Volume 1, No. 31: Journeys + Earl Grey Tea Cake

Greetings, book and treat people! I’m still collecting book rec requests — if you’ve got one, send it my way!

One of the things I love about writing this newsletter is that sometimes it gets me to think about the books I’m reading in new ways. I read and loved A Psalm for the Wild-Built a few weeks ago. Upon finishing it, a newsletter theme immediately came to mind: journeys. But September was a slow reading month for me, and so, when I sat down to plan this newsletter, I realized I only had one option for an upcoming book to include: Personal Attention Roleplay. Happily, I loved this story collection and want to shout about it. And because I was already thinking about journeys, I started seeing them in in every story. Some stories are about actual physical journeys. Some are about metaphorical journeys. I doubt I would have realized how deeply this collection is steeped in the idea of journeying if I hadn’t read A Psalm for the Wild-Built right before picking this one up. I love it when books talk to each other.

I read Feel Free a few years ago. It’s a book that embodies another kind of journeying: the kind that happens in a well-constructed essay. I love that all of these books play with the idea of journeying both in their subject matter and in their structure.

The Books

Backlist: Feel Free by Zadie Smith (Essays, 2018)

This book collects a wide variety of Zadie Smith’s previously published and unpublished essays from the last decade or so. The range of subjects she explores is truly dizzying: from the personal to the political, the philosophical to the physical, Brexit to Justin Bieber, Phillip Roth to Karl Ove Knausgard. Here are essays about her neighborhood library, traveling through Italy with her father, social media, music from rap to Billie Holiday to Joni Mitchell, and films of all persuasions, from arthouse to mainstream. She writes about art that has mattered to her at various times in her life, from contemporary painters and sculptors to Italian Renaissance artists. But the landscape of these essays is not purely material. Throughout and among her examination of art, music, and dance, she explores motherhood, race and its intersection with art, criticism and culture, philosophy, the practice of journaling, the nature of joy and memory, the role of an artist.

There is no central thread tying these essays together. It’s not a book about art, or writing, or politics alone. “Look at the world,” each essay says. “Everything on this earth is worth examining.” Perhaps that’s what makes this book feel so much like a journey. It’s not a journey from Point A to Point B; rather, it’s a journey through. Nothing is too small or too vast for Smith’s attention. She wends her through all of our strange, contradictory, and varied human experiences.

Her voracious curiosity, her desire to examine the world, her hunger to understand the complex, her interest in wrestling with contradiction and nuance — it all me left with with a sense of awe and openness. Smith is fully engaged and deeply connected, constantly questioning and excavating. At times, the openness, curiosity and humility with which she wrote about the world left me almost breathless.

My favorite essays are the ones where she seamlessly interweaves a specific bit of the physical world with a broader, more philosophical or emotional truth.

“Late Frau by Balthasar Denner”, an exploration of the painting of same name, haunts me. Smith writes beautifully about the painting, about the mysterious relationship between portrait and viewer, and about the lens through which women have been viewed in art. I have never seen this painting and now I can’t stop thinking about it, nor can I stop thinking about the bigger questions: how do we see? How is what we look upon changed by our gaze, and how are we, in turn, changed by the gaze of what we see — be it a painting, another person, or a reflection of ourselves?

In the beautiful essay “Dance Lessons for Writers”, Smith writes about dancers as diverse as Fred Astaire, Beyonce, Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Rudolf Nureyev, among others. It’s both a portrait of these different dancers and a larger treatise on the role of art in culture, and the various ways and places that art and artists meet and blur. She writes, “Dance lessons for writers: lessons of position, attitude, rhythm and style, some of them obvious, some indirect.” I’m so used to looking at things one a time — this book, that piece of music, this sculpture. The brilliance of this essay, for me, is that she mixes it all up: everything overlaps, everything is relational, including art, including our lives.

In my favorite essay, “The I Who Is Not Me”, she delves into the complicated relationship between writers, characters, and readers. Spurred by writing her first novel in the first person, she attempts to get to the bottom of the strange phenomenon of “autobiographical writing”. I want to give this essay to everyone who reads, not only because it is so smart, but because it includes the truest definition of fiction that I’ve ever read.

For me fiction is a way of asking: what if things were other than they are? And a central component of that is to ask: what if I was different than I am? I have always found the practice of writing fiction far more an escape from self than an exploration of it. Yet when I read other people’s novels I make the same mistake as most civilian readers: I confuse Portnoy with Roth, and Humbert with Nabokov and Janie with Zora Neale Hurston…I want to try to find a place to reconcile the “I-who-is-not-me” of the writer with the “I-whom-I-presume-is-you” that the readers feel they can see.

