Summer Reading


I tend to alternate between intensive movie watching and intensive reading. When it’s summer it’s usually the latter – I feel guilty about being inside and they’ve yet to design hats for movie watching. The summer also has the privilege of less work, and by extension, not being attached to the internet. Free of my addiction I have the attention span, by necessity, to read some of the longer, harder books I avoid throughout the year. My goal for the year was to read all the long books (400+ pages) I own (about 30 or so), and so far I’ve gotten to the resounding number of three (one of which was mostly photos of Michael Snow works). So, to publicly shame me in to actually reading them, here is my to-read list for the next few months.

Barbara G. Walker’s The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets

This book is not meant to be read cover to cover, so I’m not really sure why I’ve decided to be the one to do it. Still, in a lot of ways it’s my ideal long book – segmented and without plot so I can pick it up and leave it as I like. I could also read it in a sort of choose your own adventure – jumping around entry to entry as they reference each other. Though as someone who needs to finish things (though you never really finish reading a book) I won’t do that. I’m kind of stressed out by the idea. It also links with a couple of my ongoing reading projects nicely, so killing five(?) birds with one stone is preferred.

Nicole Loraux’s The Divided City and The Invention of Athens

These will probably not be the most exciting Loraux titles for me, I honestly could not come up with texts more relevant to my interests than Tragic Ways of Killing a Woman and Mothers in Mourning: Moral and Legal Issues, but my boyfriend is gone for the summer and he’s left these with me. Thanks to reading Greek tragedies a couple summers ago I’m increasingly interested in the ancient world, and there’s always that pleasure in finding another French female academic to obsess over.

Surrealist Women: An International Anthology and Refusal of the Shadow: Surrealism and the Caribbean

I’m at the point in my life where I’ve realized that fringe Surrealist figures are by far more interesting than its key figures. I read Black, Brown and Beige: Surrealist Writings from Africa and the Diaspora a year or two ago and I’m still going through the list of authors I pulled from that (forever grateful for Joyce Mansour and Suzanne Cesaire), but figured I would continue with that project with the above two titles. Surrealism is so exciting, but a lot of the French tradition felt stagnant, so seeing its manifestations, both in literature and philosophy, spread out across the world and in to actual revolution is still dazzling. Though if I ever want to get my to-read list on goodreads below 900 titles, this is not the way to go. Also, it will never not be weird to see people saying nice things about Andre Breton.

Arna Mackic’s Mortal Cities Forgotten Monuments

You probably don’t remember the listicles going around a few years ago about monuments in the former Yugoslavia because unlike me they haven’t haunted you to the point where you’ve planned trips, films and career paths around it. Well, the source for these listicles came from this book, and in order to prepare myself for the above mentioned trips, films and career paths I should probably read it. Structures as testament to what they were built for, and in turn testament to what they survived? Don’t need to tell me twice.

The Duchess of Malfi: Seven Masterpieces of Jacobean Drama

I know you’re thinking, well Madeleine, that sounds great if you like cold arch dead things, but it’s summer, where is the drama. Next to the Frances Farmer autobiography, this is definitely the most dramatic book I own, and I’ve had it for over seven years.

Edmund de Waal’s The White Road: Journey into an Obsession

My friends Anjo-mari and Johannes, who have perfect taste, recommended this. I’m generally wary of nonfiction books that are described as “detective stories,” for it’s usually code for “trying too hard to be interesting” but I trust them, and pottery is a field I’m aesthetically interested in but know nothing about. Also I don’t own this book so this shouldn’t be on the list, I’ve already failed.

Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love and Love in a Cold Climate

I read The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters a few years ago because I wanted to read Pursuit and Climate. I found a copy last year at in Vancouver, and it feels like the right book to read in the evening after a drink or two (the above are all strictly morning reads). Heavily autobiographical fiction is probably my favourite kind.

You’ve read enough. Here are the other titles:

Parents and Children by Ivy Compton-Burnett, Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan, The Honeyman Festival by Marian Engel, Angel by Elizabeth Taylor, Love’s Work by Gillian Rose, Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Baker, War and the Iliad by Simone Weil and Rachel Bespaloff, Housekeeping by Marilyn Robinson, and The Break by Katherena Vermette.


READING LIST: February 1

January was very long, but here’s what we were reading.

What have you been reading? Let us know in the comments!


sometimes things just come together

In the past day, I have read two wonderful interviews: one in Vanity Fair with the secretive Italian author Elena Ferrante, on the occasion of the release of her novel The Story of the Lost Child; the other in Dazed & Confused with America’s sweetheart Greta Gerwig, on the occasion of the release of her latest movie, Mistress America. Two quotes really stuck out to me:

Yes, I hold that male colonization of our imaginations—a calamity while ever we were unable to give shape to our difference—is, today, a strength. We know everything about the male symbol system; they, for the most part, know nothing about ours, above all about how it has been restructured by the blows the world has dealt us. What’s more, they are not even curious, indeed they recognize us only from within their system.

