I swear it’s entirely a coincidence that I’m reviewing two books that have titles separated by commas with the word “sky” somewhere in them (The other would be Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea). They’re entirely different books, but I’m glad to say that they’re equally excellent. Under the Earth, Over the Sky gives fantasy a tenderness that it’s desperately needed for years, and I am all the better for reading it.
Iohmar does not meddle in the affairs of the human world. He is above such things, being an ancient fae king older than human civilization itself. But when he finds an abandoned, dying baby in the borderlands between the human world and his kingdom, he takes it upon himself to raise him as his own. He names his human son Lorcan, and he takes him back to live in the fae kingdom. But Iohmar’s ancient magic has begun to wane, and with threats encroaching into his kingdom, he must do whatever it takes to protect baby Lor and the rest of his subjects.
TW/CW: past mentions of abuse/loss of a loved one, abandonment of a child, nightmares, child endangerment
I’m so sick and tired of grimdark, man. I’ll save my rant about it for another day, but I just feel like it’s a blight on fantasy, and on any genre where it’s applicable. (Life is full of joy and beauty! They can never take your joyous whimsy!) That’s why this book feels so necessary. Under the Earth, Over the Sky really did heal my soul. It may not be without its flaws, but it’s such a deeply moving and poignant tale of love beyond boundaries and parenthood.
For the past few years, I’ve found myself drifting away from most kinds of high and epic fantasy; at their very worst, they’ve just felt like the same plots coughed up over and over, but with far heftier of a page count than is necessary. But Under the Earth, Over the Sky feels like the best kind of subversion of all of the self-serious, high-and-mighty tropes that have turned me off from a fair portion of the genre. How do you make your haughty, ancient king of the fae with the wisdom of a thousand moons a genuinely compelling character? Simple: make him raise a baby. The synopsis already made this book sound endearing, but I couldn’t have predicted how much of a warm bath to the soul that this book would really be.
Of course, the dynamic between Iohmar and his adopted son was where Under the Earth, Over the Sky shone the brightest. Watching Iohmar’s cold heart slowly melt as he began to care for Lor was truly a joy, and Emily McCosh portrayed all of the ups and downs of their father-son relationship so poignantly. He was such a compelling character beyond his dynamic with Lor as well; McCosh also did an excellent job of making his life and relationships genuinely complicated, making him feel truly fleshed-out and making some of the stakes seem more real. Every part of his raising Lor tugged at my heartstrings, from the moment he realizes that he has to care for this baby, to grappling with the fact that his appearance frightens his own son. Not to praise the plague that is the Disney live-action remakes, this novel reminded me of the only good one—the dynamic between Angelina Jolie’s Maleficent and baby Aurora was similarly sweet. The fact that it’s a father-son relationship also feels so important—having a male character showing such vulnerability and care is something that we need more of, certainly.
Most of the other character interactions were similarly comforting and cozy. I especially loved the dynamic between Iohmar and his wife Rúnda; they were so quietly devoted to each other, and their gentle love fueled the already heartwarming feel of this novel. The interactions between Iohmar and the humans he encounters along the way were similarly poignant. Not only did they serve to drive home the rift between Lor’s human and adopted fae identities, Iohmar’s subtle changes in how he dealt with humans was so tender and indicative of his shifting character. Strangely, even though there weren’t as many characters, subtle interactions like these were what made the world feel lived-in—it didn’t take a lot for this world to feel populated, which helped immensely with my feeling of immersion.
However, as well fleshed-out as many aspects of Under the Earth, Over the Sky were, the subplots surrounding the main plot felt rather rushed. Although the stakes of Iohmar’s magic rotting were clear and tangible, the aspect of the rippling felt like it barely held any weight. They weren’t as well established at the start of the novel, and that lack of immersion felt like none of it was really serious—it really did feel like an afterthought. That part was resolved in a similarly messy way, but at least it got somewhat neatly swept under the rug. It was an interesting enough concept, but a lack of context and fleshing-out made it feel almost meaningless.
All in all, a refreshingly cozy and tender story of parental love and changes of heart. 4 stars!
Under the Earth, Over the Sky is a standalone, but Emily McCosh is also the author of All the Woods She Watches Over, an anthology of short stories and poetry, and the ongoing In Dying Starlight series.
Today’s song:
live laugh Lisa Germano
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
OCTOBER! Crunchy leaves and warm coffee and leather jackets and Halloween. That’s the most wonderful time of the year, if you ask me. And for the occasion, I’ve got a fall-colored graphic, complete with some sparing mentions of autumn and Lisa Germano.
