I will happily read anything Kimmerer writes; she brings magic to the mundane. She brings two different philosophies to her study of nature: the detail-oriented rigor of her scientific university education, and the reverence and respect toward the world taught by her Potawatomi heritage. When the two approaches are combined, magic happens: tiny mosses and microscopic creatures are described in detail but also given life and spirit: “urgency for departure pulses through [a colony of moss under threat] with remarkable speed” while putting on “a gaudy display of unbridled reproduction.” Science gives her the means to quantify the changes being undergone by the mosses; her Native heritage imbues them with spirit, promoting even greater understanding. Given her voice, mosses under her microscope become rainforests of activity, with rotifers and tardigrades trundling busily among the stems, desiccating impossibly to specks of dust, only to rehydrate to full functionality once their environment contains enough water once more. (The Three Body Problem aliens do exist!) This is a beautiful collection of personal essays about mosses, but it’s also a celebration of nature, and a plea to let it thrive.
Tag: genre-nonfiction
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, by Ocean Vuong
This is an autobiographical piece written like poetry, which Vuong frames as a letter to his illiterate mother. The writing is gorgeous and heartbreaking; Vuong’s mother is shown lashing out at her young son in one moment, and then her own generational trauma as a war refugee is explored in the next. It’s not an excuse, but an exploration of root causes. Nothing needs to be explained if it’s all out there for you to see. Vuong peppers his experiences with those of his mother’s and grandmother’s, letting us see the impact of racism, class tension, and trauma across generations. He approaches his own experience with love similarly, letting us see his boyfriend in moments of both sweetness and toxic masculinity, showing us just enough of his background to help us recognize him as a product of his surroundings. Vuong has a beautiful deftness with words, and uses them to show how the people in his story manage to communicate love without using words at all.
You’re That Bitch, by Bretman Rock
I’ll be honest, my decision process for picking up this book was “hey! That gorgeous genderfluid model on the cover of Vogue Philippines also wrote a book?” I expected to put this down after no more than thirty seconds, but instead I got sucked into a fascinating story of a life spent first in the Philippines, then in Hawaii, in the care of a large, rambunctious family, sometimes problematic but always fully supportive. I loved the depictions of his family, particularly his grandmother, mother, and sister, and their Filipino customs; it was also really interesting to read about his journey from baby influencer to self-made star. The tone of the book is light, jammed with interjections like “girl” and “yenno,” feels like he narrated it voice-to-text, and generally made me feel very old; it’s easy to skim (and I did in fact skim past most of the encouraging self-help bits at the end of each chapter) and quick to read.
A Girl and Five Brave Horses, by Sonora Carver
In 1923, then-teenage Sonora answered an ad by William Carver looking for a “diving girl” to ride a horse as it plunged 11 feet from a tall platform into a pool of water below. She ended up joining Carver’s traveling entertainment act, performing around the country, and eventually marrying Carver’s son. In 1931, she hit the water wrong during a dive and suffered retinal detachment, eventually going blind; despite that, she continued to dive horses until their show ended when war broke out in 1942. The writing style of the book is straightforward and simplistic, with Carver demonstrating classic 1920s “spunky girl” attitude – unafraid to speak her mind, but always acknowledging that the men around her had the power and she had to persuade them before she could have her way. I was particularly interested by her detailed description of how both girls and horses were trained to dive (only a few actually took to the training; she makes it clear that in her time with the show, no girl or horse was ever pushed beyond their comfort zone), and the construction of the diving platform and pool. Her account of her blindness and how she dealt with it (and how she preferred others to treat her) is actually a great section on dealing with disability from someone who never had to consider the issue before.: A Girl and Five Brave Horses, by Sonora Carver
The Storyteller, by Dave Grohl
Came for the rock’n’roll stories from an artist whose music I enjoy; stayed for the self-deprecating humor, unashamed fanboying, and poignant, heartfelt stories from a man who never stopped being grateful for the improbable delights in his life. Grohl grew up in northern Virginia, so I was able to identify both with his childhood memories of the DC area as well as his feelings of recognition and homecoming every time he returned. I particularly liked listening to him narrate the audiobook; his enjoyment of storytelling was palpable and a delight to the listener.
