Disclaimer: I pulled this from my other blog because it feels more at home here.
I just finished a few really great books. In light of that, I am going to throw them out into the universe in hopes that somebody, somewhere has either read them, or will read them based on that.
This one is just start to finish wonderful. The whole thing is infinitely quotable, so I won't ruin it for you. Just read it!
4.8 our of 5 Items of Rating. Reck. Ah. Mend.
The last book was Gross Anatomy by Mara Altman.
This book is fun, funny, and kinda gross. Everything you could ever want to know about all the weird shit your body does/has/is. Altman clearly has a curious mind and the will to throw herself down some weird rabbit holes. There are personal anecdotes, scientific info, and even plenty of historical superstitions and hilarious cures.
See:
"One favorite douche of the era was made up of garlic and wine. “Wine-filled douchebags were probably the number-one go-to douchebag,” said Caskey-Sigety. These ancient ladies were impressive: They were willing to share booze with a body part that couldn’t even appreciate the flavor."
I also selected a few treasures (tray-jures!) from the chapter about the way we see ourselves and how/why it is different than the way others see us.
"There is nothing worse (except for murder, of course, and finding a long wiry hair in your entrée) than hearing someone say, “That’s a great photo of you,” only to get a glimpse of it and see staring back at you a mustachioed gnome with water-balloon cheeks and a grimace that could stunt-double for an elephant’s anus. If that is a “great” photo, then what am I when I’m captured at my everyday?"
"Trying to figure out what I look like by my image alone is like trying to figure out what a truffle tastes like by holding it in my hand. There’s more in my face—in everyone’s—than solely the superficial."
4 out of 5 Items of Rating - do recommend
I just finished a few really great books. In light of that, I am going to throw them out into the universe in hopes that somebody, somewhere has either read them, or will read them based on that.
Book #1 was Starless by Jacqueline Carey.
I think this is now just my most favorite book in the history of books. I. FUCKING. LOVED. EVERY. WORD. I loved the high fantasy. I loved the gods and goddesses directly interacting with the denizens of the world. I loved the gender fluid protagonist Khai, and the differently abled princess Zariyah. I loved the inclusion of the many different cultures in the world that Carey so beautifully fleshed out (which is something that honestly, I always feel she excels at). I loved the struggles, the relationships, the adventure, blah, blah, blah. If you're tired of white guys rescuing white girls and then living happily ever after against the backdrop of high fantasy, give this gem a go. I guarantee you won't be disappointed.
5 out of 5 Items of Rating (I don't know what this is about, but it hit me in a moment of inspo, so I'm going with it)
The second book was Witches, Sluts, Feminists by Kristen J. Sollee.
The second book was Witches, Sluts, Feminists by Kristen J. Sollee.
This one is just start to finish wonderful. The whole thing is infinitely quotable, so I won't ruin it for you. Just read it!
4.8 our of 5 Items of Rating. Reck. Ah. Mend.
The third book was Shrill by Lindy West.
This book was ah-may-zing. I laughed so hard at some points that I may have cried a little. For example, when she gave examples of the "fat female role models" available in her youth. Every single example she gave was brilliant, and they all, in my opinion went a long way toward validating her claim that there was and continues to be little to no non-jokey representation of fat folks in media (and on a peripherally related note, can we all just agree already that the size of a person is a) nunya fucking business, and b) in no way representative of their status as a human being!). Which is nonsense, because there are many, many large-bodied individuals 'round here. Mostly this is a memoir about West's life up until now, and deals primarily with how she came to love and embrace her fat, opinionated self in spite of the pearl-grasping horror of many at the sheer concept that a large woman could feel anything but shame and self-loathing. Oh, and it was also about troll-slayage (the internet kind - no Treasure, bridge, or kindly trolls were harmed).
West provided a wealth of witty hilarity such as:
"When you’re a little kid, everyone talks about your period like it’s going to be a party bus to WOOOOOOOOOO! Mountain. It’s all romantic metaphors about “blossoming gardens” and “unfurling crotch orchids,” and kids buy into it because they don’t know what a euphemism is because they’re eleven. But it’s also a profoundly secret thing—a confidence for closed-door meetings between women."
