It’s been a while since I did one of these posts, and I’m having a hard time even remembering what I read in the last few months. Blame that on my memory, not the books themselves being bad (or unmemorable). With that being said, let’s give this a try:

– Tana French, The Witch Elm. I was so excited about this one, but it was a disappointment. Like Lethal White, it’s another humongous book, but unlike the former, it was boring as hell. It took more than a third of the book to get to the actual murder mystery, and the thing itself wasn’t nearly as compelling as it needed to be to justify the rest. For me, it all came down to the fact that the protagonist was fundamentally uninteresting. Maybe that was the point; an average, privileged white dude thinking his internal monologue was interesting enough to justify hundreds of pages of blather, but if so, the author could have conveyed that in that some other fashion. It was a slog, and the unreliable narrator bit didn’t add anything to the mix. Also, the last few chapters just … boggled the mind. To say that they came out of left field is an understatement. Maybe I missed the whole point of the book; honestly, I have no idea. I didn’t actively hate this book in the same way as that Ruth Ware one I read last year, but it was close and it was probably my affection for other novels of Tana French that stopped me from chucking The Witch Elm.

– Shirley Jackson, The House on Haunted Hill. I ordered a collection of Jackson’s short stories and novellas, and this was the first one I wanted to read (after watching the Netflix series). I liked it a lot – Jackson’s writing is fantastic – but somehow I never managed to get around to the other stories. It’s on my To Read list.

– Grace Coddington, Grace: A Memoir. Got this after finally watching The September Issue on Netflix. On the page, Grace is the same as on the screen: frank, funny, and not afraid to spill insider gossip. This wasn’t a “meaty” book, but I enjoyed it tremendously.

– Josephine Tey, The Singing Sands. I love Golden Age mystery writers, and am trying to branch out from the usual suspects (no pun intended). I had previously read and enjoyed Tey’s Brat Farrar, so I decided to pick this up. It was fine but not, well, particularly memorable to me. I probably should have chosen Daughter of Time instead.

– Maureen Callahan, Champagne Supernova: Kate Moss, Marc Jacobs, Alexander McQueen, and the ’90s Renegades Who Remade Fashion. I found this at Winners of all places, and it was a super fun, juicy read. And a walk down nostalgia lane, especially for late 90s British celebrity gossip (the Primrose Hill set anyone?).

– Dorothy L. Sayers. In The Teeth of Evidence. I found a new edition of Sayers’ entire collection at Value Village and almost bought all dozen or so volumes. Eventually, I limited myself to only 5 or 6, mostly her short stories collections. I like Sayers, but not as much as some of her fellow Hall of Fame mystery writers, and I prefer Lord Peter in smaller doses. Her short stories are top notch, though, so I really enjoyed this collection (and am looking forward to reading the others).

– Martin Edwards (ed.), Resorting to Murder: Holiday Mysteries. On Amazon, I randomly came across this British Library Crime Classics imprint, which is re-publishing lesser known (British) mysteries from the Golden Age, and was immediately intrigued. I started by ordering a few short story collections, including this one. It features a selection of about 14 or so stories, none of them being ones I’d read before – which is no small feat, because I have already read most of the well known stories that typically get featured in this type of collection. As is usually the case, this was a mixed bag – some stories were better than others – but overall quite entertaining. Mystery novels are my favourite form of literary escapism, so I am thrilled to have found a promising new vein of material to tap with these British Library Crime Classics.

Your turn – tell me what you’ve been reading lately. And thank you to all who left suggestions on my last post; while I might not immediately jump onto those recommendations, they are all filed away for future reference. [Though, I will confess that, when under stress, I tend to read mostly “fluff” as evidenced by the list above.]

