Revolutionary Road, by Richard Yates

If I had read this book at any other time in my life, I wouldn't have understood it.

This book is about the existential crisis many 20-somethings experience when they try to figure out how to be happy.

Frank and April are the coffee-house dwelling hipsters who don't want to live a life "beneath" them. The ones who think having a desk job would be wasting their intellectual and creative abilities. The ones who want to live in hip, urban cities. They don't, so they're unhappy.

But the reason Frank and April are unhappy has nothing to do with where they live or what they do.

They're unhappy because they're not authentic. They're scared that their authentic selves are mediocre, so they pretend to be cosmopolitan. And they're unhappy because of it.

Frank doesn't actually want to be an intellectual, well-traveled man. He just wants attention. Here's what I mean:

• April buys Frank an advanced French guide intended for those who just need a refresher. But he never told her that he exaggerated his experience in France. He doesn't know French. He spent most of his week there romanticizing the awful weather. But even when he replaces the advanced French book with a beginner's book, he doesn't actually study. It's too hard. He doesn't want to learn French, he wants the attention he would get if others know he knows French.

• April is willing to move to another country so that Frank could live an intellectual life and "pursue his passions." She unintentionally calls Frank's bluff because Frank doesn't know what his passions are, because he doesn't really care about the things he talks about, he just likes attention. 

Because they're too scared to confront their authentic self, they procrastinate the process. They wait for it to get better.

And, well, it doesn't. Life doesn't work that way.

This book reminded me yet again that we cannot wait to make our lives what we want. We should act now. We won't get there overnight, sure, but it's a start.

It's important to ask yourself how you can enjoy the present moment. It's important to find joy in what you have while working towards something greater. And it's important to talk about your feelings honestly. You can't show someone how to love you if they can't even figure out who you are.

Dark Places, by Gillian Flynn

"My heart!" I yelled, then crawled up the stairs and curled up next to Bianca. "My heart... This book..." I rolled around on the floor while she finished writing a paper.

No, I wasn't overreacting.

This book broke my heart.

I usually love Gillian Flynn's stories for their plots, but I love Dark Places for its characters.

I'm glad Libby doesn't overcome her obstacles to become anyone's savior. I'm glad she wasn't somehow immune to mental illness after losing her entire family. I'm glad she's not likable, and I'm glad I like her anyway.

I'm also consistently impressed with Flynn's ability to describe things. I've already pulled some particularly good sentences from Gone Girl, and Dark Places, too, is full of "wow, I would never think to describe it that way but you're totally right" moments. Here's what I mean:

"That he took them out to some farm area and performed... acts that are associated with ritualistic Devil worship." He said those words--Ritualistic Devil Worship--the way people who don't know cars repeat what the mechanic said: It's a broken fuel pump."

Flynn doesn't go into this much detail about everything, but when she wants you to experience the story a certain way... man does she do a good job of including concise, specific details.

Lyle isn't just some nerd. He's a guy who "leans out from behind [Libby] like a squirrel." A guy who, when drinking a sweet cocktail, makes a "whoo! noise like it had been whiskey."  He's a guy who still watches bad TV with Libby when he no longer needs her. And if he wasn't these things, I wouldn't like him as much. I wouldn't like any of them as much.

Flynn's excellent characterization is why I didn't see the end coming. And it's also why I was writhing on the floor in front of my friend.

After all, an action-driven story can make your heart race, but only a character-driven story can break it.

//Find me on goodreads//

Fun Home, by Alison Bechdel

"Not everyone who is supposed to love you, will." Stella Pope Duarte said these words about a week before I read Fun Home, and it echoed on every page of Alison Bechdel's memoir. 

This is, at its core, a story about growing up in a family that doesn't communicate.  Bechdel's estrangement from her father and emerging sexuality could have set the stage for some honest, reflective storytelling.

It's too bad Bechdel doesn't do that.