"I don’t give a shit what causes anyone’s fatness. It’s irrelevant and it’s none of my business. I am not making excuses, because I have nothing to excuse. I reject the notion that thinness is the goal, that thin = better—that I am an unfinished thing and that my life can really start when I lose weight. That then I will be a real person and have finally succeeded as a woman. I am not going to waste another second of my life thinking about this. I don’t want to have another fucking conversation with another fucking woman about what she’s eating or not eating or regrets eating or pretends to not regret eating to mask the regret. OOPS I JUST YAWNED TO DEATH. "
but she also presents wise, wonderful gems like these:
"This is the only advice I can offer. Each time something like this happens, take a breath and ask yourself, honestly: Am I dead? Did I die? Is the world different? Has my soul splintered into a thousand shards and scattered to the winds? I think you’ll find, in nearly every case, that you are fine. Life rolls on. No one cares. Very few things—apart from death and crime—have real, irreversible stakes, and when something with real stakes happens, humiliation is the least of your worries."
"The breadth of my shoulders makes me feel safe. I am unassailable. I intimidate. I am a polar icebreaker. I walk and climb and lift things, I can open your jar, I can absorb blows—literal and metaphorical—meant for other women, smaller women, breakable women, women who need me. My bones feel like iron—heavy, but strong. I used to say that being fat in our culture was like drowning (in hate, in blame, in your own tissue), but lately I think it’s more like burning. After three decades in the fire, my iron bones are steel."
or
"Shame is a tool of oppression, not change."
West provided a wealth of witty hilarity such as:
"When you’re a little kid, everyone talks about your period like it’s going to be a party bus to WOOOOOOOOOO! Mountain. It’s all romantic metaphors about “blossoming gardens” and “unfurling crotch orchids,” and kids buy into it because they don’t know what a euphemism is because they’re eleven. But it’s also a profoundly secret thing—a confidence for closed-door meetings between women."
"I don’t give a shit what causes anyone’s fatness. It’s irrelevant and it’s none of my business. I am not making excuses, because I have nothing to excuse. I reject the notion that thinness is the goal, that thin = better—that I am an unfinished thing and that my life can really start when I lose weight. That then I will be a real person and have finally succeeded as a woman. I am not going to waste another second of my life thinking about this. I don’t want to have another fucking conversation with another fucking woman about what she’s eating or not eating or regrets eating or pretends to not regret eating to mask the regret. OOPS I JUST YAWNED TO DEATH. "
but she also presents wise, wonderful gems like these:
"This is the only advice I can offer. Each time something like this happens, take a breath and ask yourself, honestly: Am I dead? Did I die? Is the world different? Has my soul splintered into a thousand shards and scattered to the winds? I think you’ll find, in nearly every case, that you are fine. Life rolls on. No one cares. Very few things—apart from death and crime—have real, irreversible stakes, and when something with real stakes happens, humiliation is the least of your worries."
"The breadth of my shoulders makes me feel safe. I am unassailable. I intimidate. I am a polar icebreaker. I walk and climb and lift things, I can open your jar, I can absorb blows—literal and metaphorical—meant for other women, smaller women, breakable women, women who need me. My bones feel like iron—heavy, but strong. I used to say that being fat in our culture was like drowning (in hate, in blame, in your own tissue), but lately I think it’s more like burning. After three decades in the fire, my iron bones are steel."
or
"Shame is a tool of oppression, not change."
4.5 out of 5 Items of Rating - do recommend
The last book was Gross Anatomy by Mara Altman.
This book is fun, funny, and kinda gross. Everything you could ever want to know about all the weird shit your body does/has/is. Altman clearly has a curious mind and the will to throw herself down some weird rabbit holes. There are personal anecdotes, scientific info, and even plenty of historical superstitions and hilarious cures.
See:
"One favorite douche of the era was made up of garlic and wine. “Wine-filled douchebags were probably the number-one go-to douchebag,” said Caskey-Sigety. These ancient ladies were impressive: They were willing to share booze with a body part that couldn’t even appreciate the flavor."
I also selected a few treasures (tray-jures!) from the chapter about the way we see ourselves and how/why it is different than the way others see us.
"There is nothing worse (except for murder, of course, and finding a long wiry hair in your entrée) than hearing someone say, “That’s a great photo of you,” only to get a glimpse of it and see staring back at you a mustachioed gnome with water-balloon cheeks and a grimace that could stunt-double for an elephant’s anus. If that is a “great” photo, then what am I when I’m captured at my everyday?"
"Trying to figure out what I look like by my image alone is like trying to figure out what a truffle tastes like by holding it in my hand. There’s more in my face—in everyone’s—than solely the superficial."
4 out of 5 Items of Rating - do recommend
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