Headmistress Chic

I really loved this outfit. It doesn’t scream “look at me”, but I find it to be lovely and chic in its own way. It helps that it features a few of my current fave pieces, like this Theory belted blazer and the Johan (?) skirt from Artizia (both thrifted, natch). The shirt is old, and it’s a piece that’s fallen out of and risen in favour with me several times in the years since I purchased it. I’m glad I held on to it because it works very well with my current aesthetic; I’m actually sad that I got rid of the white version a while back. [In my defence, white tops are a challenge for this clumsy klutz. It’s always a minor miracle when I don’t spill something on myself as soon as I wear white, and the stress just gets to me.] Speaking of the shirt, here are a few past outfits:

Casual Thursday

Here, I’m repeating a combo I first tried at the thrift store when I bought this Zara blazer. I was wearing the same olive AllSaints sweater (a men’s, and just about the warmest article of clothing I own) and some black jeans (not these Mother chinos, but close enough), and I loved how those colours worked with the dark brown of the blazer. For this office version, I added metallic loafers because … well, actually, they don’t need any justification. They’re simply awesome.

This kind of menswear-inspired look is becoming a big favourite of mine, to the point that I would happily wear some version of this (mixing up the sweaters and blazers from time to time) any time I’m going for a polished-casual vibe. Is that a blogger faux pas? If so, it wouldn’t be my first.

Mermaid Inspired

here’s the story with this H&M skirt: I thrifted it last year because, hello, it is perfection. I am a magpie at heart, sartorial evolutions notwithstanding. I love anything iridescent, and the hues here – ranging from green to blue to purple – are my favourites. Moreover, it was in perfect condition; no missing sequins, no unraveling seams. But! There was a but … or, more precisely, a butt. My butt. It didn’t quite fit into the skirt.

I could do up the zipper, but was also probably 5-7 pounds away from fitting in comfortably. I couldn’t even think about sitting down, lest I sent a shower of sequins flying in every direction. Now, normally, I don’t buy clothes that are too small, even a little bit. Not worth it; I have no plans to lose weight. But … ahh, it was such a nice skirt, and I thought “but what if it just happens that I lose a few pounds, without trying, oh what if?”

Spoiler alert: did not happen.

The skirt just sat in my closet. And then one day I decided enough was enough. I tried it on again, and realized that the problem was the lining; the actual sequins are sewn onto a mesh that has some give to it and could accommodate my hips and behind. If I were more skilled, I would have tackled this problem myself, but instead I took it to a tailor. For $20, she let out the sides of the lining. And, voila, it fits!

And so concludes this story time.

I read The Magic of Tidying Up a few years ago, and other than the now-ubiquitous phrase of “sparking joy”, I have not retained much from it. I would like to be the kind of person who folds her socks in a neat and precise manner, but alas; I know myself well enough to not even pretend. And while I made some efforts at using the “does it spark joy” approach to closet editing, I found it not particularly useful; honestly, after repeating that question to myself a dozen times, the words stopped making any sense. I have since come up with other wardrobe management techniques that work for me and keep my closet from overflowing my whole house. [I kid, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility, you guys.]

Of course, in the last couple of months, with the release of Marie Kondo’s Netflix series, KonMari is back in the news. I tried watching an episode, but didn’t finish it. I normally love any opportunity to peek into people’s homes, so I was somewhat surprised by how not-interesting I found the show (Marie Kondo herself seems delightful). I have concluded that I am simply not part of the intended audience.

This needs some unpacking because, on a certain level, I am most definitely part of the core audience for KonMari: namely, people with plenty of disposable income and materialistic predispositions. [Let’s face it: there are lots of people for whom KonMari has no relevance for the simple fact that they don’t have the privilege of owning anything more than the bare necessities (or less).] But even so, it doesn’t speak to me. I think the fundamental principle at the core of it – that you should only surround yourself with things that matter to you and/or bring value to your life – is an important one. How that looks in practice will be vastly different from person to person, and I think KonMari is too prescriptive/arbitrary if taken literally.

Why, for example, is 30 books the maximum that any person should have in their home? I live in a 1,700 square foot home; I have room for more. More importantly, I have room for more in my heart. Books are a fundamental part of who I am, and have been since I was a child. I will come back to this in a moment, because the online debate around home libraries sparked by Marie Kondo and her work has been very interesting to me.

Something else that sparks joy for me? Home décor trinkets. There are certain things I like to collect, and certain “treasures” that I have accumulated over the years; much like books and clothes, they tell the story of who I am. Although it might not look like it to some people, I do curate my collections – both adding and taking away pieces regularly. I actually hate visual clutter and while what constitutes “clutter” to my eye might be different than for someone else, once my house steps over that line, I take immediate action.

