Maxxe Albert-Deitch's Blog

It's Not That Deep... Or Is It?

Photo by Nik on Unsplash

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As I scroll through my phone on my couch— or in my bed, or on public transit, or at the gym— I hear people talk about “the death of media literacy” like it’s some unchangeable, immutable force encroaching upon today’s youths that can’t be stopped, no matter what. And sure, there’s some truth to that idea. But also… there’s a hunger for in-depth analysis and critical thinking that makes me think there’s still time to turn back that particular tide.

For context, a few tens of thousands of people know me as “that girl who talks about Star Wars a little too much.” On my YouTube and TikTok channels, I create analytical videos that break down the sociopolitical foundations of media franchises like Star Wars, TV shows like The Good Place, and books like The Hunger Games. I delve into history and context, as well as ideological research, analyzing the source material in the same manner that my high school and college and grad school humanities seminars taught me to. In other words, thinking about the material critically, taking it on its own terms, examining both diegetic and external history, ad thinking about deeper meaning.

It’s worth mentioning— and it’s something that I note, not infrequently, on my channels— that the reason I can usually find a deeper meaning is because I tend to talk about pieces of media that were intentionally made as commentary on real-world issues in the first place. But it’s also very much part of my academic training and the nature of how I think about things to understand that nothing— not art, not movies, not TV, not books— is made in a vacuum. It’s a large part of why I don’t put much stock in analysis that depends upon the “death of the author” to make its point heard.

Even media that isn’t trying to comment on the context in which it was made nonetheless reflects that context, sometimes even providing a lens that the more intentional commentaries might miss. My favorite example of that phenomenon is The Lord of the Rings: J.R.R. Tolkien swore up and down that he didn’t write the trilogy as an interpretation of or allegory for his experience as a soldier in the First World War, nor as his experience living through the Second World War as a veteran who had already survived the first one. But the parallels are there anyway, in the fallen soldiers interred forever in the Dead Marshes and the way that the Shire— the utopian, pastoral home worth fighting for— doesn’t manage to escape unscathed after all and the way that war is portrayed as necessary in the face of evil but that the characters given the most glory in the end are those defined by their compassion rather than their bravery. It might not be a parallel that Tolkien intended to draw, but it’s not a difficult one to find, either.

But media that does exist for the purpose of saying something about the world at large, and that was written as a specific mechanism for understanding the wheels of political machinations in the real world?

That, my friends, is always that deep.

So yes, I’m going to keep digging into the original Star Wars trilogy as a discussion on the Vietnam War and Nazi Germany and the rise of American pseudoimperialistic military overreach, and its prequels as a discussion of how people and governments who believe themselves to be good and democratic can backslide into autocracy and fascism, especially with trade wars and misguided counterterrorism efforts as catalysts for “red-pilling” young believers in a cause. And I’m going to keep talking about Star Trek as a piece of media that is deeply rooted in the idea that humanity can do and be better as long as we remember that we are all a part of something greater than ourselves. And I’m going to get as granular as possible with my analysis, because every little piece that passes through writers’ rooms and edits and actor choices and copyeditors and directors and character workshops is a choice that someone made, a reflection of an understanding and a piece of logic that can be followed through to its conclusion.

It’s not just me. When I post a video talking about that process, people respond. They have their own historical groundings and their own analyses, and they’re desperate to share, to discuss, to “stitch” my videos with their own interpretations, to start threads in my comments section that would be pages upon pages long if they were printed out on paper. And “the youths” are a part of it— I get high schoolers and college students in my comments, I get 35-year-olds, according to some of the data that my platforms share, I’ve got subscribers in their late 80s. And they’re all looking for an opportunity to take the conversation beyond the shallows.

I’m not saying that media literacy isn’t struggling, but I think it’s far from dead. Perhaps it’s gotten comfortable hiding behind an AI prompt or a rubric that doesn’t require as much depth as we used to demand. But just because it’s been put away doesn’t mean it’s gone forever. Maybe it’s just a little shy. It just needs someone to crack open the door.

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Okay, Fine, Let's Talk About Obi-Wan Kenobi and Satine Kryze

If you’re new here, you should know: I like Star Wars. A lot. Like, there are lightsabers hanging above my fireplace, and I listen to the soundtracks while I’m working at least once a week, a lot. And I’ve been finding myself doing little mini character analyses over on TikTok and YouTube semi-regularly— so I’m bringing this one here.

(If you’d like to see/hear more of this, let me know in the comments please!)

For the moment: I’m talking about these two:

Obi-Wan and Satine are very much framed as parallels to Anakin and Padme who took the high road and followed the rules, and even fifteen or twenty years later, are still in love. AND, their relationship adds MUCH more depth to how Obi-Wan treats Padme, and how, as Anakin’s Master, he handles the Anakin/Padme situation.

Aside from a few short moments in Episode II, we (the audience) never see Obi-Wan outright challenge Anakin over how he feels about Padme, which he should have every right to as both Master and best friend/brother figure. The addition of Satine means that Obi-Wan’s lack of judgment is because he knows what it’s like— it’s not just empathy and being able to imagine himself in Anakin’s shoes, it’s sympathy, because he has been. He knows it is a choice, and because he chose the Jedi way, he knows no one can intervene and make that choice for Anakin— to be sincere, Anakin has to take that step himself.

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We are given something here that hints at more loneliness than we ever imagined with just the movies. Obi-Wan was alone for years before A New Hope. It becomes clear that he was able to make a choice that Anakin couldn’t, and he forgives Anakin for that, but then Anakin goes and betrays him, and the Republic, and democracy— and Obi-Wan is there for Padme anyway, because she’s his friend, too.

