11: pedro páramo : juan rulfo:

the paper in this edition is top notch. under my green light

Never have I ever struggled to understand a story, but love every word -- since Clarice Lispector. 

This novel took me two weeks to get through, because like Proust you have to slowly digest it. Actually, it's unlike Proust in the sense that Proust mandates you stop and pause, and leaves you with meandering feelings of loss and longing.

Clarice Lispector is an author who gives you these really undigestible bites of story that you feel before you understand. It's soooo amazing to experience.

Here are a few quotes from this incredible story...

But he shouldn't have told me that. Life beats you down all on its own. The only thing that keeps a person going is he hope you'll end up someplace different after you die, but when one door slams in your face and the only other one takes you straight to Hell, it would've been better never to have been born... For me, Juan Preciado, Heaven is right here where I am now.

I've broken free of its obsessive need for remorse. It turned bitter what little food I was able to eat, and it made my nights unbearable by filling them with terrifying visions of the damned and that sort of thing. When I sat down to die, it begged me to get back up to keep dragging out my life, as if it still hoped for some miracle that might cleanse my sins. 

She died full of sorrow. And sorrow ... You once told us something about sorrow that I. no longer remember. It was that type of sorrow that took her life. She died all twisted up, choking on her own blood. I can still see the expression on her face, one of the most miserable faces a human being has ever made.

 

Juan Rulfo- Source: The Nation

Author Info

Juan Nepomuceno Carlos Pérez Rulfo Vizcaíno, best known as Juan Rulfo, was a Mexican writer, screenwriter, and photographer.

Born: May 16, 1917, Apulco, Mexico

Died: January 7, 1986 (age 68 years), Mexico City, Mexico

10: poetry: shakespeare :: that time of year thou mayst in me behold :: pause

I am always looking for small, easily digestible ways to engage with Shakepeare's work. One of my favorite ways is to watch his plays done by theater company that have been uploaded to YouTube, listening to audio dramas, and reading and re-reading his sonnets.

I love this sonnet for the end of the year.  

stockphoto 

Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

-William Shakespeare

07: authors i'm always reading :: currently forever reading list

That wasn't a typo. There are authors whose work I never want to be without. 

I have multiple copies, editions, and formats of their novels. This isn't due to a "collector's mindset", but rather I enjoy filling their works in my "free" time. 

Let me explain...

I am a caregiver and am always honestly more busy than I like to admit. I am not one of those people who values being busy or loves saying, "Oh I just have so much to do".  I am embracing this season of life and what it demands of me. With that said, I keep kindles in my caregiving medical bag, in my purse and on on my phone.

I don't purchase from Amazon anymore, but I did not get rid of my kindles. I bought a kobo, but it mainly stays at home. Until I get a case, it will live on my bedside table.

There are authors whose works I read and re-read from start to finish over and over, and those same authors have works that I just open and read a few chapters from while waiting for appointment times or to fill anxious space.

I never tire of these authors, or of these works and this isn't about collecting a total number of books read or re-read; it's only about living inside of these novels and being shaped by them.

my planner and favorite candle

Authors and Novels I Never Tire of...

I wanted to post a ton of photos, but I will make a list and keep it simple (with a few photos :)

1. Fyodor Dostoevsky
1. The Brothers K
2. The Idiot
2. James Baldwin
1. Giovanni's Room
3. Jane Austen
1. Persuasion
2. Pride and Prejudice
4. Clarice Lispector
1. Near to the Wild Heart
2. The Apprenticeship
5. Leo Tolstoy
1. Anna K- always
6. The Brontës
1. Jane Eyre
2. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
3. Wuthering Heights
4. Agnes Grey (not a typo)
7. Anita Brookner
1. Every single novel
8. Thomas Hardy 
1. Far From the Madding Crowd
2. Two on a Tower
9. Vladimir Nabokov
1. Lolita

Of course there are others, but these novels I return to over and over and over again. I don't ever want to be done reading these. I want to always be reading these. 

Happy re-reading ☕️ 

06: poetry pause : the peace of wild things :: wendell berry

This poem speaks to deeply to what this time of year stirs up in my heart and soul. I read and re-read it constantly. 

stockphoto sourced online

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

-Wendell Berry

05: literal mess: gustave flaubert and louise colet letter august 18, 1846 typed out

Love a good messy literary situation.

Enter Gustave Flaubert and Louise Colet and their 8 year relationship -although she was married to Hippolyte Colet. It ended badly, but I am loving reading through these letters Flaubert wrote to her.

As a consciously single woman, I enjoy reading about these classic trysts. There is something so intimate about these letters from days gone by. Writing was THE mode of deep communication, and housed in these letters is every emotion- and I just love it.

There were better letters for me to choose from, but I hardly wanted to type pages and pages. 

flaubert and santa

TO LOUISE COLET

                                                                                                  Tuesday morning [August 18, 1846]

Here I am on my feet, thanks to my stubbornness. By following my own instinct, I read it myself in 2 days of what would have lasted a week. And that against everybody's opinion. Only scars are left.

I'll arrive at your house tomorrow between half-past four and five. I am counting on it. It is sure unless the devil himself takes a hand in it this time. He is taking a hand and so many of my affairs that he might well metal in this one. So: until tomorrow. Shall we go and take Phidias out for dinner? What's your feeling? Think it over carefully before hand. Ah-- in 30 hours I'll be setting out! Pass swiftly, Today! Pass swiftly, Long Night!

It is raining now: the sky is gray. But I have the sun in my soul. Adieu-  I'd love to fill these 4 little pages, but the postman will be arriving soon, so I'll quickly close this and seal it.

A thousand loves.

