Volume 4, No. 33: Books for a New World

40 Before 40

Greetings, bookish friends. So, there’s a presidential election in the United States next week. You might have heard about it. (I’m not going to get through this without humor.) I don’t want to write about it. There is so much noise. The noise is coming from writers, scholars, and activists I respect and admire. It’s coming from randos on the internet I do not admire even a little bit. It’s coming from people who are profoundly angry, who are suffering profoundly. The noise is ceaseless, and I do not want to add to it. I do not to write about the election. I have written this newsletter approximately 214 times in my head. I have written longer versions of it and shorter versions of it and none of the versions feel like they’re worth anything. But I can’t send out a newsletter a week before the election and pretend like it’s not happening. I am a human with a beating heart on this planet that I love, that I grieve for daily. So, reluctantly, I’m adding to the noise—as quietly as possible.

To balance out the noise, here’s Ashfield lake in late October.

Voting in presidential elections has nothing to do with liberation. I will be unhappily voting for Kamala Harris next week. (I’m old-fashioned and like to vote on election day. I live in a town of less than 500 people—the polls are never crowded and I enjoy the ritual.) I am not voting for her because I like her politics. I don’t. I am not voting for her because I believe she’ll enact policies that will alleviate suffering and build a world I want to live in. It’s possible, but I’m not holding my breath. I am not voting for her because I think we can “push her left.” I absolutely do not think we can do that. I’m not voting for her because I’d rather organize against her than against Trump. I would, but the activism I do will not change based on who is president. I’m not voting for her because I’m scared of a Trump presidency, though, of course, I’m terrified. I’m not voting for her because I think things will get worse under Trump. I do absolutely think things will get much worse, even though “things getting worse” is a nebulous phrase that is easily weaponized against the people who are already suffering the most.

I’m voting for her because I believe that less people will die if she is elected president than if Trump is elected president. This is the calculus I have done. It’s a calculous I hate. It’s a calculous that makes me sick. It’s a calculus that is utterly useless to the Palestinians who have been killed in over a year of genocide, and the Black people who have been murdered by police, and the trans kids who have died by suicide, and the women who have died due to forced pregnancy, and the disabled people who have died from covid. And. And. And.

I’m not morally pure. I’m not infallible. I’m not right. I just believe less people will die with Harris as president.

Earlier this year I read Abolitionist Intimacies by Canadian abolitionist and activist El Jones. As an abolitionist, she believes in—and is working toward—a world without prisons and police. In the book, she talks about how fucked up it to have to work with the institutions she is trying to abolish. She runs a radio show for incarcerated people. She collaborates with programs that send books to incarcerated people. She works to improve regulations around visiting, sends money to people she knows on the inside, and supports the organizing that incarcerated people are doing themselves. In order to do all of this, she sometimes has to collaborate with prisons. She’s not trying to improve conditions in prisons because she thinks prisons can be reformed. She’s doing it because the lives of people who are locked up matter. Their lives matter right now. Nobody gets another life. We have do both things—the right now work and the visionary work—because nobody gets another life.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently. Everything matters. I cannot reduce my politics, values, and deeply-held beliefs about the world down to a catchphrase. I can only tell you one thing I believe: everything matters.

I hope you’re all taking care of yourselves and each other in whatever ways you can. I hope you’re doing what you can, in small ways, in big ways. I welcome expressions of grief, determination, solidarity, hope, fear, tenderness, exhaustion in the comments. I’d love to hear about what’s getting you through. I do not welcome argument or attack. I am open to singing but not to noise.

Meanwhile, here’s a photo of a piece of this planet that I love fiercely. A few weeks ago I climbed Mt. Moosilauke with some dear friends and it fed my soul. I am holding onto the things that feed my soul, the luck and joy of loving places, seasons, plants, mountains, the sky.

Franconia Ridge and the Presidentials from the summit of Mt. Moosilauke.

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Earlier this week someone on Bookstagram posted a 30 Before 30 list—a list of books they want to read before they turn 30. I’ve seen plenty of these lists around before, but something about seeing this one—and a few friends commenting that maybe they should make a 40 Before 40 List—inspired me. I turn 40 in January 2026, which is just over a year away. I love the idea of making a 40 By 40 list to guide my reading next year.