A Molecule Away from Madness: Tales of the Hijacked Brain, by Sara Manning Peskin
Through a selection of case studies written like medical mysteries, neurologist Peskin illustrates the terrifying effects of the tiniest changes: from the gene-directed protein synthesis that results in Huntington’s chorea, to a woman whose own immune system flooded her brain with hallucinogens, to a patient whose grip on reality was threatened by what turned out to be a simple vitamin deficiency, this book left me amazed both at the delicate balance our bodies must tread to maintain our brains.
Equal Partners, by Kate Mangino
The subtitle for this book is “Improving Gender Equality at Home,” and addresses the imbalance in household gender roles created by harmful social norms. The book doesn’t just lay out examples and statistics, but gently points out familiar social behaviors that can actually perpetuate the problem. Each chapter also offers guided discussion topics and thought exercises to help readers become aware of their own stances and provide avenues for improvement, if it is desired. The book is carefully written to address as wide a spectrum of the modern family as possible, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, generation, and family structure. Even though I consider myself fairly educated and aware of these issues, I still found myself taking many notes on how to be a more equal parent and a more equality-focused person in conversation. Gender norms are deep-seated and addressing them is difficult, but this book provides an informative and understanding base from which to make a start.
The Good Immigrants, by Madeline Y. Hsu
Note: this is a textbook, not an entertaining nonfiction piece; each chapter lays out its thesis and then proceeds to buttress it with a straightforward recitation of facts and sources. Occasionally a person of historical interest appears whose story falls in line with the theme of the chapter, but no effort is made to carry any particular character through the narrative. That said, I found the book direct and focused, and the topic was of particular interest to me as I feel I have likely benefited greatly from the privilege of being seen as a “model minority,” and my own parents’ entry to the US on student visas fell perfectly in line with the path created to admit only the most useful, productive, and assimible immigrants. As Hsu demonstrates, the model minority stereotype was generated purposely by both Chinese governments and their American allies to sell a favorable impression of a certain type of immigrant (read: open to Western-education, non-“coolie”). The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 was popular for quite some time, reflecting the “yellow peril” fear that gripped much of America; however, a loose coalition of missionaries, academics, and diplomats banded together to open narrow avenues were opened to the the “right” kind of Chinese immigrant. The avenues had to be narrow, so that quotas and other limitations could remain in place to reassure the racist majority that Chinese would never be admitted in large numbers. Gradually, over decades, the determined PR of the coalition of American allies, as well as shifting political landscapes, successfully sold the favorable stereotype of the hardworking, nonthreatening Chinese immigrant. On the one hand it’s a remarkable success story of the power of patient, relentless PR over reflexive racism; on the other hand it’s enraging to see the knots in which people had to twist themselves in order to appear the right mixture of harmless and desirable, in order to be so grudgingly accepted.
What Fresh Hell is This? Perimenopause, Menopause, Other Indignities, and You, by Heather Corinna
After reading a couple of online articles about menopause that had the general tone of “if only I’d known beforehand,” I figured that since I’m currently in the beforehand period of life, I’d better educate myself. I don’t think I could have picked a better book. Corinna’s work is extremely educational along with being extremely understanding; she encourages people to take care of themselves while also sympathetically telling them what kinds of things to expect. Symptoms as well as physiological root causes are explored in a very down-to-earth, straightforward tone. I loved the inclusive tone of the book; Corinna constantly makes sure to acknowledge the existence of gender diversity as well as people who may abruptly entered menopause through medical procedures, which underlines the fact that menopause is experienced differently for every person. Really great resource.
Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence, by Doris Pilkington / Nugi Garimara
True story of three half-Aboriginal girls who were taken from their homes in 1930 and placed in a settlement to unlearn their heritage (back home we’d call it a residential school). Finding their treatment unacceptable, they escaped, found the fence built across Australia to contain the invasive rabbit population, and followed it on foot for 2400km to get back to their homes. One of the girls was Molly, mother of the author, who told her story to her daughter. The story is very short and self-contained, ending soon after the girls arrive home; it does include many pieces of the historical record, which add a lot of background as to why the government thought it so necessary to round up and confine the girls. Very necessary voice from a generation mostly silenced by history.