It’s not just that their relationship parallels Anakin and Padme’s, but where Anakin and Padme break rules in order to be together, Obi-Wan ultimately chooses the order over his personal desire and Satine respects that choice— he says that he’d have left the Order, but only if she asked, and it’s made very clear that her respect for institutional law is deep enough that she was never going to ask. Which is an interesting comparison to draw to Padme, considering that these two women have a LOT in common, and as we see during the tainted tea smuggling arc of the Clone Wars, they’re actually pretty good friends. The relationship between them is interesting largely because they juxtapose each other so well. Padme is from a planet that ostensibly loves and knows peace (despite Naboo having also raised Palpatine), but she’s a founder of the rebellion and very, very capable with a blaster. Satine is a Mandalorian duchess, from a family affiliated with Death Watch— but she chooses peace over and over again, and is well on the way to achieving it until Maul gets involved.

Likewise, there’s a lot to be said about the parallels between Obi-Wan and Anakin, and how Obi-Wan is an excellent Jedi, the “Negotiator,” who would have really thrived in a more peaceful era. There’s much that could be said about the way that Anakin is a great General, and he’s quite good at individual things that Jedi do, like lightsaber stuff and being a leader, and using the force, but he’s not actually very good at being a Jedi in the traditional sense. Obi-Wan, in a more peaceful time, would have been just fine— and as the High Republic books show us, at one point Obi-Wan could have totally been a Jedi with a wife, and it would have been FINE, especially if he’d joined the Service Corps. And this is the thing— despite Obi-Wan’s one line about absolutes, compromise is a key component to his character. And here we have his love interest, a woman from a people of aggression and war mongering, who sees a brighter future that she is determined to make happen. It would arguably have been more of a taboo for Satine to be with HIM than the other way around, given that she’s trying to unite Mandalore, and the Mandalorians don’t harbor much love for the Jedi.

And of course it’s a tragedy, and the most difficult part of it all is the “what could have been,” and the fact that yeah, in a different time it could have all worked out, but it was not, after all, a different time, and so it didn’t. And it had to go that way, especially because so much of what’s happening in the Siege of Mandalore arc of The Clone Wars is mostly just plot maneuvering to give Obi-Wan additional reasons to be opposed to Maul (not that he needed any after what happened to Qui-Gon), and to make sure that Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are separated from each other and from Anakin by the time Order 66 happens. But I love the depth that Satine adds to Obi-Wan’s final choices, especially because by the end of Revenge of the Sith, he really does end up standing alone as the last Jedi left, choosing to stay and defend the principles of a Republic that is no longer standing— it’s easy to see that choice as honoring Satine and her choice to stand by a Mandalore that no longer wanted peace, in addition to Obi-Wan’s sense of duty in wanting to keep an eye on Anakin’s kid(s).

(Also, the pairing of a sarcastic, reserved, diplomatic, beard-stroking monk-warrior with a sharp, politically savvy, foot-stomping duchess, who are both well-aligned in terms of how they view the world and who work well as a team is just fun, not to mention a masterclass in yearning— I’d read a whole series of romantasy novels about those two in a heartbeat.)

I will note that looking at the canonical basis for Obi-Wan and Satine, it pretty much all comes from the Clone Wars animated series, and the show honestly doesn’t give us much. It’s clear that Obi-Wan would have left the Jedi for Satine when he was young, but plainly isn’t going to do that for her when everything is on the line for them both as adults. Satine still has feelings for him, but it’s really almost all subtext. For me, the greatest indication that Obi-Wan still loves Satine (despite their 15-year separation) actually comes from James Arnold Taylor (voice actor for Obi-Wan). He always refers to Satine as Obi-Wan’s true love, as does Anna Graves (voice actor for Satine).

Now, Satine isn’t Obi-Wan’s only love interest if you take Legends lore into account— Siri Tachi is interesting, and ultimately becomes the reason why Obi-Wan questions how the Jedi do things, when he realizes that Yoda’s definition of what a Jedi is and does is mostly a theatrical impression of what a Jedi used to be. But if we’re sticking to canon lore, Satine is a part of it (whether or not the current live-action adaptations want to admit it!). Both she and the implications of the relationship between her and Obi-Wan deserve more expansion. She’s also super interesting as a parallel or a foil to Bo-Katan, but that’s a whole other piece of analysis :) I’ve long said that my biggest issue with Season 3 of the Mandalorian was that there is all of this conversation about different ways to be a Mandalorian, and we (the audience) even meet a duchess who wears a lot of blue and lives on a peaceful planet, and somehow… none of this seems to remind Bo-Katan (played by Katee Sackhoff, the same actress as her voice in Clone Wars) of her sister?? Weird.

What do you think about Satine, and/or Obitine? Let me know in the comments!

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The World's On Fire, My Dog's On Drugs, I Made Soup

SOUP (Uehara Photography on Unsplash)

Everyone who knows me knows I’m working on a novel (if you don’t know me but you follow me here on Substack, hi! I’m an author! You can buy my books here!). So I get the question, “how’s the writing going?” a lot. And usually that’s a great question! Usually that question means I can talk shop with my colleagues, or I can talk about the editing process, or I can share a cool new cover.

Lately, though, it’s been my least favorite topic ever. Mostly because… well, sometimes, life gets in the way.

I’m not a full-time author— I have a day job. In policy. In Washington, D.C. Dealing with Israel/Palestine conflict transformation. My days, lately, have been long. My creative energy has gone towards the parts of those days that pay my bills. My energy has been sapped. I catch myself doomscrolling, trying to keep track of the endless headlines that detail the current administration’s choices and missteps and sound bites.

Also, three weeks ago, my dog ate a quarter of a bath towel. Which required surgery to remove from her stomach. So my partner and I traded off nights staying up making sure that the little gremlin didn’t chew her stitches.

I haven’t slept much in a while. And not the good kind of not-sleeping, where the delirium lends itself nicely to new fiction chapters or to collaborative brainstorms or other creative endeavors.

I can’t do much about the government, or about other governments in other, actually-substantially-more-dumpster-fiery countries than mine. And I’ve been too exhausted to write much, which is uncharacteristic for me— I don’t feel much like myself when I haven’t been writing. It’s really quite easy to feel lost in this moment— like there’s no way out, like I’m not myself, like there’s nothing I can do.