I went into The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We with my expectations low—as much as I like Mitski, I was prepared for another Laurel Hell that I didn’t necessarily regret listening to, but only came away liking about half of the songs. But I’ve seen consensus among diehard Mitski fans and people like myself, who know a handful of Mitski but nothing expansive—we’re all starting to agree that this album might just be her best work yet.
After several years of turmoil that saw Mitski on the verge of leaving the music industry altogether, The Land is Inhospitable sees her reclaiming a space for herself, while reckoning with the past that led her to silencing herself as she tried to endure the trials of being a musician in this creative climate. The whole album is full of some of her most grand, expansive soundscapes, more haunting and commanding than anything she’s produced in years. It feels like Mitski letting herself go, haunted by the multitude of ghosts and hounds at her back, but unleashing years of feeling and fury. Take this song, my personal favorite of the album (“My Love Mine All Mine” was a close second). As she describes a Robert Johnson-esque deal with the devil “on a midnight walk alone,” we discover that the deal was never to see her soul for fame or talent—it was for someone to take the burden of her soul away from her (“will somebody take this soul?”) The whole song is a harrowing plea for peace, no doubt taken from many sleepless nights. As ever, Mitski’s voice soars to meet every sky-reaching promise, unfolding like an ornate wedding dress with its ribcage-echoing depth and weight. And this song is the exact reason why I feel like The Land is Inhospitable is her most adventurous album yet. The instrumentals are truly mercurial, shifting from simple acoustics to an abrupt, all-consuming cacophony as the chorus kicks in, barely contained. And speaking of barely contained, can we talk about how beautiful the outro is? It’s my favorite kind of barely contained chaos, as though Mitski is scrambling to keep the battering drums and frantic movement under wraps before the song ends, but can’t help but let some of it pour through the cracks. I can’t help but be reminded of 1:53-2:34 of “Via Chicago,” with its moaning guitars disguising Glenn Kotche’s explosive outburst of drums. (It’s 100% worth putting a Wilco concert on your bucket list just to witness that live. Trust me.) And of course, it mirrors the line “your pain is eased/but you’ll never be free.” It always lingers.
Either way, I’m glad that Mitski is starting to heal, and that we have this excellent album to show for it. She deserves more than all the weirdos screaming “MOMMY” at her constantly. The horrific curse of making emotionally vulnerable music your brand, I suppose.
I’m still newish to Big Thief, but this song delightfully baffles me. I almost thought it was a cover—it seems simultaneously harmonious and out of place next to all of the other Big Thief songs I’ve heard. Somehow, I love that about this song.
“Born For Loving You” feels timeless in its warm simplicity. At its heart, it’s an earnest, folksy love song, plain about its intentions and the smile on its face. But it’s doesn’t bear that kind of earnestness that makes you cringe from the manufactured nature of it—there’s so much about this song that’s genuinely endearing to me with each subsequent listen. Adrianne Lenker frames the premise of the song in a tender collage of vignettes, from “After the first light flickered outta this motel/1991, mama pushin’ like hell/Tangled in blood and vine” to splashes of blissful childhood: “From my first steps, to my first words/To waddlin’ around, lookin’ at birds.” Every time I listen, I can’t help but imagine the fading graininess of old home movies, of giggling, squinty-eyed babies taking their first steps out into the summer grass as their parents follow in their footsteps, arms outstretched. Lenker delivers every line with a straining waver, with the band gently painting soft, acoustic brushstrokes behind her. It’s a song for peering out the car window at a sunset, letting the wind play with your hair as you think about all the things that led you to be here, right here, with the people that you love.
I know you’re all sick of me heralding the coming of sad girl fall since August, but since it’s actually fall now, I’ve got an excuse. Nothing says fall like a black-orange color scheme and some good, old fashioned baby doll heads.
After YouTube practically pied me in the face with this song, I couldn’t help but listen. For the first few times, “The Darkest Night Of All” felt like either an opening or a closing track. Turns out that I was halfway right—this song closed out her 1993 debut Happiness (touché), and even without knowing anything else from the album, this song does its job better than any other could. Even though it’s clear from the lyrics that she hasn’t nailed her darkly clever style completely, it’s evidence that Lisa Germano’s skill at crafting a vivid atmosphere was always there. This song couldn’t have been named anything else—it really does feel like watching a starless night from out the window, bleary-eyed and wishing for sleep to come. With its echoing, gauzy synths wrapping their arms around the track, it feels like the cool tucking of a too-thin blanket over your head. You can’t picture anything but sleepless darkness when this song plays. Germano’s younger voice, thin and breathy like tissue paper, can’t help but make me think of Julien Baker—I don’t know if she listened to her, but I can’t get the resemblance out of my head. Paired with Germano’s gentle piano playing and mournful accordions, “The Darkest Night of All” sits in a strange limbo between a lullaby and a dirge, cloaked in nighttime either way. And what a way to close out the album—the fading synths and her final whisper of “the night” like a secret in your ear?
