All the books I read in July and what I thought of them

I am releasing my blog post into the void of the internet today on August 9th in order to observe the fake holiday "Book Lovers Day." I would also like to wish my readership a very happy Women in Translation Month (which is to say August). This is another fake celebration, but no one seems to be familiar with foreign books by women, so I have only support for the fake celebration. 

In July I read 5 books. First I read Shapes of Love, which is the Y.A. aroace book they are publishing this year (every year there is exactly one, and I read it). It is a very nice book but not groundbreaking at all and does not ask any of the difficult questions about love that I think aroace books should be asking these days. I don't really like when the very reasonable fears that asexual people might have of loneliness and abandonment and missing out on real connection get resolved very easily because it is a legitimately difficult question of whether our society idolizes romantic relationships out of habit or because there is something actually unique about romantic relationships compared to other relationships. I also do not like when the platonic romcom ends with a QPR. I think it is derivative. 

I reread The Wind Up Bird Chronicle (sorry Bella) to see if it would still leave me with a longing to sit in an empty well. I want to sit in an empty well. I like that all of the main characters (except for Kumiko, I guess) are losers who look out for each other and I related to May Kasahara so much more this time, even though I'm not seventeen anymore. 

I have a job at a travel agency and—with all respect to my VERY NICE coworkers—I can't say I'm happy about it, but one of my nice coworkers was letting me practice my (middlewoman) job on fictional clients and I thought it would be funny to name them after the Pale Fire characters. And then I thought that I should reread Pale Fire because I was thinking these thoughts on July 1st, and the events in the book take place largely from July 2nd to July 21st, 1959, so I reread Pale Fire beginning on July 2nd and ending on July 21st, and I tried to read every part of the Pale Fire poem on the day it was written (and the accompanying commentary), and I did fall behind, but then I caught up. I was imagining that if I read the book on its 67th anniversary, everything unclear in my life would become clear to me when I finished it. This started to seem increasingly unlikely on July 20th/21st. 

I like the protagonists of the book very much because John Shade is a nice man and Charles Kinbote is incredibly self-absorbed and extra, but I am also self-absorbed and extra, and, much like him, I can make anything about myself. There are two little men in my head, and one of them is John Shade (I flatter myself), and one of them is Charles Kinbote. (In the past, I have said that the little man in my head is Ross Douthat, so I guess there are actually three little men in my head; at this point, I might as well say there are eight little men and a little woman in my head, so it's like I'm a Homeric epic). 

I implied that Pale Fire did not fundamentally clear things up for me, and I guess I don't know looking back that everything has been cleared up, but it was at least very good to read in the Pale Fire poem (on July 21st), "I'm reasonably sure that we survive and that my darling somewhere is alive, as I am reasonably sure that I will wake at 6 tomorrow on July the twenty-second, 1959, and that the day will probably be fine." And John Shade did not wake up the next day because someone shot him—I guess it's not clear who—but no one killed me because I don't hang out with crazy people, I am the crazy person. And I think the day was fine. But I woke up probably at 7:30. 

Last I read Pale Fire I spoke of being disappointed because I thought something really important was going to happen on the last page and nothing did. I think insofar as anything interesting happens on the last page (the index), it is that the index entry for Zembla doesn't have any line number because the poem isn't about Zembla (crazy commentator imaginary? homeland), and it's about John Shade's family Hazel and Sybil. Incidentally, I am so sure Sybil is an amazing person and Charles doesn't appreciate great women when she is the wife of the guy he is obsessed with (an important difference between me and Charles; I appreciate all great women).

I read A Song for a New Day by Sarah Pinsker because my very nice Greek professor gave it to me. It is about musicians who are not allowed to perform live music anymore because of government restrictions after a plague. I feel very bad for the author who published a book in 2019 that, by no fault of her own, almost immediately began to resemble covid denier propaganda and thereafter made no sense because the post-pandemic dystopia she imagined did not in fact come to pass. As a political novel, I think it is a complete failure, but all political novels are failures as political novels. I liked it better on account of it being from my Greek professor. 

This book would have been better if the whole recruiter plot was not there. If it was just a couple of lesbians listening to live music after the end of the world, I think that would have been a great book. It's not very plot heavy as it is, and the recruiter plot introduces a lot of unnecessary tension because Rosemary works for a sketchy organization, and she does not seem to be that good at her job. The concerts reminded me of the times I went to a concert in someone's living room. I think Rosemary would not have enjoyed those concerts because they were crowded like you would not believe. I LOVE crowds so I can't say I identified with Rosemary, but I did feel bad for her, and I was upset when anyone was angry with her because she is just a little guy and not very smart. And I didn't identify with Luce either because she doesn't really seem to enjoy Crown Heights or Hasidic Williamsburg or wherever her family is from, but I LOVE the Jewish part of Brookline, except that I always forget that it's a Saturday and go there on a Saturday carrying things, so no matter how tznius I dress, unfortunately no one is ever going to think I'm an Orthodox Jew. I understand this is not the same situation, but these characters are just on a certain level no fun at all and they hate fun. 

The author of this book makes music and I think her more recent album is okay but the songs are sort of all the same and would be great with fast strings.

The last book I read this month was A Most Forgettable Girl by Alice Coldbreath for reasons that were not entirely clear to me. The main couple in this book was generally endearing and respectful but could occasionally have stood to work on their communication skills. I swear romance books have no plot without miscommunication. On this account, I don't think it's a very good genre, and GOD FORBID I ever see a romcom. 

Shapes of Love by L.V. Peñalba ⭐⭐⭐

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami (reread) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov (reread) ⭐⭐⭐⭐

A Song for a New Day by Sarah Pinsker ⭐⭐⭐⭐

A Most Forgettable Girl by Alice Coldbreath ⭐⭐⭐