I think to appreciate fiction fully it helps to conceive of a space that allows for the writer’s experience and the reader’s simultaneously, a world in which Portnoy is at once entirely Phillip Roth and not Philip Roth at all. That sounds like an impossible identity, but literature, for me, is precisely that ambivalent space in which impossible identities are made possible, both for authors and their characters.

She goes on at length about this question of identity in fiction, and how deeply embedded, in the instinct to write novels, is the instinct to understand and empathize with other humans.

This to me is the primary novlesitc impulse: this leap into the possibility of another life. And from this position comes the ability to see the self you happen to be from a certain, often ironic, distance.

She goes to say about fiction: “It’s the place where things are true and not true simultaneously: the ultimate impossibility.”

Here is another journey she delves into headfirst: the physicality of reading, the journey from reader to writer to reader again, the weird and often miraculous movement between there reality of books and the reality of not-books. Isn’t this what makes fiction worthwhile, meaningful, powerful? It’s one of the few experiences we allow ourselves in which we willingly enter “another life”. It’s an impossibility, an opening experience that only exists in the realm of the true/not true.

Every essay in this book didn’t speak to me as powerfully as “The I Who Is Not Me.” But the book as a whole left me wanting to dive into the world. I am not a traveler; I rarely seek out art forms that aren’t books; I listen to the same music over and over again. Feel Free reminded me of the beautiful vastness of what’s out there. I was left bursting with desire: to explore, to connect, to immerse myself in as many different lives and mediums and places and ideas as possible.

Frontlist: A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers (Science fiction)

I have to assume that, since she doesn’t know who I am, Becky Chambers did not write the first line of this gorgeous novella specifically for me. But it sure feels like she did. It starts like this:

Sometimes, a person reaches a point in their life when it becomes absolutely essential to get the fuck out of the city.

The story is set in a beautifully optimistic future. Humans have figured out how to care for the planet instead of destroying it. Dex is a monk who’s made a good life for themself in the city. And then, one day, they wake up desperately longing to hear the sound of crickets singing. They’re filled with a dissatisfaction they’ve never known before. So they leave their familiar life in the monastery to become a traveling tea monk. They spend several years learning this new skill, taking their wagon from village to village, offering tea, comfort, and a space for people to talk about whatever is going on in their lives.

But the feeling of dissatisfaction doesn’t go away. Even after they become known as the best tea monk around, they can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. So they leave the road and head into the wilderness. The wilderness is off-limits: people don’t go there. Dex is walking off the grid, away from everything they know. And that’s where they meet Mosscap. Mosscap is the first robot anyone has seen in centuries. Long ago, the robots woke up and walked away from humans. Now, Mosscap has come to check in on human civilization. It wants to know how humans are doing, and what they need.

What follows is a beautiful meandering journey of a conversation. Dex and Mosscap talk about what it means to have a purpose, to be alive. They talk about rituals, making things, free will, food. They talk about Mosscap’s innate fear of the old factories where the first robots once worked. They talk about Dex’s life as a monk. They talk about different kinds of work, about the natural world, about the things that matter to each of them. Mosscap is so curious, and looks at every new thing with unrestrained delight. This changes how Dex views the world.

“I think there’s something beautiful about being lucky enough to witness a thing on its way out,” Mosscap says at one point. The book is full of beautiful lines like this, observations of the cycles of death and loss and renewal. It’s a quiet book that’s full of hope and friendship, a celebration of the work of hands. But it’s also such a human book. Dex is driven by a purpose they don’t fully understand. They want something, but they don't know how to articulate what it is. Even in a world full of beauty and peace, even in the midst of fulfilling work, Dex longs and yearns for something more. What makes us human is not only the journey, but the act of journeying.

“You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it,” Mosscap tells Dex. And that’s what this book is: the story of two creatures — a human and a machine — learning how to marvel at the world around them. Becky Chambers has a gift for creating inviting, fascinating worlds that are soft and cozy, but also feel real. This book is a balm, a little burst of joy, but it’s not cute or quaint. Not much happens as Mosscap and Dev make their way through the wilderness to an old monastery. But as they talk, they grapple — because hat’s what people do, even when we’re happy and whole.