Nothing like a new(ish) Snail Mail song to make my day. Even if it’s a demo, there’s nothing better.
Lindsey Jordan described “Easy Thing” as “a track that didn’t make the cut, but holds a special place in my heart.” And the more I listen to it, the more it feels like the bridge between her two albums. It’s bathed in a the cool breeze of autumn, lazily meandering around, anchored by Jordan’s plaintively plucked notes on the guitar. The lyrics meander over to the bitter, love-gone-sour malaise of Valentine (“making out’s boring,” “was there really something/or were we just drunk?”), but the delicate, meticulous guitar work reeks of the shining melodies of Lush. You could have placed this somewhere between “Stick” and “Let’s Find an Out” and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. And although I love this song dearly, I can see why it never made the cut; it doesn’t necessarily tread any new musical or lyrical ground that wasn’t already in Valentine—the same lost love, the same reminiscing. I could see why it would have gotten lost somewhere between “Madonna” and “c. et al.” But it’s a song that still deserves to see th light of day, but standing alone was the best choice for it to sprout. Now the only question left is where it’ll fit amongst the other Valentine demos on this EP.
Yep. Time for an emotional shower. I didn’t think about the order when I was making the graphic, but this is probably the best possible palate-cleanser for the lethal Mitski-Lisa Germano beatdown. Am I not merciful?
Even though I’m always mad about how stingy the Hendrix estate has been with lending off the rights to his music (every day, I not only wish for a world in which the Doctor Strange movies were actually as weird as they were meant to be, but also for a world where Jim Hendrix was their soundtrack), maybe it’s for the best that the MCU never corrupted this particular rush of late 60’s, pure, classic rock straight to the soul. This one would’ve fit right into one of the Guardians of the Galaxy movies, but again: I’m glad this song isn’t associated with Chris Pratt making some corny “it’s behind me, isn’t it…😳” type of joke after getting into some comical alien shenanigans. (Can you tell that I’m bitter about Marvel? No? Blame Disney. I’m suffering over here.) Either way, this song—and most of Jimi Hendrix’s body of work in general—feels somehow pure, like it came into being with every note in the riff already glitteringly mastered. I’ve used the “Athena bursting forth from the skull of Zeus” metaphor to death in reference to Super Furry Animals, for the most part, but if anyone else is deserving of it, it’s certainly Hendrix. The sound production feels thick enough to stretch my hand through, and each lightning-fast note ripped in the dazzlingly intricate riffs feels like the most intentional thing on Earth, just for a few minutes. It’s a 4:09 stretch of speedy blues that you can’t help closing your eyes and smiling along to. Jimi just has that effect.
BONUS: I meant to put this in last week…oops. Either way, boygenius released a gorgeous animated music video for my favorite track off the record, “Cool About It” (which I talked about back in April). The animations are by Lauren Tsai. Have a watch! (Who else is very normal about the fact that they’re releasing another EP on the 13th??)
Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.
That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
I just finished my first week back to school, but after this, chances are I’ll be somewhat radio silent until I can get fully settled into my routine. The only reason that this post is seeing the light of day is that I start working on my wrap-up posts about a week in advance, so here we are.
Let’s begin, shall we?
GENERAL THOUGHTS:
Summer’s officially over, but the weather sure doesn’t seem to think so. Hopefully I won’t have to endure much more of my (long) walk to class in this 90+ degree heat.
That aside, I’ve had a good August, for the most part. My initial “yay, I’m going back to college!” got partially replaced by “oh god, I’m going back to college” closer to move-in, but I’m feeling better now. (The fact that I’m in a much nicer dorm than I was last year certainly helps. It doesn’t constantly reek of weed in here! Huzzah!) I had the opportunity to soak up the last dregs of summer beforehand, at least. I finished up my summer job at the library, bought a catnip toy for my cat for his sweet 16, completed another trip around the sun, and blew part of my paycheck on books to celebrate said trip around the sun. Worth it.
My blogging’s been a tad slower since I’ve been trying to get everything together before I moved in, but I feel like I’ve still been able to be productive. I’ve enjoyed reviewing all of my books this month and putting together graphics and going off about music. And I got in one book tag that WordPress screwed up and I had to recreate from scratch, but it was fun in the end. Once my schedule figures itself out, I’ll get back on the writing train, but for now, I’m mapping out the best route to my class in That One Building on the other side of campus.
Other than that, I’ve just been drawing, watching Only Murders in the Building (for the love of god, can we just stop pairing Mabel with people who have zero chemistry with her 😭). Good Omens (pain, suffering, even), Heartstopper (Lucy Dacus and Wolf Alice paying in the same episode >>>>>>>), and Taskmaster (“you’ve got no chutzpah”), and reveling in the fact that my new dorm has air conditioning. It’s the (not so) small things.