But I have a rotisserie chicken in the fridge, and a can of biscuit dough in the freezer, along with a bag of mixed vegetables and a plastic deli container full of chopped up carrots, onions, and celery. And that means that not only can I make a chicken pot pie, but I can also make soup. And if I have soup, then I can feed myself and my partner. And because I don’t know how to cook for less than a crowd, I can feed other people in my community, too, like my friend who has a cold and my other friend whose federal job was frozen, and my neighbors who live one building over. So really, there IS something that I can do, after all.

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I’m reminded of the old story, Stone Soup, in which a clever stranger— sometimes it’s an old woman, sometimes a traveling soldier, it doesn’t really seem to matter from one iteration to the next— convinces a village to share their food by claiming to make a soup from a stone, ultimately leading to a communal meal and a lesson about sharing and community. Well, I have more than a pot and a stone. And with a solid meal and the scaffolding of the community I’m lucky enough to be a part of, I can keep going— I can find my way back towards creativity and stress management and maybe even a good night’s sleep.

Writing, for me, is often just putting one foot in front of the other, one word down on the page after the next, until suddenly there is something book-shaped there that I made but don’t entirely remember making. And the ugly parts of life— the days when I feel like I’m sleepwalking, the soup I make when I’m stressed— are a part of the process, too, whether I want to admit it or not. I don’t know what other authors’ lives and processes are like. But I have to imagine that even the most successful author has bad days, too. In my most optimistic view, I’m talking to fellow writers about my own struggles to pull back the curtain on what it’s really like to be an author in the 2020s (I certainly hope that it’s not just me complaining into the void about the dreadful but very ordinary ordeal of having a paying job and also dealing with vet bills).

So, yes. I have been making soup, rather than writing. But I’m trying my hardest to get back to writing— books, poetry, Substack posts. One page at a time, one word at a time. Fueled by soup and friendship and drugged-up puppy cuddles. With any luck, I’ll be back on track with my upcoming Summer 2025 book release (it’s a Much Ado About Nothing inspired rom-com about a bunch of grown-up theater kids and their drama). It’s all a work in process.

If you are having a better time than I am, good. If you are also in these trenches of the no-good, horrible, very bad days, I hope you at least have soup. And maybe even a table of people with whom to share it.

Onward.

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Some History I Think You Should Know

Civil Rights march- Photo by Library of Congress on Unsplash

I frequently joke that I got into history in college because it was just gossip, only I didn’t have to feel bad about it because it counted as trivia points or fun footnotes for an essay (I know, “fun footnote” sounds like an oxymoron to a lot of folks) or got me a good grade. Which is true. But I also got into history because I was interested in learning about the heroes who didn’t make it into pop culture, who started revolutions but died before they saw their work come to fruition, who rebelled through art and literature and quiet moments of resistance that laid the groundwork for the larger fights and protests to come.

Most history classes won’t teach you about the rebellions that didn’t succeed, or the ones that didn’t fit the narrative of fairness and meritocracy that the AP US History test wanted to push, and they definitely won’t teach you the stories that run counter to the structured setup of American exceptionalism. But more than that: history books often forget about the peacebuilders. Not because they weren’t important, but because their work was deemed “small” in the context of “the big stuff.” It’s hard to care about the individual academics and the small-scale revolutionaries and the mutual aid workers and the union organizers when you have to fit all of World War I and World War II and the Cold War and also Tammany hall and the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory and the Civil War and Reconstruction and the 7 Years’ War all in two semesters of school, one hour a day, five days a week. And that’s understandable— and probably more of a statement on the over-testing and boring-making of humanities subjects in schools than anything else. But it means that some stories— important stories— get left out.

So here are some histories that I didn’t learn until college. Some lessons I’ve leaned on in these past few months. Sources of strength, of resilience, of backbone. I hope they help you, too.

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1894: The Pullman Rail Strike severely disrupted rail traffic in the Midwest in June–July 1894. The federal government’s response to the unrest marked the first time that an injunction was used to break a strike. Amid the crisis, on June 28 Pres. Grover Cleveland declared a national holiday— what we now know as Labor Day— as a conciliatory gesture toward the American labour movement. The Pullman Strike was one of the first examples of successful collective bargaining in American history— and it received almost entirely negative coverage in the news. Indeed, the actual events as they unfolded weren’t even particularly favorable for the rail workers— Cleveland was a strikebreaker, not a peacemaker, and sent soldiers to break up the protests. But the Pullman Strike laid the groundwork for the Coal Strike of 1902, which effectively facilitated the turn of the U.S. Government from strikebreaker to peacemaker in industrial disputes— a first for the post-Civil War United States (arguably a first for the US in general, but that’s a different conversation). Union leader Samuel Gompers later wrote, “Several times I have been asked what in my opinion was the most important single incident in the labor movement in the United States and I have invariably replied: the strike of the anthracite miners in Pennsylvania ... from then on the miners became not merely human machines to produce coal but men and citizens.” Workers became human in the eyes of the government— not just numbers and machines. And the US government became, perhaps for the first time (and we’d like to see it again…) representatives of the common people rather than of the private interests of high-dollar corporations.

1942: Led by five students and one professor at the University of Munich (Willi Graf, Kurt Huber, Christoph Probst, Alexander Schmorell, and Hans and Sophie Scholl), the White Rose distrubuted leaflets and put up graffiti that called for active opposition to the Nazi regime. Beyond that, they registered what was happening to marginalized communities in Germany, recognized their own relative safety in that they were still students and/or employed, they were considered “desirable” by the government— indeed, Hans Scholl was an active participant in Hitler Youth as a kid— and they had freedom of movement. Sophie Scholl, his sister, was more actively outspoken— she was arrested for the first time for anti-Nazi activities at age 16— but recognized that as a privileged woman, she was less likely to be stopped or arrested for anything short of treason. By mid-July 1942, Hans Scholl and Alexander Schmorell had written the first four of many leaflets. Quoting extensively from the Bible as well as Goethe and Schiller, the iconic poets of the German bourgeoisie, the White Rose appealed to what they considered the German intelligensia, believing that such people would be easily convinced by the same arguments that motivated the authors themselves. The leaflets were left in the telephone books in public telephone booths, mailed to professors and students, and taken by courier to other universities for further distribution. The members of the White Rose were eventually arrested and executed for high treason. Sophie Scholl was the only member given a chance to speak up in her own defense. One could say that they failed— but a copy of their final leaflet was smuggled out of Germany through Scandinavia to England, where it was used by the Allied Forces. In mid-1943, the RAF dropped millions of copies of the tract, retitled The Manifesto of the Students of Munich, over Germany as propaganda. Their resistance lived beyond them. They did not look around at Hitler’s rise to power and assume business as usual. They did what they could, and stood by their beliefs, which were rooted in empathy and outreach and concern for peopel who did not look like them. They did not live to see their efforts succeed— but they resisted.

