I don’t usually like reading more than a couple books at the same time, but I currently find myself in the middle of four or (depending on how you count) six different books.
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Steve Bein’s Daughter of the Sword
I wouldn’t be surprised if I bought this book because I liked the cover, but even so, I’m not sure where I would have come across it—maybe I found it on a list of urban fantasy novels. But I’ve had it on my Kindle for awhile and thought I’d give it a shot.
Part of the book is indeed urban fantasy—thriller noir with subtle magic—set in contemporary Tokyo. The protagonist, Mariko, is a young female cop, who is assigned to investigate the attempted theft of an ancient, and apparently magical, sword—one of three “fated blades.” The antagonist, Fuchida—a yakuza who has fallen under the influence of another, cursed sword—sees himself as a modern-day samurai.
The other part of the book is historical fantasy, set in ancient Japan, presenting episodes from the history of each of the swords (at least, two of them, so far).
I enjoy the modern-day sections more. The ancient-times narratives are fine, and they serve an important role in turning the swords themselves into characters. But I’m most satisfied when I’m following Mariko or Fuchida through the noir streets of Tokyo. And while I’m certainly no expert on Tokyo, I have been there, and Bein’s depiction feels real to me, for two reasons: it’s consistent with my own (limited) experience, and it echoes journalist Jake Adelstein’s gritty memoir Tokyo Vice, which I very much enjoyed.
Ted Chiang’s Arrival
Since I’ve decided that I’m going to dig into writing short stories for awhile, I thought it might be good to actually read some short stories. I chose this collection because I’d heard such good things about Chiang as a storyteller—especially from the screenwriter Eric Heisserer, who adapted “Story of Your Life” into the movie Arrival, for which he received an Oscar nomination. (Before the film, this collection was called Stories of Your Life and Others.)
So far, I’ve read two (of the eight) stories: “Tower of Babylon,” and “Understand.” It’s been both enjoyable and educational: enjoyable, in that Chiang’s stories really are fun—fantastic imagination with precise, evocative prose; and educational, as I analyze how he has put these together. His opening paragraph in “Tower of Babylon” is absolutely masterful; it offered enough of both setting and premise to spark my curiosity and propel me into the story.
I’m also amazed at his ability to seem like he’s really taking his time as he tells the story, which is something I expect from novels, not from short stories. At least, he takes his time right up until the ending—which, at least for the two stories I read, are a little jarringly quick. I suspect this is me reacting less to Chiang and more to the genre of the short story, which, after all, is not known for denouement.
Tara Brach’s Radical Acceptance
Those who know what’s been going on with me the past few weeks know that this has been a fairly rough time. I’ve been particularly self-critical (probably an understatement) about my abilities and behavior as a parent, and I’ve been looking for ways to deal with that.
I heard Tara Brach interviewed by Tim Ferriss quite awhile ago, and was really impressed with the conversation—Ferriss let himself be more vulnerable even than usual, and Brach is really good at being direct and unblinking without being pushy or superior. And since I’ve seen her book on a number of “must read” lists, I thought I would work my way through it, during my morning self-reflection/journal time.
I’m still not very far in the book—maybe 30 pages—but I’ve already been given a lot to think about. (That’s one reason I’m not very far in the book—I want to do more than just blaze through it.)
One of her chapters includes this quote from psychologist Carl Rogers: “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.” That paradox is at the heart of “radical acceptance”—mindful compassion, compassionate mindfulness—and I’m still struggling with it: if I do, indeed, accept myself just as I am, why would I want to change? Or, if I recognize a need to change—say, if the way I speak when angry hurts someone—how can I be said to be “accepting myself as I am”?
My sense is that there actually is a resolution to this paradox—or, at least, a practice that navigates the paradox. And I’m looking forward to figuring that out as the book progresses.
A quick aside: I’ve read a lot of “self-help” books (evidence of not “accepting myself as I am”?), and while many have been insightful and helpful, most have also been kind of poorly written—oversimplified language that makes the ideas feel too simple, vague examples that don’t really help deepen our understanding of the point, etc. This is not the case with Brach: Radical Acceptance is a well-written book—precise, direct, clear (yes, even with the paradox at the center). I know I’ve only just started it, but I don’t have a problem recommending that others read it.
Robert Jackson Bennett’s City of Stairs
I got this book kind of by accident; I had read a synopsis of a book that I wanted to read, and mistakenly thought that City of Stairs was that book. (I still haven’t figured out what the correct book is…). But, despite that initial disappointment, this book has really drawn me into the narrative and its world.
I don’t want to say much about the book because Bennett is so skillful at gradually revealing details—about the world, about the narrative, about the characters, about the conflicts—that I fear anything I’d say would lessen the pleasure. And I say that as a person who generally doesn’t hate spoilers; I recognize that the joy of story-listening (is there a word for what the storyteller’s audience does?) is often less about what happens, and more about how the writer makes it happen. But in this case, I’ve been in an almost continuous state of discovery, and it has added to the pleasure of the reading.
I’ll just say that this is fantasy (though not epic fantasy à la Tolkien or Martin or Rothfuss), with great characters, a rich world, high-stakes conflict, complex intrigue, and lots of wondrous things to discover.
Unlike many of the “first of a series” books I’ve read recently, I can see myself reading this whole trilogy.
Another quick aside: I’m actually listening to this one on Audible. I often have one book running during my commute, which is the main reason that I am often in the middle of at least two books. It is not, however, the reason I mentioned that I’m in four or six books, depending on how you count. I’m with those who acknowledge that listening to audiobooks is still reading, even if my eyes aren’t following along on a page. (Otherwise, we’d have to say that blind people never read….)
The other two
The two “depending on how you count” books are for work. One I mentioned in an earlier post—Lee McIntyre’s Post-Truth. I’ve skimmed the whole thing, and read more carefully (and several times) the chapters that I’ve taught, but I still need to finish reading it well. And the other book is Adler-Kassner’s and Wardle’s Naming What We Know—which I’m not really reading cover to cover, but as assignments are … well, assigned in a class I’m following along with.
Too many plates in the air…