The entire story is metaphor after metaphor of things her family is like, which makes the story seem like a clip show. I can tell you about ten characters that her father reminders her of, but I can't tell you who her father is. Don't get me wrong, I love descriptive language, but it feels too much like Bechdel is relying on other authors' great characterization to anchor her own story. Not to mention, she's assuming her readers are as familiar with the stories she's depending on as she is.

She acknowledges this herself, on page 67, when she says, "I employ these allusions because my parents are most real to me in fictional terms."

Sure, it's hard to describe people you don't know. But your own feelings--those are real. And I just didn't get enough of it to enjoy this book. 

(Ironically, I think this book fails the Bechdel test.)

Y: The Last Man (Vol. 1), by Brian K. Vaughan, Pia Guerra, and Jose Marzan Jr.

A global plague instantaneously wipes out every creature with a y-chromosome--except Yorick and his pet monkey, Ampersand. What happens when every single patriarchal society evaporates in a matter of seconds? Vaughan, Guerra, and Marzan present their ideas in a compelling, well-paced story that took me about an hour to finish. (It totally reads like a Gillian Flynn novel.)

Stephen King says it's the best graphic novel he's ever read. Can you resist?

Sailor Twain is still my favorite graphic novel of all time, but Y:TLM is a very, very good read. That's all I can say without giving away any spoilers, so... don't go on unless you've read it!

**SPOILERS AHEAD!**

Still here? Great!

The book implicitly and explicitly talks about gender issues. You've got literal facts on page 39, and lots of exposition about it between characters. In fact, I kept turning to Mr. and asking him if this book was written by a woman. I was surprised that it wasn't.

But it seems that many people thought it was anti-feminist.

While browsing this book's Goodreads page after finishing, I noticed that a lot of people felt that it was an extremely chauvinistic and/or an anti-feminist story. One of the most common reasons is best articulated in this review:

"In a world where all men are dead except for one, and the death of that one man will mean the end of humanity, VIOLENT CULTS OF FEMINISTS SPRING UP TO TRY AND HUNT DOWN MEN AND MALE SYMPATHIZERS. What is the motive here? There sure isn't one written into the plot, other than the one speech about social inequality between the sexes--and how the only way to escape this inequality is to KILL ALL MEN. " - Michael

But the Amazons are only a small percentage of everyone we see. I never got the impression that they represent an average woman, let alone all women. Sure, they become the main antagonists, but don't ignore sensible, good-hearted Agent 355. Don't ignore world-famous, intelligent Dr. Mann. Don't ignore the Secretary of Agriculture President working to keep the government from being taken over by radical fringe groups. Is it unreasonable to expect radical fringe groups to exist? Do they need a reasonable motive? Consider this: would you feel strange reading a story in which, say, all but one non-white people died, and the KKK went after the lone dark-skinned person?

The second most popular criticism was along the lines of this:

"I'm fine with the Amazonian self-mutilators (I can buy an angry, post-apocalyptic group of violent women). I am willing to suspend my disbelief that Yorick and his monkey make it through the manpocalypse as the only surviving Y chromosomes... But what I won't believe, what I won't buy, where I won't suspend by disbelief, where I am not fine is with the idea that Yorick would ever, EVER, be allowed to wander around the winter of homo sapienism with one body guard, risking his testicles for some stupid, pointless, selfish, idiotic search for the love of his life and his sister. His sperm, and Ampersand's, would be the most important substances known to womankind (not because he is a man but because of sheer practicality). He would be protected whether he liked it or not. He would be imprisoned. His sperm would be used to impregnate. It would be used to find an immunity for future boys. It would be used for the survival of homo sapiens. Period. " - Brad

Several reviewers said that the story itself is unrealistic because in a realistic story, Yorick would be enslaved and, um, harvested. But...

...they explain it...

Yorick isn't supposed to go looking for Beth. He's supposed to find Dr. Mann so they can find a vaccine for the mysterious plague, so that he can help repopulate the world. If there is no vaccine, who's to say that any male babies would survive? And when the White House is attacked, what's the first thing Mrs. Brown does to her son? She locks him up in a top-secret safety shelter.

