It’s been a while since I’ve done of these posts, so let’s talk about what I’ve read lately. I have not been as diligent as I should about keeping track, but I think I am well past the 60 book mark already for 2020. Here are some of the highlights:

Ann Cleeves – Shetland/Jimmy Perez series

After I finished the Vera Stanhope series, I immediately began to binge read Cleeves’ other popular series featuring Shetland detective Jimmy Perez. While I enjoyed each and every book, it took me a little while to get used to Perez, who is a protagonist of a completely different mould than Vera Stanhope. But, 8 books later, I grew quite fond of him. In fact, I’m torn on which of the two series I would want Cleeves to continue next. They are similar in tone and approach – focused on the psychology of the characters and their relationships, whilst still staying grounded in the police procedural genre – and yet managed to have distinct vibes. I have to say that I kind of fell in love with the Shetland islands after reading these books, sight unseen.

Margaret Atwood – The Penelopiad

This is not quite a full length novel, but longer than a typical novella. It’s a re-telling of the Odysseus myth from Penelope’s perspective. More than anything, it’s a feminist allegory. The writing reminded me a lot of Atwood’s poetry, which I read when I was younger and love. At first, I felt like the book fell short of what I was expecting – too “easy”, too straightforward – but the more I thought about it afterwards, the more nuances and layers revealed themselves.

Deanna Raybourn – Veronica Speedwell series

This mystery series, set in Victorian England, was recommended to me by a follower on IG. I have mixed feelings about it after reading 3 of the 4 (or 5?) titles in the series. On one hand, its protagonist (Veronica Speedwell) is a spunky, smart, adventurous female scientist. Her partner in sleuthing is a Byronic explorer-slash-scientist with a tragic past. The mysteries themselves are kind of bland, but the writing is zippy enough that I found myself flying through them. There is a dash (and later on, more than a dash) of sexual tension and will-they-won’t-they suspense between the main characters. The latter is also on my list of negatives about this series. The taciturn, tortured hero was not a character I warmed up to a great deal, so the romantic undertones left me cold; by the end of the 3rd book I read, I just wanted them to get it over with. The writing, while zippy, sometimes felt too try-hard to me – like the characters were on a sitcom, not real people. And Veronica is also a bit too much of an anachronistic Mary Sue for my taste. But for pure entertainment, this series is a fun one.

M. R. Carey – The Girl With All The Gifts

I’ve had this on my reading list for over a year, and finally got around to it. Possibly not the best choice during a pandemic, as it deals with the aftermath of a plague-like event. I don’t want to say too much about the plot as I don’t want to spoil the initial twist – which is revealed fairly early on, but still – so I will only say that while this isn’t my usual genre of fiction, I enjoyed this book a lot. It kicked up my anxiety, but it was worth it. I binged through it in a couple of days, and the ending in particular had me on the edge of my, ummmm, bed. At midnight, not willing to put it down and go to bed.

Cherie Dimaline – The Marrow Thieves

Another community recommendation (my BFF and a few people on IG recommended it) that I ended up loving. It’s an interesting companion read, in a way, to The Girl With All The Gifts – also set in the future, in a post-apocalyptic world decimated by climate change where Indigenous people are hunted for their bone marrow which is used as medicine for white people. The author is Indigenous, and the book references and draws upon the historical abuse of Indigenous people in Canada (where the story is set). I think technically it’s a Young Adult novel, but I would recommend this even if you don’t typically read YA fiction (I don’t either). There were parts of the story that were hard to read (heartbreaking) but the writing was compelling throughout; I read it very quickly because I couldn’t wait to find out what would happen to the characters – holding my breath in anticipation of the worst, to be honest – and the ending provided a great, cathartic payoff.

Samantha Irby – Wow, No Thank U

Sam Irby is one of my fave current writers, period. At times, when I read her books, I feel like she’s been hiding inside my own head, and wrote down all of the things that I would never dream of telling anyone else. I adore her honesty, her voice, and her sense of humour. Wow, No Thank You is a follow-up collection of personal essays to her last book, We Are Never Meeting In Real Life which was also a must-read. I laughed out loud more times than I can count, but there is some serious discussion in there too, especially around Irby’s experiences as a writer on a TV show (Shrill) in Hollywood.