1955: Claudette Colvin, at age 15, refused to give up her seat to a white woman on a segregated bus. She spoke to civil rights leaders about her experience, especially as Rosa Parks gained prominence in the civil rights movement for a similar act of protest. But Colvin’s skin was darker than Parks’s, and she was a teenager— a pregnant one, at that, by the time she began speaking publicly about her experiences. Parks was already a prominent figure in civil rights and church circles alike. Colvin’s act of protest was small, and benefitted few— at the time, it wasn’t part of the larger bus strikes, nor the broader protest movements. But it laid the groundwork for the domestic labor strikes, and for the bus boyotts, and eventually, desegregation. Claudette Colvin, by the way, is 85 years old. The Civil Rights movement isn’t ancient history— it’s this lifetime. If you’ve only ever seen photos of its primary actors in black-and-white, or in tiny thumbnails and reproductions, it might be time to consider why schools and publishers have tried to make it seem like this history was longer ago than it was.

1962: Fannie Lou Hamer travelled with 17 other civil rights activists to the courthouse in Indianola, Mississippi. They were told they had to pass a literacy test before they could register to vote— a common method of voter suppression. After nervously completing the test, the group boarded their bus to return home. When Hamer got home that night, the white owner of the plantation on which she lived with her husband threatened to kick them out of their home if she didn’t return to the courthouse and withdraw her registration. Several days later, white supremacists shot 16 bullets into the home where Hamer was staying. She was undettered. A year later, Hamer was traveling home to Mississippi after attending a voter’s workshop in South Carolina. She was traveling with other activists, and the group decided to stop and eat. After they were refused service from the restaurant owner, police circled their bus and began making arrests. Over the next four days, Hamer was brutally beaten in the Winona jailhouse as she was interrogated about her involvement with voter-registration workshops. The beatings left Hamer with permanent kidney damage and a blood clot behind her eye. She went on to co-found the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party and attended the Democratic National Convention to challenge the all-white Democratic delegation to represent the state of Mississippi. Hamer made a passionate speech that described the systematic disenfranchisement and oppressive conditions under which Black Mississippians lived their daily lives. The televised speech generated public outcry and set in motion the 1965 passage of the Voting Rights Act which banned, among other things, local laws like literacy tests that blocked African Americans from the ballot box. Again, voting access isn’t ancient history. Neither is sharecropping. And neither is the resistance that allowed Black people— and women, and other minorities— to get the vote after all.

1969: The Stonewall riots (also known as the Stonewall uprising) were a series of spontaneous riots and demonstrations against a police raid that took place in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, at the Stonewall Inn in Lower Manhattan. Although the demonstrations were not the first time that the American queer community fought back against government-sponsored persecution of LGBTQ+ people, the Stonewall riots marked a new beginning for the gay rights movement. Very few establishments welcomed openly gay people in the 1950s and 1960s. Those that did were often bars and hotels, although bar owners and managers were rarely gay— and police raids were frequent and often violent. The Stonewall riots were largely led by Black, trans women like Marsha P Johnson— who, along with Zazu Nova and Jackie Hormona, stood up to push back the police during the riots, and became central organizers during the early days of Pride parades— which were considered illegal uprisings for many years before becoming the expressions of joy and freedom we recognize today. Following the Stonewall riots, the LGBTQIA+ population continued to face gender, class, and generational obstacles to becoming a cohesive community. Over the following weeks and months, they initiated politically active social organizations and launched publications that spoke openly about rights for gay people. The first anniversary of the riots was marked by peaceful demonstrations in several American cities that have since grown to become what we know as Pride.

All of this is to say: imperialism, fascism, racism, voter suppression, class oppression, misogyny— none of that is ancient history. It never was. And it wasn’t the government, or the military, or the professional activists who saved the general population from the supremacists and the fascists. It was the regular people. Women trying to get to work. Individuals trying to live their lives, undefined by who they chose to love. Workers who wanted better lives for their children. That resistance isn’t ancient history either— it’s people who are still alive. Movements that have learned with age. Young people who have grown up with the stories of their grandparents’ and parents’ actions during these periods and who know to stand up for freedom— for themselves (ourselves) and others.

History can teach us plenty, if we let it. It’s not just the fascists who are able to tap into decades of mythology and symbolism and revolts. It’s the regular people, too— including the ones who didn’t end up in your history books.

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Recommended listening, by the way (written in 1931— again, not ancient history at all, unless we let it be):

And, in more recent history (if you know, you know):

Gemma Tate- Books, Writing, and More is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I Met My Younger Self for Coffee...

I met my younger self for coffee.

She arrives five minutes early but apologizes for running late. I’m on time, but not in a rush.

She orders a latte- one pump of vanilla, one of hazelnut. I smile- some things never change.

She asks if we ever got into that Ivy League school. I tell her no, but we found a place with a tight-knit community and we got three undergrad degrees and a Masters. Her eyes go wide; she hasn’t thought to dream like that yet.

She’s afraid for the state of the world— she’s planning to go to her first real protest this weekend. I sigh. It’s not much better now. She’s heartened to hear that I plan protests for a living now, that my day job is trying to make the world a better place. My heart aches; the job isn’t close to done yet.

