sorry for being parasocially attached to your divorce <3

It’s a stirring feeling to read someone’s lifelong diaries. I am envious that little Lou thought to document, with such care, his life. For nearly no one other than himself until he came to himself as a young adult and medically transitioned from female to male in the 1970s until his dead from AIDs complications in March 1991.

God, Lou, the work that he worked towards, is felt, respected, and deeply appreciated. He was boots on the mf ground, meeting his community, sharing resources, and helping each other. Reading about his school crushes, his serious relationships which often revolved around Lou’s complex relationship with gender, to his lifelong companions, and family. It’s so beautiful that Lou memorialized them with such care and that Lou’s diaries have been handled with care.

The diaries being selections mean that the timelines aren’t always clear (they are organized by Lou’s addresses, a charming technique.) He was witty and anxious, so tender and reflective. I wish I could give him a big hug.

Surreal, absurd, and simply told. A story about a world sustained by different colored watermelon, watermelon byproducts, a trout hatchery, and an endless labyrinth warehouse of “Forgotten Works.” Fascinating use of language, he really has a style that reads singularly.

Naughty and confessional and rightfully considered a masterpiece. Our narrator is a restless schoolboy who becomes infatuated with a family friend, a 20-year old beauty married to a soldier fighting in WW1. They neglect all of their responsibilities to become entangled together even as the danger mounts with their brave displays of affection. The language and perspective is profound, the narrator is able to look back on himself with disdain and great empathy.

The author (Ugh I know let's not talk about the authors in reviews but this is juicy I promise) wrote the novel as a teenager; he would tragically succumb to typhoid at twenty after the massively successful publication of this book. Decades later, despite the author's assertions that the book was purely fiction, the real soldier of the real wife came forward with his testimony of having his life marked by this book. He, in fact, had abandoned his eldest child since in the book the child belongs to the love affair and not the clueless husband.

My favorite book from 4th grade (California history year) 💙 Ecologically dense & intentionally sparse book imagines the life of the Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island, a Niminocotch/Nicoleño person who jumped shipped while her tribe was taken to mainland California from the Channel Islands. Navigating the complexities of genocide (a little under discussed but the main haunt of the book) and the horrors of a pack of wild dogs, it’s also so beautiful, so appreciative of nature and living amongst animals. May the memory of the Niminocotch peoples be a blessing

Incredible fascinating read by about an Afro-Surinamese woman (ambiguously set anytime between the 60s-80s) who leaves her husband after nine days of marriage. We follow a “descent” into madness as she navigates the generational trauma of colonialism & slavery, finding roommates in the capital city Paramaribo, and the search of pleasure and love with another woman.

The form is a little funky (I’d call it post-modern but there’s a chance I don’t totally understand that word) but filled with dream sequences, long backstory-filled monologues, and a real fogginess over events and timelines. I personally felt grounded in my reading, but am sure there’s more I’ll pick up on a second read!

“With her chin on my stomach, she confessed, "I got married out of an unquenchable craving for warmth. I traded in my exotic dreams about anthropological voyages around the world for it. He overwhelmed me with sexual attention every hour of the day and night. But I wanted warmth without having to expose myself. In fact, without clothes on, I got even colder. Sex, he called it... Wetness in my mouth, wetness in my womb, without him ever managing to thaw my cold core.”

“Why is the God of love silent? I'd like to ask my mother. Mama, may I love a woman? May I find a substitute for the love I received from you? Am I supposed to shun the being I know best? Mother of mine, am I the daughter you dreamed of, or am I the daughter who's dreaming? My God, who is stuck in her dream? Or has someone awakened? Mama, nowhere else can I find a substitute for your love but in the heart of another woman. I know, there's no replacement for the real thing, and the real thing is not fesh but spirit.”