Alan Bradley – Flavia de Luce series

I thrifted these books last year, and finally got around to reading them. They are set in 1950s rural England, and feature an 11-year old chemistry-obsessed child prodigy turned amateur sleuth, Flavia de Luce. The books are very much in the vein of Agatha Christie, albeit I find the pace occasionally sluggish (something Christie never was). I love the ensemble of recurring characters as well, although Flavia is an extremely unlikely 11-year old and the de Luce family history is a bit over-the-top at times. Nonetheless, the series has a lot of charm especially if you’re a fan of “cozy English mysteries”.

Neil Gaiman – The Ocean At The End of The Lane

I haven’t read much Gaiman since my early twenties, when I was obsessed with the Sandman graphic novels. I am also a huge fan of Good Omens, but I think a large part of that is attributable (if I’m being perfectly honest) to Terry Pratchett’s contributions. Anyway, I picked up this book at the thrift store a while back, and finally decided to give it a go. It was an enjoyable read, in the vein of some of Gaiman’s earlier short stories (which I also really like). It’s a kind of adult fairy tale, about a young boy’s friendship with a strange girl living near his childhood home, and the things he learns (then forgets as an adult, and briefly remembers again) about the nature of the universe. There were elements reminiscent of Stephen King in the story, although the writing is definitely Gaiman-esque.

Phillip Freeman – Oh My Gods

This is a very accessible and straight-forward retelling of Greek (and a few Roman) myths. There is no literary embellishment or academic discussion, which I liked because I was looking for an adult version of the myth anthologies I read as a child. I used to love those – both the Greek and Norse myths were my favourite. What struck me, reading Oh My Gods, is how full of rape, and pillage and general strife these stories are. There are precious few happy endings, and so much violence. I must have read a very sanitized version as a child, or else my brain didn’t really grasp the nuances of what I was reading at the time. I remember having favourite gods and goddesses as a child (is that weird?), but now they all seem pretty despicable, goddesses included.

Tilar Mazzeo – The Hotel on Place Vendome

The best way to describe this book is to say that it reads like a longform Vanity Fair article. Its subject is the Ritz Hotel in Paris, but the book is really about the various famous people (society people, political figures, artists, etc.) who stayed there before, during and after WWII. It’s the kind of non-fiction, history-adjacent story I like to read – fact-based but entertaining. Infotainment, if you will. A lot of famous names are dropped – Chanel, Hemingway, Churchill, among them – but you won’t get a full picture of any of them, so it’s best if you’re somewhat familiar with their biographies already. Some of the chapters feel a bit disjointed, but I still enjoyed this one a lot.

Ijeoma Oluo – So You Want To Talk About Race

If you are starting your anti-racism work, as I am, this is an excellent resource. Oluo writes in a straightforward but dynamic, compelling voice. Reading her book is like having a conversation with a friend – a friend who doesn’t shy away from tough topics and from telling you difficult truths. She covers a lot of ground that is a must read: the roots and history of racism in America (racism isn’t about feelings, it’s about systems of oppression), micro aggressions, cultural appropriation, the school to prison pipeline, affirmative action, and more. Highly recommend it if you haven’t read it already.

I promised last week that I’d be a writing a post detailing my process for making embroidered/beaded upcycled jewelry, and I am a woman who lives to deliver on self-imposed, arbitrary deadlines. I hope the post makes it easy to follow my steps for anyone interested in giving this sort of thing a try at home. (It’s fun! You should.) Please note that I am not an expert by any means, and this is simply the way that I do things – not the only way, or the best way necessarily.

Step 1: The Design

Last year, I started keeping an art journal – a notebook where I jot down ideas for projects and sketch things out. More recently, I started pasting in images that I might want to use for inspiration as well. I find this helps me keep track not only of on-going projects, but also ideas that I could revisit in the future. Anyway, the first step is jotting down a simple design, like this necklace:

Step Two – Preparing the Backing

For my jewelry projects, I like to use felt. This is for a number of reasons. Felt is more stiff than fabric – it holds its shape and gives the finished pieces some weight (but not too much). It retains its edges without requiring any finishing, for the most part anyway; you do have to be careful when working along the edges as sometime they can fray. Lastly, it’s easier to embroider on felt without a hoop than it is on regular fabric. For most jewelry pieces I make, using a hoop is out of the question due to size.