Overall, my favorite part of the first volume is the relationship between Yorick and Hero.

And my second favorite part is Ampersand:

Have you read the series? What did you think? I'd love to read your thoughts below!

First Draft, at Changing Hands Bookstore

Wine-sipping at art galleries is one of the biggest lies in the media. The closest I came to it was at Ten-In-One, an event at Mesa Art Center--they served wine, but you had to drink it before you went inside the gallery. Drinking wine at an art gallery is a dream I haven't yet fulfilled. 

But drinking wine at a bookstore? That's a dream I didn't even know I had. 

Book bars are becoming more popular lately--I've read that New York, San Francisco and Denver have some great ones.

First Draft is inside Changing Hands' Phoenix location, and it's the only book bar I know of in the Phoenix area. I prefer drinking cocktails over beer and wine, so I don't think I'll become a regular here (The Duce is my jam.)

But if you're looking for a place with the ambiance of a cafe and the menu of a pub, First Draft might be perfect for you.

True Whit, by Whitney Port

I'm not quite sure who wrote Whitney Port's book, True Whit, because it has no traces of the sensible, charming person I remember from The Hills. The book as a whole is sloppily put together (there are lots of blurry/pixelated photos), and reads like a Seventeen magazine from 2004.

(photo via alamodeappraisal)

And it has nothing to do with the recycled fashion advice. What bothered me most about this book was its lack of depth.

I know, I know. "Grishma, it's a fashion book, are you really expecting depth?!"

Yes. Because unless you go to fashion shows like it's your job and report on them regularly like actual writers at fashion magazines, you're not going to be sharing any advice women haven't already heard. And that's okay! Because what you can offer--what only you can offer--are your stories. Stories about how clothes make you feel, why you like certain styles over others, about what fashion means to you. Don't just tell me that a colorful, patterned skirt goes well with your white blouse. Tell me about why you wanted to stand out at the office party you wore this outfit to. Tell me about how paranoid you were that you'd spill on your white blouse so you only drank clear liquids. Tell me more than just a pairing of clothes.

There are so many fashion books out there, that you have to really know clothes to write a good "how to dress" book. Whitney Port isn't a fashion expert (yet), and I hope that someday she writes a book with a stronger voice.

Until then, here are my top picks for fashion books:

1. Style, by Lauren Conrad: Great advice about choosing and maintaining clothes. She knows what she's talking about.

2. The Truth About Style, by Stacy London: Filled with meaningful stories, this is less of a "how-to" book and more of a "why should you care about clothes" book. She invites 9 women to share their stories (and helps them find clothes they feel confident in), and her empathy and humor is so charming that book was a really enjoyable read.

3. Style, by Kate Spade: The book has ingenious color palettes. I learned that certain colors I wouldn't intuitively combine actually look great together.

Other Lives, by Peter Bagge

I just read Other Lives, a graphic novel about four people finding solace from their "real world" issues online. I almost didn't get this book because one of the blurbs on the back compared it to "The Big Bang Theory" (a.k.a. the most annoying show I've ever watched in my entire life), but got it anyway thinking it might not be so bad since I won't hear a laugh track. And I'm glad, because I really enjoyed reading it.

The art reminds me of vintage Disney cartoons:

And the story feels n o t h i n g like The Big Bang Theory (phew.) It's more like a comic version of Safety Not Guaranteed. The characters are vulnerable, but in so many different ways and for so many different reasons. You don't need an extensive back story on each person to "get" them--there's enough room for you to fill in details, which makes you think about the characters more, which makes you care about them more. 

Here's what I mean--you've got Ivy, a woman who lives out creepy, socially unacceptable fantasies on Second World, the story's virtual world. I assumed it had to do with growing up in a conservative Chinese household, but it could just as easily have something to do with feeling powerless in her current relationship. Or she could just be a sadistic person, who knows? But she felt so much more substantial after I thought about the things that might make her want to go on online murder rampages.