READING AND BLOGGING:
I read 17 books this month! Other than the one stinker in the batch (sorry, The Surviving Sky), it’s been a great reading month in terms of quality and in terms of quantity. Expect some kind of mini-review post for all of the books I bought for my birthday and the books I got as gifts, because they’ve all been fantastic so far.
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
I just moved back to school a few days ago, so after this, chances are that I’ll be posting less for the next few weeks as my classes start and I start to settle in. At least my new dorm has air conditioning, so said settling in will be decidedly less sweaty than last year. But for today, here’s a warm, orange color scheme to wish for fall to come sooner. I’ll leave you with the following dilemma: are you decided, or are you a man of constant sorrow?
It’s around the one year anniversary of my Lisa Germano awakening, all thanks to my dad. And almost just in time for sad girl fall. But for now, we’re still at the end of hot girl summer, and by “hot” I mean “walking six miles in 90 degree heat just to find out where my classes are and sweating profusely.” Now that my birthday’s over, I’m about done with summer, thank you very much.
Sometimes, it’s a specific inflection of a singer that hooks me onto a song: Lou Reed’s rambling, melty pronunciations on “Sweet Jane,” or the rising, climbing-vine quality of Kevin Barnes’ high pitch on the chorus of “Gronlandic Edit.” Here, the first thing that grabbed me was the subtle, softening lilt in the way she sings “Yoko Ono.” The sharp ‘k’ in her name is smoothed down to whispered velvet, every pointed edge melted to softness like warm candle wax. I can almost imagine the tired, curious tilt of her head as she leaned into the microphone to record it in the studio, eyes averted, head bent. It’s not the only way that this song is immediately memorable: the devastating context of Yoko Ono being mentioned is in the opening lyrics: “You’re not my Yoko Ono/You said those words to me.” Yeesh. That’ll do it. I can’t stop listening to it, but sweet Jesus, even though Excerpts from a Love Circus came out about 27 years ago, I just wanna give her a hug. But as with every Lisa Germano song, there’s always a distinct touch to macabrely decorate her heartbreak: distortion on her violin that makes it sound like a frantically buzzing insect, and the sparse guitar loose enough to conjure the image of the strings holding on by a thread and a half-spoken prayer. And just like said image of guitar strings, Germano holds onto an abusive partner; Part of her desperately wants to hold onto them (“You stop me being mean”) but they mistreat her at every opportunity (“Is that why you hit me?”). All of that roiling memory and frantic, nervous energy culminates in a rasping, scraping scream of the chorus: one word, “Lovesick,” three times over. Every inch of it is haunting and hypnotic, culminating in the most hidden details.
The Dandy Warhols really were onto something with “Cool as Kim Deal,” huh? Even if it is about wanting somebody as cool as Kim Deal, I doubt any of us are ever going to be quite as cool as Kim Deal. And quite as prolific, for that matter. For most of her career, every band that Kim Deal has been in eventually spawns at least two more: she joins one (Pixies), they break up, she forms another band (The Breeders), they go on hiatus, The Amps are briefly born, and both of the aforementioned bands reunite and/or break up again. (It’s weird what my brain retains; I can’t remember what I need to study for on a math test, but I can somehow recall seeing the “Kim Deal Quits Pixies” headline left up on my mom’s office computer when I was younger. Apparently that was around 10 years ago. Huh.)
But through all of that, consistent is how Kim Deal’s projects have been. Consistently good, if that wasn’t obvious from how many deeply influential bands that she’s been a founding member of. Even if The Amps were the most short-lived of her projects, it doesn’t take away from the distinct urgency of any of their songs. “I Am Decided” is a punchy earworm that I’ve had stuck in my head on and off for years, and man, does it feel good to be listening to it on repeat. Even if the production makes Deal’s voice faintly fuzzy at the edges, it never loses its sheer power. Every shouted word is a call to arms, a declaration: the urgency of it all drips from every lyric as she sings of “I’d like to fly out/Fly away from here.” Crammed into only about two and a half minutes, that cagey, determined energy becomes the kind that you can feel in your chest, the kind that makes you want to slam on the gas pedal, roll down every window, and conquer the open road.
I rewatched O Brother, Where Art Thou? last weekend, but it might as well have been the first time. One of the many reasons why my freshman honors English teacher in high school was fantastic was the fact that, after he assigned the Odyssey to a bunch of confused 14-year-olds, he showed us this movie in class. I could barely hear it over the sound of this one girl asking if Pete really did turn into a toad (to my teacher’s great exasperation), but that’s just how school movies generally go. Regardless, shoutout to said honors English teacher for preaching the wondrousness of the Coen Brothers early on.