I used to use a rather heavy-duty felt in the past, mostly out of habit. When I first started beading, more than a decade ago, I used some scraps that I had at hand, which happened to be leftovers from a furniture-upholstering project of my husband’s. I’ve been working through that stash ever since. And it does work … but it’s hard work pushing the needle through and there can be quite a bit of warping, especially on smaller pieces.

So I decided to experiment with different kinds of felt. I’ve got a couple of different packages of felt in the past, which I used to use for lining (more on that later). This is just regular crafting felt, although the consistency/feel seems different from piece to piece. Some pieces are softer, fuzzier, and more pliable. Others are less fuzzy, and more cardboard-like (for lack of better description). I used the latter type for the backing for this piece.

Step 3 – Embroidery

This step is self-explanatory but a few words on working around edges. This is one of the trickiest parts of the process, and I’ve adapted my practices through trial and error.

Getting too close to the edge can easily result in fraying, so I leave a small border.

I use beading later on to cover this and “finish” the edge as it were. The needle I use for beading is much thinner, as is the thread, so it’s less likely to cause damage to the edge of the felt.

Sometimes, I like to “block” in the colour of the entire pattern (see below) then go back in and complete it.

Step 4 – Beading

Beading used to take me a long time. Depending on the size of the bead, I can sew anywhere from 1 to about 5 beads at a time. Threading the needle was the worst part; because tiny seeds beads are, well, tiny the eye of the needle has to be tiny as well which makes it a pain to thread. Now, the process is a bit faster since I’ve finally acquired a collapsible needle. Basically, a collapsible needle is a super long, super thin needle whose shank (?) splits to create the “eye”. The needle is double-pointed so you can use either end to sew. The needle is very flexible so it can be bent and manouvered quite easily.

Here is the project, part way through beading:

And here is the finished deal:

Well, almost.

Step 5 – Lining

I am not the cleanest worker, so the back of my pieces are not usually the nicest.

For that reason, and also for the comfort of the person wearing the final product, I add a lining. Back in the day, I used to use fabric for this, but it proved way too cumbersome for me. I am garbage at finishing fabric. Felt, on the other hand, is easy – for the reasons mentioned above. I like to use a piece of felt in a contrast colour, for added punch.

Again, let me reiterate that I suck at “finishing” work. Not to mention that attaching the lining without disturbing the piece itself is tricky at the best of times. So my pieces definitely have a rustic, handmade vibe to them.

Step 6 – Adding Hardware

For hardware, I like to recycle bits from old costumer jewelry I own or thrift for the purpose. This is the upcycled part and it brings me great satisfaction to think of new ways to repurpose old chains and other bits and bobs. I have only very basic tools (a wire cutter, basically) so I have to get creative as much as I can.

Here, I started with this thrifted chain:

I eyeballed the “drop” that I wanted my necklace to have, and measured two equal lengths. Then, snip, snip.

The remaining chain got set aside for another future project, and I attached the two pieces to my necklace in the most basic way imaginable:

But from the front, it looks very nice, if I do say so myself.

And here it is, from concept to reality:

This is the kind of project anyone can probably do with a bit of patience, so if you’re inclined to give it a try and have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them.

This is not going to be a post you are used to seeing on this blog. It’s not a post I am used to writing. However, it’s one I feel compelled by recent events to write, having come to the realization, last week, that silence – no matter its reasons – is not an option. It’s cowardice, or complacency, or acquiescence, or implicit support; all things I cannot live with. So. I am writing this post knowing that I will probably not be able to say the right things, in the right way. Words matter, and I have always tried to be careful about how I use them; better to say nothing than to say the wrong thing. At least, that used to be my approach. Today, I have to put that aside and say what needs to be said.

Black lives matter.