I’m not just interested in female friendships, I’m just interested in all of the configurations of the ways women relate to each other […] Peer to peer, older to younger, mothers and daughters, sisters, groups of women, professionally … In A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf talks about how men can’t write about what women do alone because they’re not there. Men don’t know what they’re doing when they’re not around. They can extrapolate, but to me it feels like a secret world. That’s the world that I feel some ability to report back on.

The first is Ferrante, and the second is Gerwig. The idea that women have a secret language, secret experiences that men cannot know and only women can tell is becoming mainstream – one of the foremost Literary authors of our time, and an actress on the edge of mainstream stardom agree. Sometimes, things just come together at the right time. So, can Ferrante and Gerwig work together on something now please.

Green Girl and the Question of Authorship

18505840I’m about halfway through Kate Zambreno’s novel Green Girl, which I have been meaning to read for a while, but was finally recently able to get on library reserve. When I posted online that I was reading it, the comments I got from friends was mostly to the effect of, “I didn’t like it as much as I thought I would” – which, of course, made me even more curious to read it. At the halfway mark, I’m fascinated and pulled in by the book and its heroine Ruth, even more than I thought I would be. Maybe it’s my current mindset – I’m also currently on-again obsessed with Kim Kardashian, whose blank exterior belying a deep, feminine inside mirrors that of Ruth – but Ruth, and her lack of, and search for, authorship of herself, is deeply engrossing and revealing.

Sometimes she narrates her actions inside her head in third-person. Does that make her a writer or a woman?

Ruth, an American expat living in London, spends her days working in the fragrance department of a fancy department store, attempting to get strangers to purchase Desire, a pop star’s newest scent. Peddling “Desire” to strangers in a strange land is almost too on the nose, but Ruth’s job provides her a way to pass the hours on the most surface level possible. It would be easier to create self if Ruth knew what she wanted, but she’s irrevocably torn between two sides:

Look at me

(don’t look at me)

Look at me

(don’t look at me)

Look at me don’t look at me look at me look at me don’t look at me don’t



(Don’t look)

I can’t stand it if you don’t look





This internal argument, played over and over in Ruth’s head throughout the book, is one of the most elemental questions of self-authorship. Is Ruth – am I – a woman if no one is looking? Ruth can’t do her job if people don’t look at her – but can she become the woman she wants to be under the glare of constant greengirl-coversurveillance? How do we develop an authentic Self under that pressure? Is it even possible anymore? Ruth’s internal narration in the third person removes herself from the scene of her life – she is watching beautiful, blonde, American Ruth wandering around London, attempting to be noticed and not noticed.

Ruth and her only friend, Australian expat Agnes, watch classic and contemporary films, creating themselves out of the women they most admire: Catherine Deneuve in Repulsion, Isabella Rossellini in Blue Velvet, Anna Karina in anything. They create third-person personas for people to look at, while guarding their “true” selves deep inside. I recently watched Francois Ozon’s 2013 film Young & Beautiful, the story of 17-year-old Isabelle, who loses her virginity while on a family vacation to a near-stranger, then realizes the power of adolescent female sexuality. She reinvents – authors – herself back at home as a high-class escort, specializing in servicing older men, setting up a website to sell herself and negating the need for a traditional pimp. Young & Beautiful is a film that Ruth and Agnes would love, and Isabelle (the stunningly beautiful Marine Vacth) the kind of young heroine they would latch on to give themselves the illusion of traditional femininity and maturity.

In 2012, Edith Zimmerman interviewed Kate Zambreno at The Hairpin, after writing a negative review of the book. Zambreno comments that “I do wonder whether there’s more vitriol/hate/condescension leveled at women writers, especially women writers who feature young women as their main characters — a conflation with the author and the character, for instance.” Is the authorship of a novel parallel to the authorship of self with which Ruth is struggling? Is it too uncomfortable for audiences (literary and everyday) to see a woman trying to build something, uncertain of what the final product will be?

So far, Green Girl is giving me more questions than answers, which I always appreciate. Perhaps the second half of the book will fly off the rails, but I’m excited to follow Ruth, this female flaneur outside her element, to the end.

(And in a nice bit of coincidence, MoMA is currently running a program of “Women Writing the Language of Cinema,” including gems like Trouble in Paradise and Growing Up Female.)