The Slog
- 7 minutes ago
- 4 min read
This week, as part of my unremitting quest to dig a bit of joy out of this increasingly desolate hellscape, I treated myself, among other things, to a bestselling book and a blockbuster movie. Both did the trick: providing an escape from reality, enjoyable craftsmanship, and a bit of food for thought. And then I stumbled across the discourse surrounding both (side note: maybe I need to limit my social media consumption even more drastically, or relocate to an Amish community). I’ve been low-key fuming ever since. (Another side note: I’m not talking about the pathetically uneducated criticisms that fictional stories were not historically accurate; the collective erosion of critical thinking is a subject for another day.)
Apparently, it needs saying: of course we will all have different opinions about literature and art and we’re free to share them. And while I would argue that their job is to be objective, critics are also encouraged to be opinionated. What I saw was something totally different.
I saw book critics punching down on a successful fiction debut by holding it to non-fiction standards and calling the author a hateful person. I saw an academic implying that a director was uneducated and stating that she would have been ashamed to have written the movie script. Suggesting that these attacks are simply criticism and that everyone is entitled to their opinion is disingenuous.
As often happens, after the anger comes sadness. About the way the incivility and division espoused by the current regime seems to have infected both extremes of the spectrum, so that creative expression as a means of joyful resistance is no longer immune. About yet another thing to steel myself against. Is anyone else this tired?
A dear friend reminded me that “this too shall pass”. And she’s right. Maybe not fast enough for my liking, but it will. So I’ll keep doing what I’m doing.
Ways I Found Joy This Week
Remediating a sciatica attack with deep tissue work
Hosting ladies’ movie night
Watching a friend love on my crazy little guy (even after her climbed all over her while she ate)
Receiving the book Joyful, Anyway in the mail from a friend who knew I’d want to read it
Surviving the first Pilates session after my instructor’s five-week vacation
Going to a weekday matinee
Catching up on an unexpected call from a dear friend
Doing some preliminary trip planning
Things I Learned This Week
That, currently, less than 15% of American movies are made in Los Angeles
That Amelia Earhart also designed a line of women’s clothing
Quotes That Resonated This Week
It’s a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.
Mary Oliver
Compassion is not a virtue—it is a commitment. It’s not something we have or don’t have—it’s something we choose to practice.
Brene Brown
All of my pain is a spider
I’ve learned not to crush
with the heel of my shoe
Andrea Gibson
What I Watched This Week
Bottoms (Prime). Hilarious 2023 indie offering in which two irrepressible high school girls hatch a plot that takes on a life of its own.
A Toxic Love Story (Netflix). I’ve watched so much true crime that I figured this one out in minutes. Or so I thought until the final twist. Not uplifting, but interesting in the way pathological things tend to be.
The Odyssey (theater). A visual feast and a compelling, accessible retelling of the ancient classic with an anti-war slant. Three hours flew by and some tears were shed.
Rooster (Hulu). A popular author’s relationship with his daughter plays out on a college campus where they are both employed. Solid comedy all around, and Steve Carrell’s trademark goofiness is a treat.
What I Read This Week
Helpless, by Jessica Knoll. Unlikeable characters, copious porn-adjacent scenes of sexual submission and humiliation that interrupted or overwhelmed the holey plot, a lazy ending. The author’s previous works were completely different, so I kept reading thinking all would become clear. When I finished, I found that there are a number of reviewers hailing it as cutting edge, deep psychological analysis, sex positive, etc., which to me is giving an “Emperor’s New Clothes” vibe, but to each their own.
Yesteryear, by Caro Claire Burke. A tradwife influencer wakes up in the 1850s version of the life she’s been promoting. That tagline implies that we get to watch a disingenuous woman perpetuating harmful ideas get her comeuppance. While not exactly how the novel unfolds, it is well-written, entertaining fiction. While not perfect, I found it an impressive debut that’s being judged based on unreasonable expectations.
Transcendent, by Laverne Cox. Devastating memoir of the actress and activist, from her brutal childhood through her eventual transition to the fabulous woman she always knew she was. Perfect title, as her indomitable spirit saved her and really does transcend unspeakable trauma. Personally, I was both gutted and comforted by her revelation that overcoming is a lifelong, daily endeavor.
The Lido, by Libby Page. Two women, a 26-year-old reporter and an 86-year-old widow bond over their efforts to save the community lido (public swimming pool). This quietly beautiful tale is a soothing read.
Joyful, Anyway, by Kate Bowler. Because one of the sections of this blog is “ways I found joy this week” (and also because I’ve previously enjoyed this author), reading this was a given. Bowler is a historian, author and teacher at Duke Divinity School and a cancer survivor who lives with chronic illness. In this book she shares some of her personal experiences and talks about the wisdom of letting joy sneak in even in the most difficult of circumstances. I love her voice; she’s both smart and funny. I’ve just started and am finding nuggets to savor on nearly every page, so know I’ll be slowly relishing the book.
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Thanks for reading!
