Hi Friends,
Last week was a doozy. I know I wrote something similar for the last version of this, but it’s been honestly a nonstop string of minor catastrophes since then. Before you get alarmed, to be clear, I’m fine; life is annoying sometimes, and includes visits to the vet, and jury duty, and other things irrelevant/private from my newseltter life.
Thought I’d throw it back to the classic format of this newsletter, in which I regularly had a section called Reading, Thinking, Feeling—which is, after all, what a newsletter (and my life?) usually is. I’ve been trying to slow down, so I’ll separate them out, give them room.
Reading
The first two books I finished in 2024 were ones I had begun in 2023. Jamel Brinkley’s utterly brilliant story collection, Witness. I had bought it in August, at Birchbark Books in Minneapolis, and read it slowly alongside novels and nonfiction. This has become my favorite way to read story collections, giving each story space. One of my favorites was “Arrows” about a character’s family ghosts. I suppose haunting is on my mind (it always is, in full disclosure), because the other book I finished was one about the construction of narratives of female ghosts. A Haunted History of Invisible Women: True Stories of America’s Ghosts by Leanna Renee Hieber and Andrea James.
After that I tore through Michael Cunningham’s Day, which I loved the structure of but didn’t buy the interior life of the younger characters (or ever feel connected to that of the older ones). I followed that up with Strega, which is so tactile and etheral at once, strange and grief-soaked, quietly violent, and couldn’t be more different, and which I absolutely loved. Last night I started Isabella Hammand’s Enter Ghost, which I’m barely in but can already see spending hours I should devote to other things on.
I’ve also been reading the installments of Ann Friedman’s incredible series on pregnancy: ambiguity, choice, wanting it, losing it, chosing it, on accidents and the unknown. It’s phenomenal. Start here, with Plot Twist.
Thinking
I had a really long day in the midst of a really long week last week, and to break up this day, I took myself to a midday movie. The theater was a respite from the single-digit temps, a literal resting spot after walking what turned out to be miles in the cold (my way of handling hard days is walking city blocks, I think, no matter the weather). I saw Anatomy of a Fall, not knowing much about it except that it was supposed to be good, and that lots of the discussion was some version of discerning what actually happened. And I loved this movie; it shook me, it moved me, it rearranged my insides intellectually and emotionally. I did not know that the main character is a novelist, a detail that of course deepened my relationship to her and the film overall, and also, if you’ve seen it, will understand when I say, terrified me.
I will say that I think the film, for me, was ultimately about unknowability: of people and relationships, of interior spaces, of “the truth” and how we bear (or don’t) that unknowability. It makes sense to me that the post-mortem on this film is about what this truth was, but I disagree with that discussion. If you’re interested in seeing it, I’d go in knowing as little about it as possible.
I have come to love movies alone the way I love museums alone. It lets me sit with things, absorb. I want to process everything (hi, you’ve read this newsletter before; processing is my jam) but sometimes it is good to just let it stew. That said, I walked out of the theater stunned and proceeded to leave voicenotes to 3 different people about the film. Mostly begging them to go see it so we could talk about it.
A mountain town in winter in the film was way more beautiful than what was happening on the sidewalks in my neighborhood. I hate ice so much. It is nice to live on a hill till winter really shows up. I have something like this for slippery days, and yes I have worn them to get to the train safely. My neighborhood is called Inwood but a few years back my daughter said it should be renamed Onhill. The only way to get to a subway is down one steep hill or another. I made it through those days without falling, luckily.
Feeling
An unexpected reverence for the mess of things. Between the two animals—I mean the dog and the cat, but honestly, I could as easily be referring to the sock-discarding and redacted gross habits teenage girls in my house—there is always stuff where it shouldn’t be: shreds of packaging the dog has torn up, rolls of toilet paper on my bookshelves because the dog likes to steal them, pillows she has tossed to the floor, various “boingy things” the cat likes everywhere, small items meant for the trash he carries from room to room like treasures. There are smells from the beasts themselves, animal hair where we do not want it, a general unruliness, but also, in all this, a general sense of aliveness, of life1. The best parts of my day are watching these two dopes engaging in interspecies play, which they do with fervor and gentleness and respect despite their literal 60 lb difference.
On Saturday I went to the Whitney for a friend’s birthday and saw, for the second time, the Henry Taylor exhibition, B Side, which I loved. On this round I was obssessed with the drips in his paintings, some of which you can see at the top of the newsletter. The way they existed within—inextricably so—portraits that I felt you could see a person’s whole self. Two of the portraits above are here and here in full. The middle one, of Taylor and his children, is here. Also felt deeply was the title of this self portrait.
Where to Find Me
Rewatching Friday Night Lights with my family. It’s even better than I remember it, though the unsteady camera hits different at 45 than it did in my 30s. But I deeply admire the character writing and development on this show, the absolute generosity and tenderness it takes with everyone who appears. Also, Tammy Taylor forever.
At my desk, revising, again, forever. More on this next week for paying subscribers. Which you can of course do by clicking the button below.
New class alert: I’m running my 6 week generative class again this spring. It is really fun, and open to all levels. Spots are still available for my weekend intensive on novel openings. First drops of my classes are available by signing up for Course Offerings.
May the mess of things keep you warm.
Talk Soon,
Danielle
All this said, I have one-sided conversations with the cat about why he must express his devotion to me by either sitting on my chest and making it impossible to function or biting me, or often, both, simultaneously. I’m also desperate to clean all these things up. Both/and, baby.
I will talk about Anatomy of a Fall with you! Damn it was good, wasn’t it? And the terror is SO REAL. Virtual coffee?
I love going to the movies by myself. Nothing better to clear a bad mood. That, and FNL.