Like all the best cookbooks, this is also a work of art. Each cocktail and bar snack looks delicious. The plant-based focus, for the drinks, generallyLike all the best cookbooks, this is also a work of art. Each cocktail and bar snack looks delicious. The plant-based focus, for the drinks, generally just means they are mixed with aquafaba instead of egg white (which is gross and didn't work the one time I tried it in a cocktail recipe anyway). There are so many niche ingredients that I can't see readers trying to make these drinks at home--unless you have an extremely well-stocked liquor cabinet and are willing to spend a lot on accessories. However, I totally plan to make a simplified version of the "Nothing Sacred" cocktail with rum, dry white wine, lemon juice and damson gin....more
(3.5) “In a time of apathy, / hope is a revolutionary act”. I knew Godden from her hybrid novel Mrs Death Misses Death, but this was my first taste of(3.5) “In a time of apathy, / hope is a revolutionary act”. I knew Godden from her hybrid novel Mrs Death Misses Death, but this was my first taste of the poetry for which she is better known. The title gives a flavour of the variety in tone. Poems arise from environmental anxiety; feminist outrage at discrimination and violence towards women; and personal experience of bisexuality, being childfree (“Book Mother” and “Egg and Spoon Race”), and entering perimenopause (“Evergreen Tea”). Solidarity and protest are strategies for dispelling ignorance about all of the above. Godden also marks the rhythms of everyday life for a single artist, and advises taking delight in life’s small pleasures.
The social justice angle made it a perfect book for me to read portions of on the Restore Nature Now march through London in June and while volunteering as an election teller at a polling station last week. It contains 81 poems (many of them overlong prose ones), making for a much lengthier collection than I would usually pick up. The repetition, wordplay and run-on sentences are really meant more for performance than for reading on the page, but if you’re a fan of Hollie McNish or Kae Tempest, you’re likely to enjoy this, too.
Wallace's debut memoir-in-essays reflects on a traumatic upbringing that taught him to reject stereotypical masculinity and celebrate the beauty in thWallace's debut memoir-in-essays reflects on a traumatic upbringing that taught him to reject stereotypical masculinity and celebrate the beauty in the everyday. He candidly acknowledges wrongs that have been done—to him personally and to Black people collectively. But he also relates what he has learned about sexuality and spirituality, both of which provoke openness to love and wonder. Through vividly recreated scenes, Wallace captures the emotions of childhood. Although his recollections of sexual abuse can be difficult to read about, some of the later "Stories About Return" provide a sort of antidote, as Wallace realizes the power of consent and reclaims a sense of ownership and joy in his bisexuality. Marriage and parenting, overcoming addiction, his mother's death, and the pandemic are other topics in these varied and relatable autobiographical essays.
The remote Welsh island setting of O’Connor’s debut novella was inspired by several real-life islands that were depopulated in the twentieth century dThe remote Welsh island setting of O’Connor’s debut novella was inspired by several real-life islands that were depopulated in the twentieth century due to a change in climate and ways of life: Bardsey, St Kilda, the Blasket Islands, and the Aran Islands. (A letter accompanying my review copy explained that the author’s grandmother was a Welsh speaker from North Wales and her Irish grandfather had relatives on the Blasket Islands.)
Eighteen-year-old Manod Llan is the older daughter of a lobster fisherman. Her sweetheart recently left to find work in a mainland factory. It’s 1938 and there are vague rumbles about war, but more pressing is the arrival of strangers here to study a vanishing culture. Anthropologists Edward and Joan learn snatches of Welsh and make recordings of local legends and songs, which are interspersed with the fragmentary narrative. Manod, star-struck, seeks the English researchers’ approval as she helps with translation and other secretarial duties, but becomes disillusioned with their misinterpretations and fascist leanings.
The gradual disintegration of a beached whale casts a metaphorical shadow of decay over the slow-burning story. I kept waiting for momentous events that never came. More definitive consequences? Something to do with Manod’s worries for her little sister, Llinos? A flash-forward to the abandoned island’s after-years? Or to Manod’s future? As it is, the sense of being stuck at a liminal time makes it all feel like prologue. But O’Connor’s writing is quite lovely (“The milk had formed a film over the surface and puckered, like a strange kiss”; “All of my decisions felt like trying to catch a fish that did not exist until I caught it”) and the book is strong on atmosphere and tension. I’ll look out for her next work.
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