That is to say that I could actually hear what was going on this time around, which made my experience that much better. Also, this time around, I realized that John Tuturro was in this movie the whole time?? It’s a Coen Brothers movie, so he was bound to turn up, but I had no idea that he was Pete?? Either way, it’s just such a joy of a movie, even if you haven’t read the Odyssey and half of the references went over your head (read: me, having retained only fragments from that period of honors English 9). What else is there to say? HOT DAMN, IT’S THE SOGGY BOTTOM BOYS!
Remember how I said that there are some albums that are better than others for cleaning the bathroom? The Kick Inside is a good album, but it’s far more suited for a) dramatically draping a hand over your forehead as you lean out the window of a stone castle, or b) indiscriminate 70’s groovin’. Hard to do either of those things when you’re trying to mop the floor.
“Them Heavy People” remains the best track on the whole album, but “Kite” instantly stood out when I listened all the way through. It’s not every day that a song starts with a bouncy, Bowie-like groove, and immediately kicks off with the line “Beelzebub is aching in my belly-o.” Excuse me? It’s wild. This whole song is just wild. Kate Bush really just wrote a song about somebody getting turned into a kite against their will (??) fully knowing how much of a bizarre banger it was going to be. It’s basically cosmic horror, if you think about it, but it’s just so bouncy and happy? I’m just here sitting in my dorm, hips swaying while I’m in my swiveling chair, while she’s talking about “I got no limbs, I’m like a feather on the wind/I’m not sure if I want to be up here at all.” It’s got that same smooth, bopping, Hunky Dory flavor as “Them Heavy People,” but whereas that subject matter is far more endearing and logical for something David Bowie-inspired, but Bush just went full-force into the absolutely bonkers, horrifying concept of the song, and I can’t not applaud her for that. Go crazy.
Here’s another band that my dad pulled out of his sleeve that I had no idea existed. “The Besnard Lakes,” you say? That sounds like some kind of late 2000’s band of singer-songwriter dudes wearing flannel. Y’know, the kind that would be mentioned in the same breath as…I don’t know, The National? It’s just the vibe of the name. Don’t ask me to justify it.
However, the minute this song started playing, my previous assumptions were turned on their heads, and not because, in contrast to my comparison to The National, there’s a woman singing. There’s really no title more fitting for this song than “Devastation.” It’s a song that immediately lays waste to the senses, from the minute the tidal wave chorus of off-kilter choir and screeching violins hits you. From there, this devastation never ceases. Even as the first verse dips into a false sense of security, with Olga Goreas’ voice shrouded in static, the chorus absolutely roars every time it comes around. It’s not every day that any given song on an album seems to perfectly emulate the album cover, but even without knowing anything about the rest of The Besnard Lakes Are The Dark Horse (I kind of adore the whole The Besnard Lakes Are [blank] title format that they’ve mostly kept up), the song and the album art mesh so well; the crushing punch of the guitars and the urgency of it all, paired with the painting of a black horse being consumed by yellow flames, is the perfect match. And like those yellow flames, “Devastation” is a song that you can’t help but watch consume you. It’s the opposite of a song to zone out to—this song is commanding in its purest but most chaotic form.
Also, I love the music video. Again: all of the reds and blacks in the color scheme matches the energy of “Devastation” perfectly. It’s like watching an early Arcade Fire music video without feeling a rush moral revulsion the minute you remember how gross Win Butler is.
Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.
That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
I’ve been reading Becky Albertalli’s YA books since middle school, and they’ve always had a special place in my heart. Although some of them have been hit-or-miss, I was looking forward to reading this one—it seemed so deeply personal to her, and I was so excited for the bisexual rep! And although it wasn’t perfect, it was such a deeply authentic depiction of the bisexual experience.
Imogen Scott knows her place—the token ally amongst her very queer friend group. She knows the nuances of queer culture and discourse in and out, but she’s confident in her heterosexuality. But all of that changes when she stays with her best friend Lili at her new dorm in college. Lili, who happened to tell everybody that Imogen was her ex in an ill-thought-out lie. Imogen is happy to keep up the ruse, but when she meets Tessa, one of Lili’s new (and very cute) friends, she begins to question whether or not it’s the role of “ally” that’s the lie after all.
From the start, I knew that Imogen, Obviously was going to be a deeply personal book for Becky Albertalli. That’s exactly what it was, and that’s exactly what it should have been. Even though it wasn’t without its flaws, Imogen, Obviously is an incredibly important book in that it shows us a narrative of bisexuality that isn’t portrayed as much, and that there is no one true narrative of how bisexuality is in the first place.
