These days, I’m living my best book life. I have short, precarious stacks of books all over the house: travel guides, novels, poetry, cookbooks. I love my books, but I am hard on them. I make copious notations, I stash them in my bag when I’m on the go, and if I sense someone needs my book more than I do, I give it away.
Our winter wasn’t as cold and snowy as some, but it was grey and damp. I spent those months dabbling, skipping from book to book, and rereading a few favorites. If I begin reading a book and I’m not hooked after a few chapters, I set it aside. I spent ten years as a student of literature, and I always read what I was instructed to read. Now I’m more reckless. Sometimes I purchase a book simply because it has a pretty cover. I read more in English. Unfinished books linger. It’s glorious to flit between subjects and genres and to touch so many different books in one sitting.
For this post, I gathered a selection of some recent and favorite reads that might lead you to your next book. Dainin Katagiri’s The Light That Shines Through Infinity has been a steady, insightful spiritual companion that I have already gifted to a friend and that I will reread multiple times. Michelin’s guide to Brittany has had me dreaming about France’s rugged coasts, and Alexandre Maral’s Versailles: côté ville, côté jardin has furthered my research on the Royal City. My cookbook collection is unmanageable, but Emeril Lagasse’s review of Bottom of the Pot made Naz Deravian’s new book on Persian cuisine irresistible.
A few months ago, I embarked on a poetry project with a friend. Each month, we read one poem by Irish poet Eavan Boland. We stay with that poem for a whole month, and then we each compose our own poem that is inspired by and seems to grow from the month’s poem. Writing and sharing poetry terrifies me, but our Eavan Boland project has helped me to go deeper with poetry and to feel brave enough to write my own poems.
If English is my first and most comfortable language, French is my chosen and beloved language. My French winter reads were delightful. I’ve been enjoying random selections of François Cheng’s De l’âme (About the Soul). He unfailingly brings me beauty as he bridges philosophies of the East and the West. In Le camélia de ma mère (My Mother’s Camellia), Alain Baraton, the head gardener at the Château de Versailles, sings the beauty of his mother’s favorite flower. And after teaching L’Elégance du hérisson (The Elegance of the Hedgehog), last spring, I am treating myself to a third or fourth reading of Muriel Barbery’s novel on the beauty of friendship.
Inspirations
Discovering Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca
Thoughts on beauty and grief
More reads on Creative Sanctuary
My little patio garden is bursting. Each year, I tinker with this square space off my kitchen. I’ve learned that it’s too sunny for impatiens and that begonias thrive in the morning sun. Potted herbs always take off, and so each summer I find myself swirling ribbons of basil into gazpacho, stirring mint into lemonade, and topping my green salads with chives.