She spots the rings on my hands— tears up when she sees Grampa’s, she knows that if I’m wearing it it’s because he isn’t anymore. Holds up her right hand to show off the one our mom gave her for her birthday last month— it’s still glimmering on my own finger. And she wrinkles her nose at the diamond on my left hand: she can’t imagine loving anyone enough to say yes to that, at least not outside of books. We split a buttered croissant while I tell her that she’ll get a love story that’s just as good as anything she’s read.

She doesn’t have to ask if we’re still writing— even at her age, she knows we’ll never give that up. Still, I show her our shelf of published titles, the dust jackets with our pen name on them. She slides a notebook out of her bag— she’s working on the notes that will become the first real novel we ever wrote.

We go in opposite directions when we leave, and I feel lighter and heavier at the same time. I may not be exactly what she expected, but I hope I can continue to make her proud.

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What to Read if You Really Can’t Stomach Neil Gaiman Right Now

Neil Gaiman, once-beloved author, best known for short fiction and iconic longer stories such as Neverwhere, Stardust, Sandman, Coraline, and uh… multiple counts of extremely graphic horrible sexual assault.

I know, I know, I just took all the air out of the room.

Some folks, including myself, are finding it very difficult to separate art from artist— in particular, because he spent so much time positioning himself as a safe space for women and marginalized folks and in the meantime was precisely the sort of danger he claimed his books were a refuge from, and also because it seems pretty clear that some of the scarier things about Ocean at the End of the Lane and some other books (see also: Calliope in Sandman) are things that he’s actually got direct experience with in some pretty scary ways.

But we’re readers, otherwise we wouldn’t be here. And we want things to read, and we still want that escape from the bad stuff in the world, which regrettably now includes an author that we’re still unpacking some big feelings about. So these are the books that I’d recommend in the meantime!

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ALL of the Terry Pratchett (I’d personally start with Wintersmith, or maybe Hogfather or Wee Free Men).

I know, there’s some discourse about whether or not Pratchett is now somehow tainted by his association with Gaiman and their work together on Good Omens. Personally, I say no. It’s my opinion that Good Omens reads much more like a Pratchett novel than a Gaiman novel to begin with, and that the author’s note and acknowledgements feel like an older, established author giving a young hotshot a chance, not a colluder coddling a fellow abuser. But you do you. Also, there’s a limit to how much can come out now about Pratchett, given that he’s no longer with us. So, some solace in that, I guess?

My Lady Jane or My Salty Mary by Brodi Ashton, Cynthia Hand, and Jodi Meadows

Listen. It’s irreverent alternate history with magic. It’s fun and silly and also socially aware, and I’ve been finding a LOT of comfort in it lately. I read My Salty Mary on an airplane last week and had such a good time. Highly recommend.

Jade City by Fonda Lee

I really, really loved this trilogy. It’s very much seedy-underbelly-of-thriving-city, with gang politics and a delightfully nonspecific historical feel. Also, magic. And combat.

Starling House by Alix Harrow

This was one of my most anticipated reads of the year, and it absolutely lived up to the hype. It’s got magical realism and also actual magic, and it’s a story about generational trauma and revenge, and it gets into the insidious nature of the coal mining industrial complex in the American south. So, like, obviously I loved it.

Tress of the Emerald Sea if you’re already into Brandon Sanderson, or maybe the Cytoverse (Skyward) books, if you’re new to his books.

Brandon Sanderson is good for some escapism, especially if you struggle with depression and self-worth/self-image. Also, not for nothing, but Skyward contains my favorite character Sanderson’s written yet— a snarky sentient flying ship obsessed with mushrooms.

The Magicians books by Lev Grossman

Magicians is great if you’re struggling with disillusionment, adulthood, and especially with authors turning out to be disappointments. The SyFy adaptation (currently on Netflix, though I don’t know for how much longer) is also excellent, and delves quite directly into that last bit.

Legendborn by Tracey Deonn

If you haven’t read Legendborn yet, you’re doing something wrong. No, really. Stop reading this post, go pick it up, and come back when you’re done.

It’s about generational trauma. And magic school. And institutions that protect people who really probably shouldn’t be protected because they’re “too important” to a community, or because their image must be kept pristine, or whatever other bullshit language has been used to protect predators over time. Legendborn pulls no punches, covers some important topics, and still manages to be one of the most enjoyable takes on Arthurian mythology I’ve read in years.

An Academy for Liars by Alexis Henderson

Listen. Did I think this book was perfect? No. But do I think that if you’re a former Gaiman fan, looking for a bit of magical escapism, and some good lyrical writing about the darkness that resides in problematic power dynamics, this book might be a good place to park yourself for a bit.

Shades of Magic by VE Schwab

I know, I know, I recommend this series a lot. But hear me out— it’s a portal fantasy. About London. And also it’s about filial duty and sacrifice and choice and agency. And I really love it a lot. Also, Kell’s coat is the stuff of dreams— I want one.

Vicious, also by VE Schwab

If the thing that got you into Gaiman in the first place was his take on antiheroes and superheros-who-aren’t-that-heroic, I do think you’d like Vicious. Also, Sydney’s got a bit of Nobody Owens about her. Genre comparisons aside, if you like comics (especially Watchmen or The Boys), I think there’s a good chance you’ll like this.

Kushiel’s Legacy by Jacqueline Carey

Listen. This series comes with trigger warnings, which you should absolutely take seriously. But also— it’s so well done. And its discussion of the carelessness of gods, and the power of love and belief— just, chef’s kiss. So good.

Brave Story, by Miyuki Miyabe

If you grew up on Coraline and/or you love video games, and you’re looking for some good middle-grade fantasy, this is the one for you. Just trust me.

Un Lun Dun by China Mieville

Again with the middle grade fantasy! In a lot of ways, Un Lun Dun feels a bit like middle-grade Neverwhere with a touch of The Phantom Tollbooth, in the absolute best way. The premise is essentially that the Chosen One isn’t up for the job, so the bumbling best friend/sidekick has to do it. Shenanigans— and some very serious plot— ensue.

