Averil Dean's Blog, page 2

Gorgeous

I’ve been sitting here in my bedroom, with Rosie pressed into the space between my thigh and the arm of my chair, looking over the list of books I’ve read since the middle of June when I decided to keep track of them. It seems that I go through about five a week—that is, I see five books through to the end; that number would climb if I included all of those I didn’t finish. I’m ruthless about that, by the way. I’ll pull the cord no matter how close to the ground.

Here are the books I finishe...

Friends

I had coffee with my son yesterday. He’s a high school English teacher and an avid reader whose tastes align almost perfectly with mine. We both love literary fiction, try to love cozies, and feel torn (me) and turned off (him) by J.K. Rowling. We gobbled up Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow. We share a couple of all-time favorites—The Sense of an Ending and The Remains of the Day—and while he’s urging me toward Kingsolver, I’m trying to lure him into Christieland with The Murder of Roger Ack...

Twenty Books I Love

Absent in the Spring – Agatha Christie writing as Mary Westmacott The Sense of an Ending – Julian Barnes Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow – Gabrielle Zevin Foster – Claire Keegan My Name is Lucy Barton – Elizabeth Strout The Age of Miracles – Karen Thompson Walker Coming Home – Rosamunde Pilcher Persuasion – Jane Austen Dept. of Speculation – Jenny Offill The Murder of Roger Ackroyd – Agatha Christie The Remains of the Day – Kazuo Ishiguro Scarlet Feather – ...

Mythos

I haven’t been writing much. My lap has been mainly occupied by a warm puppy, possessed of four busy puppy paws and whatever bedraggled toy she’s into at the moment. It doesn’t leave much room for a laptop.

But there’s always room for a Kindle, always time for a book. I’ve been reading so much lately, really wonderful books that have been waiting on the back burner or have recently crossed my path and caught my eye. I think I’m coming to understand my taste in books a little better, and thou...

Jump

It’s been a minute. I do find that sometimes, when journaling, there is simply nothing to report. The neighborhood is peaceful, the house is quiet, and the slope seems too gentle for that mad acceleration into a new piece of fiction or a poem or a post. At other times the opposite is true. So much is happening with the family and in the wider world that I find it hard to get a toehold, to pause long enough to reflect and form an opinion, let alone sit for a few moments and write it all out.

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Steps

Things are happening. Lots of things, and most of them are good. Last weekend we had a party for all the March and April birthdays in our family. It was a special celebration for both of my boys, as one is turning thirty and the other twenty-one. My oldest is finishing up his first year as a high school teacher, and he’s a newlywed as well, so this is a period of change and growth for him as much as for his little brother. We’ve had many conversations about his experiences with the teenagers in ...

Popcorn

I love a good list. This one is especially satisfying, as it’s made up of books I already own and intend to read or reread before buying anything new.

In the Unlikely Event – Judy BlumeDeep Water – Patricia HighsmithAmsterdam – Ian McEwanLevels of Life – Julian BarnesTransgressions: Ten Brand-New Novellas – edited by Ed McBainThe Best American Short Stories 2016 – edited by Junot Diaz and Heidi PitlorThe Candy House – Jennifer EganMy Sunshine Away – M.O. Walsh...

Be Little

I just finished a wonderful novel called Panenka by Ronan Hessian. It’s about a man whose life is defined by a single day, a moment of public humiliation after which his sense of himself and his inherent value are irreversibly altered. The self-loathing has made him chronically numb and laconic, so that even when he wants to reach out and connect with others, he can’t. He does learn, though, over the course of the story, and finds a way to understand that he is both loving and loved. The book is...

Shelves

Over the weekend I reorganized my bookshelves. I tend to leave books scattered all over the house—stacked beside the bed, assembled fort-like next to my favorite armchair, lying open on the kitchen counter or the ottoman, on my desk, in my desk, crammed into boxes and pushed to the back of the hall closet. There are probably books in the attic as well, now that I think of it. I’ll have to investigate. I’ve culled the herd over time, and as I do a lot of my reading these days on Kindle or via aud...

Oliver

The house is quiet. I miss the sound of quick little paws on the floor when I open the fridge or take down the leash from its hook. I keep looking for Henry, listening for his nose snuffling on the other side of a door. Henry was a dog who wanted to be part of things, who loved car rides and fireside naps and strolls around the neighborhood, who’d chase a ball for as long as anyone wanted to throw it. He was naughty, too, and had to be watched, and so I find myself still watching though there is...