The characters use Second World to fill different types of voids in their lives, but they also take it seriously at varying levels. Ivy places a clear distinction between her avatar and self, and doesn't expect anything she does online to affect her in real life:

And Woodrow, whose online gambling addiction has affected his real life very, very much:

There are layers. There are plot twists. The art is fantastic. Go read it, it'll only take an afternoon.

The Sex Lives of Cannibals, by J. Maarten Troost

If this book was written today, J. Maarten Troost would be the 20-something, buzzfeed-scrolling, directionless, loan-burdened graduate that (unfortunately) is a mascot for my generation. He decides to move to Kiribati with his girlfriend, and writes stories about his time on a tiny island with interesting people.

(Here's Kiribati on google maps, if you're curious about its middle-of-nowhere-ness)

Troost has been criticized by some about his arrogance, and some have gone so far as to compare him to Tucker Max. I've read books by both, and I couldn't disagree more. What keeps this story from becoming a Tucker-Max-ego-trip is that Troost actually changes.

I know, I know, character development is such a basic component of a good story, Troost isn't blowing any minds by doing this. But I think you have to be a reflective, authentic person to, well, grow. And good travel writing comes from people who aren't just open to change, but also recognize how and why they are changed. Easier said than done. 

Troost is an arrogant American who moves to the Pacific and, I think, is humbled by his experience. The book is funny, and intended to be so, but it's clear that Troost isn't "making jokes." He's a good observer, and can present these observations in an entertaining way. I enjoyed reading about his conversations with the locals, his reflections on his own insecurities, and the history of the place he called home, if only for a little while. 

One passage in particular stuck with me. Here, he and his girlfriend, Sylvia, have just returned from fishing in the ocean for the first time with two local fishermen: 

We hoped this storm marked the end of the drought. 

"Just think of it," I said to Sylvia. "Full water tanks." 

"Provided that the water actually gets into the tanks," she said dryly.

Sylvia still had little faith in my fixing abilities. But I was confident. I had spent hours clearing the roof and gutters of leaves and nettles. I had, very ingeniously I thought, used the materials at hand to plug the holes in the gutter--plastic lids and an extremely valuable roll of electrical tape. 

"Don't worry," I said, "I'm a Dutchman. And Dutchmen know how to channel water." 

"You're only half-Dutch," Sylvia noted, "and you left Holland when you were six."

"It's an innate knowledge. We're water people. Soon, you'll be able to wash your hair guilt-free."

"Twice a week?"

"Twice a week. I promise."

We paused to listen. It was an angry storm.

"I'm glad we're not on the boat now," she said. We pondered for a moment what it must be like for Beiataaki and Tekaii, sailing through the black darkness of a starless night, the ocean a violent maelstrom, rogue waves unseen. And then we went to sleep.

Paper Over Pixels

Reading and I have a complex relationship. When I was little, I hated how solitary reading felt. I liked reading aloud because it felt communal, but a quiet evening to myself with a book was not my ideal time.

Here, let me explain:

I do like stories. A lot. But reading them... from a book...? silently? For hours?? Eh.

I read in small chunks. When I need a break from working, I read the news, look through art blogs, read webcomics, etc. They're short and sweet, and--most importantly--justifiable. I don't feel guilty taking a 5-minute break to read an article (as if it ever ends at five minutes.)

Besides, it doesn't make sense to read a book for five minutes. What good will reading a few pages do? There's no closure!

But why don't my internet-breaks ever end at 5 minutes?

Something about microblogs pauses my brain, but doesn't relieve it. I'm not completely present when I read things online. Think of worries as needles. Each worry is an individual, sharp prick. Reading things on the internet gives me something to look at while they prick me, but reading from a book feels like taking those needles out, if only for a while.

I learned this last summer, during my month-long teacher-boot-camp. I read (and finished!) The Glass Castle during my commute, and it was the only mental break I had. I know that. I remember that. And I don't know why I still chose pixels over paper for much of the school year.

Reading from a book feels like an actual break. Even for 5 minutes.

And for someone who struggles with anxiety as much as I do, it has become an indispensable remedy.