Nimona, by ND Stevenson

Nimona is just… fun. And unapologetic. And sometimes, we all need a dose of that. Think: shapeshifter who wants to be a supervillain interns for an actual supervillain, who is somewhat annoyingly in love with the hero of the land, and also isn’t terribly good at being evil. Again, shenanigans.

There are a lot of really great books out there that scratch the portal fantasy, magic underneath the real world, gods at the end of the world itch that Gaiman is so good at. And yes, for the most part, I’ve done. my best to construct this list primarily out of books written by women and people of color. Not entirely, but I certainly wasn’t going to leave Terry Pratchett off of this list. And here’s the thing- it’s not that I don’t think women can be problematic.

Trust me, as someone who grew up on The Mists of Avalon and Harry Potter, I know— there are monsters out there in all shapes and sizes. But I think that we should all be making an effort to read more marginalized voices in this day and age, and more stories written by women, and more stories that balance humor and sharp commentary with the acknowledgment that the world we live in is sort of burning. And while the authors on this list aren’t perfect— because they’re people and we shouldn’t expect them to be perfect!— they are, to the extent of my knowledge, at least TRYING. And that’s worth recommending.

Anyway.

I’m leaving the comments section open, if you’ve got your own recommendations to put forth— what are you reading? How are you coping? Please, share.

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Leaving Christmas Lights Up Til January: Happiness In Uncertain Times

My paper snowflakes— which I hope look cute, and not like someone let a craft-oriented kindergartener loose in a paper store with a pair of scissors

This time of year always leaves me torn between two choices: On the one hand, I miss my holiday decor the moment I’ve taken it down. I love a good pine garland, or a strand of paper snowflakes over my fireplace mantel, or even just the knickknacks that cover my bookshelves— mementos from travel, gifts from friends, strands of light that brighten up my space. On the other hand, I love a quiet, clean workspace. A clean desk, a neat mantel, a clear slate to reinvigorate my creative process.

This year comes with a great deal of uncertainty. My day job is in policy work in Washington, D.C. I’m a human rights activist. A feminist. A woman. A bi woman, at that. I’m anticipating that this year may well be a very difficult one. So I’m determined to take and accept as much joy as I can possibly squeeze out of the next twelve months.

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So this year, I’m committing to paper snowflakes and pink garlands for Valentine’s Day. Bouquets of flowers in vases on the table for springtime. A pride flag, vibrant and loud, ostensibly for June but generally for every day. Putting up Halloween decorations and Christmas lights and creating a cacophony of comfort, come what may. My plan is to curate a space for delight within my home, for the express purpose of sharing it with the people I love and channeling that energy for creativity.

Perhaps my plan seems trite. Blue bracelet-y. Too small, too materialistic for the times ahead. And I’ll admit, it’s not nearly enough. Of course it isn’t. And I’ll do what I can: mutual aid networks. Educating myself and others on human rights policy and reproductive rights. Continuing my work in my day job, working as a communicator in the world of policy and government, trying to create change and a path towards peace.

And.

I’m a big believer in the idea that intentional joy is in itself a form of protest.

So that’s what I’m doing, amidst the hard work and the despair and the frustration of it all. Decorating my space. Using it as a gathering space for my friends and family, for the communities I’ve chosen and those who have chosen me. Reading books that provide an escape in addition to those that teach me about the world and perspectives other than my own. Curating happiness, in a world that would like to snuff it out.

I don’t know for sure what 2025 will bring, but I know this: I’m determined to not just survive this next year, but to live through it with as much joy as I can muster.

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I've Read 100 Books This Year. These Were My Favorites.

I’m the first person to say that it doesn’t matter how many books per year you read, or how fast you read them, or whether you’re consuming those stories via hardback or paperback or audiobook or graphic novel. But as anyone who’s ever met me knows, I’m also VERY motivated by a neat little tracker graphic and the idea of getting the equivalent of a “gold star” in anything. Blame the high-achieving academic I used to be, I guess. And the Goodreads reading challenge makes for a remarkably effective little kick in the pants to convince me to read just a liiiiittle bit more than I might otherwise.

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I hit my reading goal last week— 100 books, with three weeks left in the year to go (weeks that I’m absolutely planning to fill with reading, because is there anything better than curling up under a blanket on a cold day with a cuddly dog and a book and a cup of hot cocoa? I think not).

Echo gets it. This is how all cold days should be spent.

So without any further ado, these are my top 10 books of the year (in no particular order).

Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries, by Heather Fawcett

Listen, anyone who’s ever met me would know that I was going to adore this book (and its sequel, Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands). It’s an anthropology book! With realistic portrayals of academia set in spectacularly silly settings, punctuated with real-feeling danger. It’s the perfect book to read while drinking a cup of tea on a cold rainy day. And there’s a sweet romance. What’s not to love?

The Black Count, by Tom Reiss

Y’all know I love a good bit of nonfiction. Add into it betrayal, social revolution, and a tie-in to one of my favorite pieces of classic literature? I’m so very in. I fully understand why this book has picked up as many accolades and awards as it has— highly recommend; this might be my favorite thing I read all year.

Funny Story, by Emily Henry

I love a good rom-com, especially one written by Emily Henry (IF the main trope is not just micommunication being solved by sex. Looking at you, Happy Place and People We Meet on Vacation). But seriously, this one was fun, snarky, sad— lots of things I like and appreciate.

The No-Girlfriend Rule, by Christen Randall

There few things I love as much as tabletop role-playing games, and few things I hate as much as the toxic environment of patriarchy and macho-nerd-boy-masculinity that seems to pervade the spaces that host those beautiful TTRPGs. If you need proof, take a look at how the Critical Role fanbase has treaded Marisha Ray and her character Keyleth for years (yes, I’m still mad). This book was exactly what I needed: a cute queer romance in which the main character learned to love the game that occupies a concerning amount of my free time. LOVE. Also, thank God my partner’s DnD table never had a “no-girlfriend rule,” because that’s been my party for close to 5 years now and I’m deeply thankful for them and the stories we’ve told together.