At the same time, I don’t accumulate objects in categories that don’t matter to me. I’m not big into cooking, and you’d be hard-pressed to find our one lonely spatula, much less multiples, in my kitchen. I don’t like to decorate the house seasonally, and other than Christmas tree ornaments, I don’t own any items of that kind. My linen closet is streamlined. So is my make-up drawer. [Which is not to say that I’m perfect. I probably own more stationery than I could reasonably justify, for example, and while I like that stuff a lot, it’s probably not worth hoarding.]

With age, I have settled into my habits and learned that the important bit is figuring out how to best maximize the value of whatever money (and time) I have at my disposal. I try not to invest financial resources or mental energy into things that don’t matter to me, unless they are absolute necessities. [So, for example, I keep a working kitchen because I still need to feed my family; a true chef would find it woefully inadequate.] And I periodically reassess the value of the things I choose in the first place. Maybe this is just another way of saying “does this spark joy” but, for me, the question is: is this the best use of this space (physical and/or metaphorical) in my life? Some things are worth having or keeping because they serve a necessary function; some things because they add meaning or beauty and are, in their own way, irreplaceable – whether for that moment, or for a season, or a dozen seasons.

I can imagine that perhaps some people need help identifying for themselves the categories of things that truly matter to them, but I don’t believe a one-size-fits-all approach is ideal here. Some people might need no more than 30 books in their house; some might need 30 spatulas – “need” being a relative term in both cases. I exaggerate, but you get my point.

Let’s go back to books for a moment, because I am intrigued by the debate around that. For the record, I find both the ends of the spectrum equally strange. I don’t judge people for not keeping books in their house, if that is their preference, but I also don’t understand why others are so vehemently against home libraries. Owning books (or not) is not a moral choice, folks. It is not inherently better to own books, or not to own books. My choice to build a house made of books does not invalidate your choice to keep none.

The idea of owning books as a signal – of class, or intellectual achievement – is also bizarre to me. I grew up in houses where books were plentiful, and I derive tremendous comfort from being physically surrounded by books. I also love to read, and I like having a wide variety of books at my fingertips. I grew up dreaming of owning my own library, and I am fortunate enough to have made that dream come true, but it was not a decision calculated as a means to an end; it was my end goal, my princess castle come to life. While I appreciate the privilege inherent in that outcome, it’s never been my intent to wield it as such. There was a long period of my life when I could not afford to own many books, and used public libraries extensively. [I also used to work in one.] I remain a strong supporter of the public library system because literacy is a human right. I don’t think my stance on that and ownership of a home library are mutually exclusive.

I get asked a lot of questions about my home library, perhaps none more often than “have you read all those books?” The answer is no. And perhaps more shocking to a KonMari adherent is the fact that I don’t necessarily plan to read them all, ever. It may happen that I do. Anything is possible. But I certainly have acquired books – mostly from donations, but also through actual (thrift) purchases – that I have no immediate desire to read. This is hard to explain to people who are not bibliophiles (and maybe even to some who are). To me, a book has value beyond its immediate utility for my own purposes. It might be something another family member would enjoy reading; it might be something that my kids might someday find useful for a school project. There are very few books that don’t have some kind of value, actual or potential. A book is untapped potential waiting for its moment. Metaphorically speaking, I like the idea of being surrounded by an infinite number of yet-to-be-discovered journeys. Some people might find that a stressful thought, a ticking to-do list; to me, it’s a wonderful thing. I feel no particular pressure to read this or that book. I like to know that I can, if and when the mood strikes.

After all that, you may be surprised to hear that I do get rid of books from time to time. It’s rare, but it happens. It takes a lot for me to punt a book, though. I have to (a) strongly dislike it, and (b) find no redeeming merit (literary or academic). Off the top of my head, I can think of only one book in recent memory that met those criteria. [It was a book by Ruth Ware and it was aggressively uninspired and unforgivably boring.]

I’d be curious to know your thoughts, both on the subject of home libraries, and KonMari more generally.