Upcoming: Personal Attention Roleplay by Helen Chau Bradley (Short fiction, Metonymy Press, 10/19)

Absolutely nobody is surprised that I loved this collection of short stories published by Metonymy Press. The stories are a little weird, a little disturbing, and all of them have the kind of momentum that I absolutely love in short fiction. Even the shortest stories move from one place to another. Characters move through relationships, phases of life, different understandings of themselves. They fall into obsessions. I’ve come to appreciate short stories that capture a moment, rather than recounting a period of intense change, but I think I’ll always like stories about change better. And the characters in this book are all over the place.

The collection is quietly queer in a way I always appreciate. Many of the characters are queer, but very few of the stories are about queerness. Most of the characters are also Asian, and some of the stories speak directly to biracial and Asian identity, while others have nothing to do with race at all. Every character is singular; none of them fall into boxes. It’s a beautiful balance.

Bradley excels at capturing the many kinds of journeys people undertake throughout life. In one of my favorite stories, “Personal Attention Roleplay”, a woman becomes obsessed with ASMR videos on the internet. It’s a downward spiral, a story about loneliness and obsession and internet culture. It’s a dark journey, and even though I saw the inevitable end coming, I could not look away. “The Queue”, written exclusively in dialogue, takes place entirely in a line for supplies during the early days of the pandemic. The whole story is about another kind of journey — the emotional ups and downs the characters experience as they wait. It was sometimes disorienting to read, sometimes funny, sometimes downright chilling.

Throughout the collection, Bradley mixes mundane moments with extraordinary and disturbing ones. In one story, an Asian woman seeks a new face. There’s an upsetting and powerful juxtaposition between the journey she’s undertaking and the ordinary moments of her day — texting with her sister, looking in the mirror, getting on the bus. In another story, two relationships overtake a queer twenty-something’s life: their radical lover and one of the recipients of the meals-on-wheels program they volunteer for. This story is full of so many perfectly rendered ordinary moments: biking around the city, breakfast with a friend at a diner, hanging out in the kitchen of a queer co-op. But underneath all that there’s a sense of panic, urgency, strangeness, dread.

Several of my favorite stories are about physical journeys. One is set during a queer band’s summer tour. It’s told in the collective first person, the “we” representing the three women who make up the band. It’s a hard POV to pull off and Bradley does it so well. It’s a beautiful story with a perfect ending, one I’m still thinking about. Another favorite story is about two cousins walking the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in Spain. In both stories, the literal journeys make space in the characters’ lives for all sorts of surprises and revelations. There is so much complex interplay between internal and external movement.

This book is full of human messes and wry irony, softness and upsetting almost-magic. It’s out October 19th and you can preorder it here.

The Bake

Ritual is a big theme in A Psalm for the Wild-Built. There are so many beautiful descriptions of each piece of Dex’s work as a tea monk: the unique tea blends, the teaware, the seating arrangements, the decorations. It’s a beautiful ode to craft. It made me think about how much I love the ritual of tea. I thought about the dessert plates I like to use at teatime, the vase of flowers I like to position so that the afternoon light catches their petals, my favorite mugs. So, of course, I had to make a tea cake. There is nothing more satisfying that fall tea with a slice of spicy, fruity cake.

Earl Grey & Orange Teacake

This is basically a fruitcake with a subtle earl grey flavor. I packed it with my favorite dried fruits, but use any kind you want. If you want an even stronger tea flavor (it’s really just a hint here), add 2-3 tsp. ground earl grey tea leaves to the cake mix. Apologies in advance for the lack of volume measurements for the fruit — you want about 3 cups of dried fruit total.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup strong earl grey tea (I used 3 teaspoons of loose leaf tea; you could brew it even stronger if you want)

• 100 grams candied orange peel

• 75 grams dried apricots, finely chopped

• 75 grams dried figs, finely chopped

• 75 grams golden raisins

• 75 grams currants

• 75 grams dried cranberries

• 175 grams (3/4 cup) Demerara sugar (If you don’t have any, it’s fine to substitute brown or white sugar)

• 1/2 tsp. ginger

• 1/2 tsp. cinnamon

• 1/8 tsp. ground clovers

• 1 star anise pod, ground

• 2 Tbs (32 grams) metled butter

• Zest of 1 orange

• 1 egg

• 210 grams (1 3/4 cups) all-purpose flour

• 2 1/2 tsp. baking powder

• 1/2 tsp. salt

In a large bowl, combine the dried fruit, sugar, spices, and orange zest. Pour the brewed earl grey over the mixture and stir to combine. Cover with a plate (or loosely with plastic wrap). Let sit for at least four hours, but preferably overnight.

When you’re ready to bake, butter and flour a standard bundt pan. A 9x5 loaf pan will also work. Preheat the oven to 300.