Divine Rivals, by Rebecca Ross

Is this book perfect? No. But does it include the kind of romance where two people are clearly perfect for one another and also would do increasingly stupid things for each other while also being at each other’s throats constantly because they’re too well-matched professionally for them to be anything but competitive? Yup, and that’s good enough for me. I complain a lot about enemies-to-lovers getting all the appreciation when rivals-to-lovers is clearly the better trope, and this book exemplifies what I like so much about the latter.

The Bright Sword, by Lev Grossman

Lev Grossman is consistently reliable for slightly snarky, mildly cynical, and very well-written takes on classic tales, and this is no exception. I do like it better than some of his previous work for the simple reason that Quentin Coldwater makes no appearances whatsoever, and the main character is MEANT to be kind of terrible instead of it being a terribly unfortunate byproduct of his as-written personality. Also, this iteration of Nimue kicks ass and she’s great.

We Ride Upon Sticks, by Quan Barry

I’ve been on a “weird feminist horror” reading kick for a couple of years now, and this was a favorite this year. It covers all the bases for me— coming-of-age story, sports team drama, epic overcoming of obstacles, and some weird witchcraft shit to top it all off. I always appreciate when I find myself thinking about a book months after I finish reading it, and that was absolutely the case for this one. Genuinely loved.

Whalefall, by Daniel Kraus

This was a very close tie with The Black Count for Favorite Book Of The Year. It’s a fun concept to begin with— guy gets swallowed by a whale, but scientifically accurate— but it expands into a bigger story about grief and trauma and forgiveness, with a hefty dose of magical realism towards the end. I loved this. If you’re on the fence about picking it up, do it— especially if you like Andy Weir or Mary Roach’s writing, you’ll like this.

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Wind and Truth, by Brandon Sanderson

Sanderson’s come a LONG way, y’all. Strong leading female characters. Chapters grappling with the meaning of gender. A whole book about what it’s like to wrestle with a faith you’re born into that doesn’t love you back. A queer relationship, on the page. A shower scene! And through it all, a mix of epic battle, quiet humor, and the complex interweaving of multiple worlds and stories in a way that made me wish I was taking notes. I do still think that Sanderson maybe needs a closer edit in some pages (we get it! The one guy’s beard had patches of red!) but in general he’s come a massively long way from an inclusion standpoint and I’m excited to see what’s next for him and his books.

Cassiel’s Servant, by Jacqueline Carey, maybe?

Okay, so hear me out… this wasn’t actually my favorite book I read this year. It was the first book I read this year, and I loved it. But most of why I enjoyed it was that it gave me more compassion for a side character that I’ve under-appreciated in the past, mostly because it put in perspective just how absolutely insane the actions of the main character in the series are. But the thing is, I think that was this book’s purpose— it achieved that purpose well, and I have no regrets about adding this book (in hardcover!) to my physical shelf.

Honorable mentions!

Taste, by Stanley Tucci

I craved homemade pasta with really good olive oil for two straight weeks after I read this book. I made anchovy-and-parsley papardelle three times in five days. I made the zuchinni pasta recipe two times the week after that. I think the reason this book isn’t ranked higher up on my list is probably because if I re-read it again, I’d gain ten pounds. But man, does the man write evocatively about food.

The Seven-Year Slip, by Ashley Poston

I liked Poston’s YA books (Geekerella, etc) quite a lot back in high school. Her adult books are just as fun, but add some open-door romance scenes. And a twist: time-travel apartment, a la Frequency or The Girl In The Fireplace. Also, The Seven-Year Slip is a food book— see above about Stanley Tucci. I LOVE a good food book (Blood, Bones, and Butter, by Gabrielle Hamilton, was also almost on this list).

The Farseer trilogy, by Robin Hobb

I loved these books. I spent all three of them DEEPLY concerned about anything horrible happening to the dogs in them, and clutching my own dog so tightly that she got overheated and fled the couch. But these were fun, and escapist, and dark, and clever. Liveship Traders is up next in the new year.

Please note, this list is probably not representative of my reading habits as a whole this year. I’ve read an astonishing number of mildly trashy (but in a good way, like The Bachelor or Survivor or Top Chef) rom-coms and quite a bit of decent-but-not-exactly-cheerful nonfiction. But the books that always seem to float to the top for me are the epic fantasy, the deeply weird, and the guilelessly (but not sickly) sweet.

What have you been reading lately? Please let me know in the comments— I’m always looking for recommendations, especially as I place my Libby holds for holiday reading and as I build my TBR for next year (is it too depressing if I start calling next year’s reading goals Project 2025 just to make myself laugh?).

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No, Everything is Not the Same 7 Stories

A little over a week ago, I made a TikTok video in which I pointed out that Ted Lasso is a Wizard of Oz retelling. A couple of days later, I made a second video, in which I mentioned that the first season of Star Trek: Discovery plays around with Alice In Wonderland in a similar way. Both of these videos went semi-viral— over 100,000 views for each of them, with hundreds of comments on each.

Something strange happens when I make videos talking about “traditionally male” media (which, first of all, what? Star Trek is for the girls and the gays JUST as much as it is for the dudebro nerds, and Ted Lasso is… a show about soccer. Which, you know, women play. And in the US, are more successful at than the men on an international stage. But whatever). My videos on those topics tend to do REALLY WELL, because they get a ton of engagement. Unfortunately, 30-50% of that engagemet is usually men telling me that I’m wrong.

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This time, the men-telling-me-I’m-wrong-about-things-I’m-absolutely-not-wrong-about took a slightly different turn than usual. It wasn’t “you’re a girl shut up.” Instead, it was “yeah well EVERYTHING is a retelling.” Indeed, without fail, most of these comments mention the theory that there are only 7 stories in the world. They mention it like it’s an idea that’s been part of the literary canon for ages, like it’s a topic that everyone should know. In fact, it’s a vaguely Jungian philosophy-influenced literary theory from a book published in 2004— I’ve been alive longer than this theory has. And it’s not inherently a BAD theory, if you’re the kind of person who likes to break down storytelling into scientific components instead of enjoying a good book. But I do disagree with the way that the folks in my comments section choose to invoke it.