The real ones tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be touching you. Sometimes I'd think it's a dream I have read about somewhere, and that you don't really exist.

04: swann’s way called and I answered, snow shoveling and christmas tea

I read all 7 volumes of In Search of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu) in 2022. It was a very intense year for me. Something deeply tragic happened, and for some reason I felt called to the work.

No one recommended it. I hadn't seen any videos where people talked about it. It just called me.

It happened again. 

I made a plan to re-read volume on "The Way By Swann's" in 2026, but I couldn't wait and I started it already. I am not a fan of the deckled edges on the Penguin Deluxe Classics, and am waiting (2-3 more weeks of waiting) for a different edition of the Lydia Davis translation to arrive. I will just manage somehow with these cringey deckled edges.

swann and my tree

Christmas Tea of Choice This Season

Tea// White Christmas 

Shoveling snow and remembering my memories (yes that sounds weird)

A mountain of snow fell and while it was gorgeous to look at with my morning coffee, I knew that if I shoveled my truck before the snow removal team came by, it would make for a better driveway situation for me. Hence... snow shoveling for 48 straight minutes.

I started Proust and have been (as I did on my first reading) thinking about memories. Days gone by. Past experiences shoveling snow.

It feels so melodic to review my life in this way.

I am always so surprised by what comes to mind when I am super mindful in the present moment. I think about how the memory is laying down in my brain...  my ability to recall it.

For a long time, I went to bed early. Sometimes, my candle scarcely out, my eyes would close so quickly that I did not have time to say to myself: "I'm falling asleep."

 

swann's way under the tree

I am not sure if I will stop at volume 1 or if I will carry on. For now, the goal is to just read this volume deeply and allow whatever needs to be remembered to come to me in a dream like state- similar to how Proust wrote this novel.

If you've been shy about picking it up, I highly suggest you do do. No pressure. No worries. 

Happy reading ☕️ 

03: re-reading lolita by vladimir naboknov

lolita and my santa

This novel is a masterpiece. 

This biggest emotional takeaway during this re-read is that reading it partially alongside Crime and Punishment has been quite the experience. Both of these novels put me inside the head of sick men. I don’t often like to spend time in this space, but much like watching cult documentaries, I am fascinated.

What I love about Humbert Humbert is his insistence on his insanity. If readers spend time realizing how much Nabokov wants you to know that Humbert is insane and sick, the glorification of this story wouldn’t be as possible. 

Lolita demands something of me as a reader and the pact that I’ve made to trust Nabokov to bring this story to a conclusion that won’t make me aggressively mad, is sacrosanct. 

I don’t agree with Independent that, “There’s no funnier monster in literature than poor, doomed Humbert Humbert”.  I don’t feel sorry for him, but I do pity him deeply. He is a pathetic, miserable man and the amount of time I roll my eyes when listening to his thoughts is worthy of a Guinness award.

-The writing is stunning-

Unlike My Dark Vanessa, which was told from inside a female mind, Lolita keeps up inside every thought of Humbert Humbert as he tells his story to the jury. 

In chapter one, on page one… Nabokov lets you see… lets you know … he gets caught. THIS allows me as a reader to endure this story. 

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.  

I love it. This is an infinitely re-readable novel. It’s on my forever shelf.

02: cold decorations, coffee with thick soy milk, crime and punishment (the re-read) and book plans

The cold slammed into me as I stepped outside today. I could feel snow behind the winds that blew. 

Time to hunker down. 

Settle in. 

Slow down. 

Eliminate.

2025 is coming to a frozen close as the last month of the year has been ushered in. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Raskolnikov in Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. 

This re-read is the ever-present reminder that the best time I spend with books, I spend with second, third, or tenth readings. 

I've been making my early morning pour overs with extra creamy soy milk and cinnamon with a sprinkle of nutmeg. It's felt decadent and very soothing. 

my book... my tree

Back when I used Bookstagram I wrote, “If it isn’t worth reading twice, it isn’t worth reading once ™️”. I still stand behind that.

-Curating a stack of books to read in 2026-

I decide what to read based off of how I am feeling, but I prefer to have a stack of books to pull from. I’ve spent a lot of time pulling titles from my shelves, and ordering a few books (never from Amazon) to pull from next year. 

new reads and some re-read plans

I’ll report what I’ve decided in a separate post and page in the banner here, but it’s been nice to really reflect on that. 

If I am not careful, I’ll spend the entire year re-reading. :)

01: snow night: mary oliver :: poetry pause : midnight edition

I’m a good friend of the late night and early morning.

When I can’t figure out what to read, I open up one of my many digital poetry collections and Mary Oliver never disappoints. 

As Autumn is making way for the frozen silence that Winter allows, I settle close to nature poetry.

source: the poetry foundation

Snowy Night by Mary Oliver

Last night, an owl

in the blue dark

tossed an indeterminate number

of carefully shaped sounds into

the world, in which,

a quarter of a mile away, I happened

to be standing.

I couldn’t tell

which one it was –

the barred or the great-horned

ship of the air –

it was that distant. But, anyway,

aren’t there moments

that are better than knowing something,

and sweeter? Snow was falling,

so much like stars

filling the dark trees

that one could easily imagine

its reason for being was nothing more

than prettiness. I suppose

if this were someone else’s story

they would have insisted on knowing

whatever is knowable – would have hurried

over the fields

to name it – the owl, I mean.

But it’s mine, this poem of the night,

and I just stood there, listening and holding out

my hands to the soft glitter

falling through the air. I love this world,

but not for its answers.

And I wish good luck to the owl,

whatever its name –

and I wish great welcome to the snow,

whatever its severe and comfortless

and beautiful meaning.