It seems fortuitous that the same month I begin my new job, and in turn a new venture into the literary realm, I lose touch with my vision of immersing myself in a world of books and inspiration.
The truth is, this month was largely spent inside, between isolating and waiting for PCR results, to spending another 10 days indoors not soon after I immersed. You would think this was more than adequate time for me to make my way through a series of March reads, but instead, evenings were spent drinking into oblivion with new housemates, before eventually immersing myself in a new job.
The books that I did get around to reading provided both insight and perspective, and to be honest, a little let down from women I like to tote as my favourite authors.
1. The Lost Daughter by Elena Ferrante
I went into this piece with expectations, which was possibly a mistake of my own accord. Feeling entirely awe-inspired by the Neapolitan Quartet, it’s safe to say my expectations of a book in a similar setting could have been justified, but with entire honesty I found the narrator far less endearing, with few redeeming qualities, and ultimately a challenge to enject the same love into the story.
Written with the same poetic nature, perhaps it felt a little surface level after exploring the entirety of two lives, or maybe my lack of appreciation needed a personal experience of motherhood to lend some perspective.
Nonetheless, it’s a delight to be reading Ferrante’s penmanship once more.
2. NW by Zadie Smith
This took a concentrated effort. It’s not to say I don’t love or appreciate Smith’s writing, because I know there were moments of genius in this that few could communicate, but perhaps again I lacked the understanding to truly see the incredible nature of the book.
I wholeheartedly agree that it shouldn’t be up to a POC author to communicate the struggles of their people, but I feel like the genius of this book was lost on me.
Maybe I just took too long to read it.