Add the melted butter and egg to the mixture and stir to combine. Add the flour, baking powder, salt, and ground earl grey tea (if you’re using it). Mix until the flour disappears into the batter. Pour into your prepared pan and bake for about 1 hour and 10 minutes. The top should be golden brown, and a tester inserted in the middle should come out clean. Let cool on a wire rack before gently inverting the cake onto a plate.

I made a simple glaze by cooking honey with my favorite ginger syrup until it got sticky. You could also use the juice from your zested orange, combined with powdered sugar, to make a simple icing. Or just leave it plain. It’ll be delicious either way.

The Bowl & The Beat

The Bowl: Pepper & Onion Quesadillas with Roasted Tomatillos

Quesadillas are one of my favorite quick meals. You can put basically anything in them, they make great leftovers toasted the next day, and they’re fast. I usually make them with flour tortillas, but I didn’t have any the other day, so I used corn instead. They will not turn into this gooey mess if you use flour tortillas, but actually, this whole situation is delicious. The cheese oozes out and turns into golden crisps, and the tortillas fall apart in the best way. It’s sort of like deconstructed chilaquiles casserole.

Preheat the oven to 450. Slice some tomatillos into quarters (or eighths if they’re big) and put them on a baking sheet. Toss with a bit of olive oil and some salt and pepper. Put them in the oven and let them roast while you’re preparing everything else. Thinly slice some onions (2-3 big ones) and sauté in olive oil or butter until they’re nice and soft and starting to brown. Season with the spices of your choice: mine are cumin, cayenne, and oregano. Seed and slice a few sweet peppers, and add the to the pan. You an add some garlic if you want, too. When the tomatillos are soft and falling apart, add them to the pepper-onion pan and mix well. Grate some cheddar.

Place a corn tortilla on a fresh baking sheet. Pile some veggies on one half of it, and top with cheese. Fold the tortilla over. It probably won’t stay if you’re using corn tortillas. I put a nice pat of butter on the top, and then flipped the whole thing over; the butter helps it stick to the pan. Also, butter is delicious. Repeat with the remaining tortillas. Bake for ~15 minutes, until everything is sizzling and gooey and the cheese is spilling out. If you can stand it, let them cool a few minutes before eating.

The Beat: Even as We Breathe by Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle, read by Kaipo Schwab

I just finished listening to a whole bunch of audiobooks for review, and now I’m starting to work my way through my Libby backlog. I just started this one today. It’s about a twenty-year-old Cherokee man, Cowney Sequoyah, who get a summer job working at a North Carolina resort in 1942. The resort is being used to house various prisoners of war, known to the staff as guests. I’m only twenty minutes in, so not much has happened yet, but I’m loving the narration so far.

The Bookshelf

Now Out

Hooray! Madder by Marco Wilkinson is now out. If you love weird, genre-blurring nonfiction, this book is for you. Also out this week: Special Topics in Being a Human by S. Bear Bergman and Saul Freedman-Lawson and The Heartbreak Bakery by A.R. Capetta. So many gems this week!

Around the Internet

On Book Riot, I wrote about why I hate the word “problematic” in reference to books. Spoiler alert: It’s not that I don’t think we should talk about “problematic” books. It’s that I’d prefer us all to use precise language, gathering than wrapping up everything that might be wrong with a book into the vague “problematic” umbrella.

The Boost

This past Monday was Indigenous Peoples’ Day. Here are a few Indigenous-owned organizations and businesses that deserve your money, attention, etc.

• Indigenous Women Rising: This Indigenous-led organization is “committed to honoring Native & Indigenous People’s inherent right to equitable and culturally safe health options through accessible health education, resources and advocacy.” One of their many projects is an abortion fund for Indigenous people in the U.S. and Canada.

• Raven Reads: This Indigenous-owned business is probably my favorite book subscription box ever. I can’t recommend it enough. They have boxes for kids and adults.

Unrelatedly, all sorts of delightful bookish people are starting newsletters! My former Book Riot colleague and internet friend Jess just launched Jess of the d'Urbervilles, which features weekly (ish) book reviews and blurbs about new releases. Jess’s reviews are always so thoughtful; I often find myself wanting to pick up the books she reads, even when they fall outside my go-to genres. Speaking of, if you love genres that I rarely talk about here (especially horror, mysteries, and thrillers) you’re going to want to run to this newsletter.

As always, a little bit of beauty to send you on your way: I got to spend some time up in the mountains this past weekend. I don’t have the words for how much I love the feeling of walking through woods the color of a sunset.

And that’s it until next week. Catch you then!