As a bisexual reader, Imogen’s story resonated so much with me, even if our coming-out journeys were different. And the fact that Imogen has a coming-out journey that deviates from a lot of the bisexual representation in media in general is a breath of fresh air; along her path of self-discovery, there’s some fantastic discussions about how we internalize stereotypes, the pressure to be “queer enough,” internalize biphobia and feeling like you don’t belong in queer spaces, and so much more. (And I’m glad that somebody’s talking about how random bisexual “traits” that float around social media…I once saw one that said “you may be bisexual if winter is your favorite season”…huh? What does that have to do with anything?) It’s a love letter to those who who feel like exceptions from the norm in a place that’s already populated by outsiders.
Adding onto that, what makes Imogen, Obviously such an important book to me is that it has such an important message about bisexuality, and about queerness in general: there is no one way to be bi, and that the entire queer experience doesn’t have to be entangled with suffering. We watch Imogen struggle with feelings of imposter syndrome in the queer community and repeatedly being put down by a “friend” who feels like she has the ultimate queer authority because she’s experienced quite a lot of homophobia, and it serves as an important reminder: we can’t exclude queer people from their own community just because they “aren’t queer enough” by some arbitrary measure. Again, it speaks to the personal element of this book, what with Albertalli’s own recent forced outing, but it’s a message that needs to be loud and clear.
Apart from the many wonderful messages that this book spreads, I loved watching the relationship between Imogen and Tessa develop! It really felt accurate to having your first queer crush in real time, with all of the stomach butterflies and shy conversations. They were a lovely match for each other, and although I was cheering for Imogen for every page, the two of them made my little bi heart so happy. Their romance really was a resonant and joyful one, something that Albertalli has nearly mastered writing.
All that being said, I had some issues with the writing that prevented me from giving Imogen, Obviously the full four-star treatment. I don’t remember enough about her other books to say how they were written (it’s been a while), but the way that she wrote these high school and college characters just felt so…off. She just peppered in all of the gen z slang into her dialogue whenever possible, and none of it felt natural or genuine. It felt like somebody observing gen z and/or TikTok from a distance, then trying to employ said slang from memory. It all felt so clunky, and at times, as much as I hate to say it, painful. I’m pretty sure that nobody says “discoursing” as a verb for discussing discourse. As fantastic as the rest of the book was, the cringy nature of the writing put me off from fully enjoying it.
All in all, a beautiful and necessary depiction of bisexuality that was hindered by its attempt to capture gen z speak, but excelled in every other department. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!
Imogen, Obviously is a standalone, but Becky Albertalli is also the author of the Simonverse (Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, Leah on the Offbeat, and Love, Creekwood) and Kate in Waiting. she is also the co-author of What If It’s Us and Here’s to Us (with Adam Silvera) and Yes, No, Maybe So (with Aisha Saeed).
Today’s song:
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
Since I’ve been making these Sunday Songs graphics for just over a year and writing about them for about half that time, I’ve noticed that there’s inevitably at least one light blue week per month. Different shades of blue, but there’s always at least one, and it’s always pale. Like this one. Or this one? Either way, here’s the court-ordered blue period for August. Bon appetit.
I listened to Everybody Works entirely on a whim, just to have something shorter to have as a soundtrack while I rearranged the bulletin board in my room. But I should’ve predicted that any given Jay Som record—much less this one—would be so much more than that. Perfect summer album, I have to say. Go listen to Everybody Works, guys.
Everybody Works is an album of many faces, from the chugging indie rock of “Take It” (which works way too perfectly with boygenius’ “Satanist“—can somebody with the ability to make mashups make this a reality?? please?? makes sense, seeing that she’s the bassist for boygenius’ touring band), the pop hooks of “The Bus Song” (BUT I LIKE THE BUS!), and the fever dream atmosphere of “(Bedhead).” But never once does it feel inconsistent or lacking cohesion—if I had to pick them from a crowd, all of these varied songs would still feel distinctly Jay Som. But amidst all of that, aside from the two tracks I already remembered from the album (“The Bus Song” and “Baybee”), “1 Billion Dogs” was an immediate standout. The title alone would have caught my eye on any other record, but strangely, even though it has nothing to do with dogs, much less billions of them, it has that feel to it. It fits. “1 Billion Dogs” is a song with an immediate urgency; even with Melina Duterte’s reserved voice almost melting into the instruments, it’s a song that grabs you by the shirt collar, then invites you to jump around and dance. But even the crashing rhythm guitars, steady bass, and just-so off-kilter riffs can’t take away from the electronic haze that never lifts from Duterte’s music. It’s a uniquely Jay Som flavor to me: dreamlike and fuzzy, like it’s cloaked in multicolored static.
