DO want to make a phone call, use a script! The person on the other end will never know, and phone calls do make a difference — elected officials keep track of how many constituents care about a particular issue; one major gauge is how many phone calls they receive.

The ACLU has a great script here. Make it fun by pretending you’re an old-timey person who actually uses a phone to make calls.

Reach the Congressional switchboard at 202-224-3121. Or use an app like 5 Calls to streamline the process.

Fax someone. Seriously.

Have you ever wondered who has a fax machine anymore? The answer is Congress!

That hunk of equipment actually makes for a very easy way to reach your representatives. Resistbot will help you contact them via fax, and you don’t even have to download anything or use an app. In under 2 minutes, you can send a very real message.

Bonus: Imagine the halls of Congress going “Beeeeeep. Blorp. Blorp. ZZZZZZZMZZMZMZZ!!” all day long. #Satisfying

Sign a petition. They’re everywhere.

Write postcards to your elected officials. Sometimes I do this in bars because 1. It discourages people from talking to me. 2. It gives me something to do. 3. Alcohol makes it very easy to let the words flow.

Attend a rally on June 30. Find the closest one to you here.

If you are a person who can’t do crowds for whatever reason, it’s okay. Really.

My friend Karen was at a protest last year when she came across a woman having an extreme anxiety attack. Karen hoisted the woman on her shoulders and carried her through the crowd into an open space, where the woman could finally breathe and rest. But Karen is a 6-foot tall Norse goddess, and Norse goddesses are in short supply.

You don’t have to put yourself in a situation that compromises your own health. While I firmly believe that protests and demonstrations should make everyone a little uncomfortable —the purpose is to agitate, after all — it shouldn’t give you a panic attack before it even starts. There are other things you can do instead.

So marches aren’t your thing. Do you know someone who will be demonstrating on June 30? Support them. Pack lunches for people who will be going. Donate your babysitting services. Show up at your friend’s house this week with poster board and glitter pens and make signs.

Give money. Give as much as you can to organizations that are on the ground and doing the work we can’t. Here’s an easy way to split your donation between several worthy causes. Slate is also keeping an updated list of organizations that need support.

Give time. Maybe you don’t have money but you have some free time. Are there any organizations that are fighting for immigrant justice near you right now? They might need services or goods that you could provide.

Are you super talented at something? Of course you are! Trade your talent in exchange for donations to your favorite charity. It’s simple. Tell your friends that you’ll give a free manuscript consultation, edit an essay, walk a dog, embroider something, bake a magnificent cake, whatever, if they donate at least XXX amount to your charity of choice.

Reach out to others. I keep a stack of index cards and some markers in the glovebox, and sometimes I leave friendly notes on the windshields of cars with progressive bumper stickers. My messages don’t say much more than “Stay strong!” or “Keep up the good fight!” or even just “Thank you for supporting Hillary.” Resistance is exhausting. It helps morale to get a nice note every once in a while.

Shop at immigrant-owned local businesses and eat at immigrant-owned restaurants.

Refer someone. Do you know an immigrant who could use legal services? Direct them to this list here. Offer to drive them to the office or volunteer to stay with the kids while they go.

Read books and stay informed on the issues. The more knowledge you have, the less likely you are to remain silent during uncomfortable discussions.

Take a self-defense class. Of course I don’t advocate fighting anyone. But it is incredibly empowering just to know you could throw a punch if the situation should arise.

Vote.

Older Posts

Newer Posts

Visiting a National Park this year? Read this before you go

The Hammam Experience That Made Me Rethink Trust

Oh, the Places We Stayed: Antigua, Guatemala

The Great Best Books + Best Songs Mashup of 2018

My grave error

A confession: The biggest mistake I’ve made as a parent (so far)

Resistance for introverts

About Me.

About Me.

Date Me.