What happened in Minneapolis last week – and in other parts of the US stretching back too long – is not acceptable. The murder of George Floyd at the hands of a police office, sworn to protect, is an unspeakable crime that cries for justice. If we have reached the point when people feel that violent protest is the only avenue of communication left, something is deeply, fundamentally broken in our society. One of the best explanations I’ve seen to date is an IGTV segment that Trevor Noah shared last week. I encourage you all to watch it. [If I can figure out how to link it, I will add it here.] In it, he talks about the social contract and the consequences of having it violated, again and again, against black people. This perspective puts a different lens on the protests that are now happening in the US (and other parts of the world) and the (justifiable) rage and betrayal that black people are feeling.

Is it difficult, as a white person, to observe that outpouring on social media and elsewhere? Yes. It’s human nature to want to defend, justify, absolve oneself of guilt and shame. But, you know, it’s probably infinitely less difficult than watching society trample upon its promises to you, as a citizen – as regards the protection of your basic human rights – while feeling powerless to do anything about it. So my self-work over the past week has been to push aside my own feelings and tackle the difficult. Listen to black and other minority voices. Reflect on their words, without giving in to the impulse to self-justify or talk over. Amplify their voices to the extent that I can. Learn what I can do better. Learn what I can do to actively help, as opposed to passively support.

Some of my action items (for fellow white folks who are interested): seek out BIPOC artists and content creators, listen to their stories, support (financially and otherwise) their work. Share black voices on my social media. Talk to my children and my family about what it means to be anti-racist. Donate to organizations that work with and support BIPOC (and LGBTQ) in their communities.

And in doing my (small) part, there is one guiding principle that I try to keep in mind at all times. It’s a lesson I have been slowly learning over the last ten years; a hard lesson that needs to be constantly re-learned and practiced.

Stay humble.

I say it’s hard because I am a naturally proud person. And, worse, intellectually proud. Being proud is not the same thing as being arrogant, and it doesn’t have to be a bad thing, necessarily. But it can have problematic effects. It can create blindspots. It can create intransigence. It makes it really hard to admit you’re wrong. That you don’t know everything. That you don’t have all the answers. That there are valid perspectives different than your own. Conversely, humility means accepting the possibility of all those things. It does not mean putting others’ opinions above your own. It means being willing to listen, consider, adjust, learn, grow.

Listening is the first step and is itself much harder than it sounds. If you will allow me to generalize for a moment, people are not good at listening. We are good at hearing what others are saying with one ear while simultaneously formulating a mental response, defence, or justification that will allow us to avoid changing our pre-existing opinions. Opposing views, in particular, are seen as a direct threat to our personal value system; I see this on social media all the time: merely stating a preference (no matter how innocuous the topic) can generate a flood of comments from people who somehow feel their own personal choices are under attack. The current political climate has exacerbated this tendency. Some days, it feels like everyone is shouting into the void, and no one is listening even as we are all going deaf.

So yeah, staying humble. It’s constant work because the world will constantly challenge your capacity for humility. If it’s not, you’re doing something wrong. Living in an echo chamber, a bubble. But living that way out of fear is no way to live either. Being wrong is human; in some ways, it’s the flip side of our amazing capacity to learn, grow, adapt. I have spent my whole life being afraid of being wrong, and only recently started to do the work to embrace that fear and move past it. Pride, the fear of being wrong, all of that is ego, and Buddhism tells us that ego is an illusion. I may be a failing Buddhist, but that is one lesson I try to remember every day.

From that lens, we can see that white fragility is the shackles of ego but unlike most self-illusions, it’s one that can have very real, and very terrible consequences for others. If you want to see a stark example of white fragility in action, watch the video taken by Christian Cooper of his encounter with Amy Cooper (no relation) in Central Park. A person asking you to leash your dog in an on-leash area is not a personal attack. Yet, in making that entirely justified request, Christian Cooper was lucky to avoid negative consequences. Lucky not because he deserved anything different; lucky because many other black people’s experiences have had a different outcome.

I will end here because it’s not my words you need to hear at this time. Instead, I encourage you to seek out and listen to black and other minority voices – in your community, on social media, in the mass media you consume – and give their perspective the proper consideration they deserve.