September is shaping up to be a heavy hitter as far as albums go. I’ve already talked about tracks from Shakey Graves’ Movie of the Weekand Mitski’s The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We,but I haven’t yet talked about the new Wilco, with their new album Cousin coming out on September 29! And only about a year and a half removed from their last double album, Cruel Country…Jeff Tweedy is just cranking ’em out, huh?
Tweedy and co. have advertised the upcoming Cousin as their art-pop/rock album. Wilco has always had a penchant for the experimental, but I feel like when they’ve previously advertised their albums as a certain genre, it doesn’t always fit the label. Take Cruel Country—”country” was literally in the name, but it felt like more of a folkier side of Wilco than anything, which, given their roots, wasn’t much of a stretch. Rather, as Tweedy said in his Starship Casual newsletter, “Cruel Country was our idea of country music and a lot of people went, ‘Huh?! this doesn’t sound like Colt Steed!’ (or some other plausible sounding country mega-star name).” So I’ll have to go into this album knowing that it’s Wilco’s idea of art-pop—and that’s certainly promising. And maybe I was screwing myself over when I saw “art rock” and immediately went into this song thinking it was gonna be “Art of Almost” 2. It isn’t. Even as much as I love Wilco, I feel like even that would be hard to reproduce. That’s not to say that “Evicted” is a bad song in any way—if there’s anything that Wilco has been in the last 10 years or so, it’s consistent. Regardless of our personal definitions of where this song fits into, “Evicted” is proof that Wilco’s ability to feel relevant and rock-solid will likely never fade. With its timeless guitars and the gently ethereal backing vocals and Nels Cline’s quietly glittering riffs rising like plumes of dust in the background, it’s a deceptively simple song—much like the Trojan Horse that Tweedy compared his definition of bubblegum pop to. And if I’ve learned anything from Cruel Country, it’s that I can’t judge an album by its first single. I’d be lying if I said that “Evicted” wasn’t an earworm. Jeff tweedy is true to his word.
EMERGENCY WEATHER REPORT: we regret to inform you that sad girl fall is scheduled to arrive two months earlier than expected. Hunker down, everybody.
A song that begins with the line “You could say I feel this way/’Cause it’s the way I feel” doesn’t seem terribly memorable at first glance. But that’s the thing. You have to wait. Not even that long of a wait, really. Because it’s followed up with “Or you could say I’m making it up/I want it to be real.” See? Have a little faith in Lisa Germano, in all of her raw, dilapidated-house-with-rusty-nails-lying-everywhere craft.
My introduction to Lisa Germano goes to show, once again, how deeply and wonderfully my dad knows me. Here I was, almost a year ago, when my dad made his annual birthday playlist for me (yep, that’s how cool of a dad he is), and played me “Victoria’s Secret” in the car; Immediately, I was lost in the eerie, spare-and-found-parts, and 90’s (in the best way…I really do love the 90’s) universe of Lisa Germano. (Guys. C’mon. “Victoria’s Secret” has her cat purring in the outro. It’s so good.) I listened to Slide in its entirety a few months later, during what we can actually call sadgirl fall (read: November), and bits and pieces of that record have constantly drifted around me ever since: specters, all of them, but welcome ones. Somehow, though, as much as I played tracks like “Way Below the Radio” and “Reptile,” I forgot about “Crash” until it came on shuffle not long ago. And now that I’ve listened to it more and more (you know it went STRAIGHT to the library playlist), I’m almost ashamed that I let it slip through my fingers, if only temporarily. On further listens, it’s so clear to me that it’s one of the best tracks off the whole album. “Crash” is a song that purposefully droops and lumbers, only faintly held together with fraying twine and half-intended promises. As Germano creates her oft-expressed lyrical landscape of languishing in depression and a lack of motivation (“Wonder why it’s so easy/to be the way I hate”), the instruments sit on the verge of falling apart; they all play in time, but they teeter enough to get the sense that it would only take one sneeze for them to collapse. Germano’s silk-thin voice is a gentle hand that barely caresses you, cool and ghostly, but undeniably present. And it wouldn’t be a Lisa Germano without an uneasy, 40-second piano outro. If there’s anything that she can do, it’s create an atmosphere. Slide was the perfect album to listen to in November, in retrospect; there’s something about this song (and most of her other songs that I’ve heard) that capture the melancholy limbo of that snowless but undeniably wintry chill.
I’ve been conned. Again. And Damon Albarn is to blame. Twice this year, we’ve gotten albums from projects of his where the album as a whole has been disappointing, but then he comes back with the deluxe edition, and at least one song that would’ve made the original album SO MUCH better. Damon, you sly dog, you pulled a “Captain Chicken” on us AGAIN. (For reference: the other disappointing album happens to be Gorillaz’s Cracker Island.)