This is not going to be a list of books I’ve been meaning to read forever (though it will include some of those for sure). It’s a booklist for building the next decade of my life. I've had a good reading year so far, but it’s been weird. I’ve been craving different kinds of books, different ways of reading. The slow rereads I’ve been doing—reading a few pages of a book every day and writing about it—have been the best part of my reading life. I’ve also loved emotionally deep diving into certain texts and authors, like Mary Oliver. I want more of that. I want my reading to feel even slower, even deeper, even more spacious.

So I made a list of what I want to build my 40s with. The feelings and sensations and ideas and challenges and questions I want to bring into the next decade of my life. Here’s the list so far:

40 by 40: Reading for a New World

• Trees, nature, human & nonhuman relationships, ecological abundance 

• Indigenous history of New England

• Poetry, expansively!

• Being inside relational tangles

• Intimacy/kinship (community, romance, friendship)

• Liberation, abolition

• The wilderness of gender

• Slow down

• Mystery

• Queer history/queer futurity

• Earnestness and defiant aliveness 

• Radical scholarship

• Challenges for my brain 

• Play and joy 

• Big and/or old queer books

• What do ancestors and ghosts have to say?

• Jewish rituals

• Being wrong, changing my mind, not knowing 

• Art, art-making

• Language, expansively!

I’ve spent the past few days sorting through my shelves and my TBR, curating a list of books that fit these themes. At first I tried to match each book to a theme, but I gave that up quickly. This is a booklist for building a new world, not a rote checklist. I’m making it by feel and with intention. Many of the books speak to multiple themes. Many of them speak to the themes but do so crookedly, at a slant.

A few from my shelves that I’m particularly excited about, to give you a sense of the scope of this project: M Archive and Dub by Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Directed by Desire by June Jordan, Modern Nature by Derek Jarman, The Angel of History by Rabih Alameddine, American Indian Stories by Zitkala-Sa, and Black Women Writers at Work edited by Claudia Tate.

Working on this list has been an absolute joy. It’s a distraction for my election-anxiety-brain that feels abundant, fruitful, and creative. I know it’s just a booklist for a reading project for 2025, but it feels so good to be building something. It feels good to be thinking about books in such big and expansive ways, to be thinking about reading so holistically. Reading is not just something I do; it is also who I am. That’s what I want to build my 40s with: books that bring me closer to the world.

I made a list on Bookshop with all the books on the list (so far) that I don’t own. It’s a wishlist, which means you can buy me a book from it if you want. I’m not asking you to do this! But if you feel moved to thank me for the work I do, this is an excellent way to do that. Any books you buy for me from the list will support Call & Response Books, a Black woman-owned bookstore in Chicago (owned by the fantastic @busyblackbookworm)!

To celebrate this big adventure, here are some books I’ve read and loved this year that, in complicated and extremely different ways, build new worlds.

Playing in the Dark by Toni Morrison

For a world in which we look directly into silence, absence, myth, and abyss, where we let what is hidden-but-not-hidden be our teacher.

There’s Always This Year by Hanif Abdurraqib

For a world where we all have homes, where we all belong to places and people, where that belonging is multidirectional, ever-changing, and constant.

Thirst by Mary Oliver

For a world that makes space for grief. For a world that makes space for mystery.

Another Word for Love by Carvell Wallace

For a world made sweet by collective healing. For a world that knows infinite words for love. For a world of possibility.

How the Word is Passed by Clint Smith

For a world made of history. For a world in which we look.

A Theory of Birds by Zaina Alsous

For a world in which language is continually remade.

Toward Eternity by Anton Hur

For a world that will never stop changing. For a world that is unrecognizable but full of poetry. For a world of humanness, despite.

Survival is a Promise by Alexis Pauline Gumbs

For a world our ancestors made possible. A world they would want to live in.

Small Rain by Garth Greenwell

For a world of sustained and careful attention. A world made of beauty.

Everything for Everyone: An Oral History of the New York Commune 2052-2072 by M.E. O’Brien & Eman Abdelhadi

For world without nation states. A world where we care for each other. A world of abundance.

As always, a little bit of beauty to send you on your way: We live in a world with fall. I will never get over it.

Thanks for being here, everyone. See you in November.