I find that the “there are only 7 stories, everything is a retelling” claim invalidates every piece of writing that’s published fresh and anew. Furthermore, it undercuts the value and hard work that are required to write a GOOD retelling. It’s legitimately difficult to write a story that is both old and new at the same time, paying homage to a canon while expanding upon it. It’s why revival shows are eligible for the Tony Awards. It’s why fairy-tale retellings routinely make for bestsellers while Disney sequels rarely do half as well as their original source material. As I’ve said over and over again both personally and professionally, stuff can be two things! Something can be a retelling while also being its own independent thing. Ted Lasso can be a Wizard of Oz retelling while also being a multi-season long arc about hope and curiosity, about mental health, about the intentional choices required to make the world a better place by being in it. The Warriors, the concept album, can be a brilliant reimagining of the 1979 film AND a retelling of Xenophon’s Anabasis while also being an entertaining (and iconic) story about gang violence and street politics in major cities in the 70s. And it takes SO MUCH work and talent and creativity to produce something that is all of those aspects of itself. Reducing that process to “just one of the seven stories out there” is… gross. I don’t like it. I reject the concept outright.

And let’s talk about purely original works. Because yes, I’m sure if you gave a monkey a typewriter (or in today’s world, if you fed an AI algorithm an endless supply of letters) eventually you’d get a perfect reproduction of a Shakespeare play. But it wouldn’t count, because Shakespeare did it first. Except Shakespeare didn’t do it first, because half of Shakespeare’s works are inspired directly by Ovid’s Metamorphoses, or by court politics, or by the irrational choices that people around him in his own life were making. And Ovid probably didn’t do it first either, because he was writing down stories that the people around him had been telling for hundreds of years, too. So where do we draw the line? Why does it matter who came up with something first, when what’s important is how we interpret it and what makes each interpretation remarkable on its own merits?

Saying that there are only seven stories— even if it’s a theory that took over 30 years to write— is so unbelievably limiting. It’s saying that even if there are infinite versions of a story out there, reading them all is pointless because they’re all derivatives of the same seven frameworks. Even if they’re told in totally different ways, in different genres, across different time periods, revealing different aspects of life for different eras and people and styles of storytelling. It’s all just… pointless, not worth it?

Absolutely not.

I’ll take my formulaic love stories and Kurosawa-and-westerns-inspired Star Wars and my own (because yes, I’m an author, too!) Shakespeare-influenced romance novels any day. Life’s just more interesting that way— and isn’t a more varied, less limiting world the one you’d rather live in?

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Book Recommendations Based On Why You (Should?) Go to Therapy

1. If you are gay (especially if you had a bad coming out experience, REALLY especially if you’re bi and stayed in the closet a little too long because it just felt easier)- I think you’d like Imogen, Obviously, by Becky Albertalli.

This book feels like it reached down into my 18-year-old, hadn’t-figured-stuff-out-yet soul and told me everything was okay. Yes, it was uncomfortable (and the reason for an actual therapy appointment at one point, lol). But it’s so well done.

2. If you have daddy issues- …this is just like, most romance novels, honestly… pretty much the whole industry is written and marketed for you! But you can do better than Colleen Hoover, I promise! I’m going to say that if you like historical fantasy, my recommendations for you are Babel, by RF Kuang, or maybe And I Darken, by the always-excellent Kiersten White.

3. If you have mommy issues- I think you might like the Kushiel’s Legacy series, though I should probably note that people attach a trigger warning to this series for a reason (definitely not for kids).

Please also note: is NOT MY FAULT if you find yourself having some feelings about Melisande.

4. If you have anxiety- listen, the best recommendation I have for anxious people who found themselves through books is Rainbow Rowell’s Fangirl. I’m not kidding when I say it’s the book that helped me figure out that actually no, everyone’s brain doesn’t feel like that all the time, and that maybe sitting down and figuring it all out would be okay.

5. Depression- Okay, so you know those chapters of New Moon, where it’s just the name of the month followed by a blank page…

I’m kidding. My actual recommendation here is the Stormlight Archive, by Brandon Sanderson. Start with The Way of Kings.

If that feels like too much, which… fair, my recommendation for you is Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, by Gabrielle Zevin.

6. If you have ADHD - Listen, there’s a reason people really love the Percy Jackson series and recommend it for exactly this purpose. For a whole lot of people— a whole generation, really— those books were the first example of normalized, not villainized, ADHD. And they are, genuinely, great representation— Rick Riordan, as a middle school teacher, wrote them for his kid, who was struggling with figuring out his brain chemistry. But if you want a recommendation for adults, Red White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston is the book that gave me the best picture of what undiagnosed ADHD looks like in an adult, high-functioning, hyper-focus-oriented brain. So I’m going to go with that as my suggestion.

7. If you’re going for couples therapy- I quite like Funny Story by Emily Henry, specifically because it trains a reader (and the main characters) so well to notice red flags and patterns, and they learn to stand up for themselves and demand better of life.

On this note, I do not recommend Happy Place by the same author (at least, not for this purpose). Not a good one for learning communication skills or how to spot red flags.

8. If you’re going to learn how to parse through grief (especially as it relates to losing a parent)- Whalefall, by Daniel Kraus, is deeply weird and weirdly deep. Highly recommend.

9. If you’re going to therapy to sort out your feelings about codependent friendships- We Ride Upon Sticks by Quan Barry is also weird and also good. I think more people should read this book, in part because it’s weird but mostly because it raises provocative conversations about team dynamics and teenage friendships and how those concepts do and don’t evolve into adult friend dynamics.

I hate to say it, but in our current times I think it’s a relevant reason to go to therapy… if you have child-making parts but aren’t sure if you want a kid, especially if everyone around you DOES seem to want one… then I recommend Nightbitch, by Rachel Yoder.

And that’s that! If you have other therapy-book-recs, or if you really strongly agree or disagree with my choices here, please do talk about it in the comments.

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Happy (or not so happy) reading!

~GT