I wouldn’t call “The Rabbi” as good as “Captain Chicken,” but then again, it’s hard to replicate the chokehold that the latter had on me for at least 2 months after it came out. But amidst the decent but disappointingly flat expanse that was The Ballad of Darren, this new addition was a breath of fresh air and energy. Equipped with the jangly brightness that Blur has been the master of for 30+ years now, “The Rabbi” is an upbeat spark, and a welcome injection into the album. Graham Coxon’s guitar finally gets its time to shine outside of “St. Charles Square,” but where that recalled the grungy, disillusioned punch of their self-titled record, these joyful riffs feel more youthful, calling back to Parklife and even further back. Like “Barbaric,” the instrumentation of “The Rabbi” is nothing short of upbeat, but cleverly cloaks the underlying disillusionment and melancholy that permeates through the rest of The Ballad of Darren; as Coxon goes off with said jangly guitars, Damon Albarn drawls about how “‘Cause where’s the joy in this self-delusion?/We’re all practitioners of vague illusions/Hieroglyphics and pictures.” Even if I’ve come away from The Ballad slightly sore, at least I have one more song that I can actually nod my head along to and believe that it’s Blur. I refuse to shut up about “St. Charles Square,” though.
The family car.Some time in the early evening. MADELINE and her family are driving on the highway. Robert Plant’s cover of “Monkey” plays over the speakers.
MADELINE: Huh, this song sounds like it could be in Legion.
EITHER MY DAD OR MY BROTHER (I FORGET): That’s because it was in Legion.
The realization hits MADELINE. Cue vine boom.
~
There have been many such moments in my life. But for all the ones that my brain decides to loop in the odd hours of the morning, at least I got a song out of this one.
Unlike my brother, the world’s biggest Legion fan in the world, I haven’t gone back and rewatched any of it since it came out. I’d rank it as my second favorite TV show, right behind Fargo, but I haven’t gone back to any of it in years, save for the fantastic Superorganism musical number in season 3. I don’t think it would ever be ruined by further rewatches (simply impossible for any Noah Hawley project, the man can do no wrong…okay, Anthemwas a lot, but other than that), but it’s been like a beautiful, terrifying insect trapped in amber in my mind—it’s hard to replicate that feeling of sheer confusion, horror, and wonder when I had no idea what was going on with that show. But even with the mounting pile of shows and seasons that I need to catch up on, this song reminds me of Noah Hawley’s unmatched craft—and his unmatched music taste, along with the keen eye of Maggie Phillips, the show’s music supervisor. I can’t find the clip anywhere on the internet for the life of me, but this song is slipped into a chilling scene in season 1, episode 3, where a young David Haller chases after his wayward dog on Halloween night. It’s a scene that stressed me out, even if only for a few minutes’ rewatch—Cary did tell present David to “think of something stressful,” after all. And I can’t think of a better song to illustrate that pit-stomached sense of creeping dread than this. Low’s original version has that feeling of dread, but with an unmistakable urgency; Robert Plant’s version (and yes, it is that Robert Plant) swaps that urgency for a grinding, chugging sound that watches you from the darkest corner of the room. “It’s a suicide/Shut up and drive” would have been a blatantly chilling lyric in any other circumstance, but Plant’s strained, hollow whisper makes the chill up my spine all the more chilly. Patty Griffin’s backing vocals, somehow more audible than Plant’s, seem strangely sinister, even with the lightness of her voice. I can’t help but get a little anxious every time I listen to it—all the more reason that Hawley and Phillips were really onto something when they picked this one.
Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.
That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week treated you well.
It doesn’t feel like it should be November—mentally, I still feel like it’s…mid-September? Maybe? It doesn’t feel like I’m almost done with the semester. Wow. Weather-wise, it feels like November, though—it’s getting a lot chillier over here, and we had our first snow on my campus on Thursday night and I walked through the snow to class on Friday morning. All of my classes are pretty close to my dorm, thankfully…
Halloween was also on Monday! I carved pumpkins with my parents over the weekend, and I wore my costume (Columbia from The Rocky Horror Picture Show) to class, which was a lot of fun. Nothing like eating a ton of candy and rewatching Rocky Horror in your dorm to celebrate the spooky season.
It’s definitely been fun to get back into the rhythm of blogging this week too! I haven’t been too busy, knock on wood, so hopefully I can start posting more. Good to be back. 💗 I tragically forgot my Kindle at home this week, but the good news is that one of the libraries on campus isn’t even a 5 minute walk from my dorm, so I was able to scrounge around there for stuff to read. Re-reading some great graphic novels for my comics class has also kept me going. And…I completely forgot that NaNoWriMo was a thing, but I’ll probably just put it off this year. Probably not the best time to do it, since…y’know, first semester of college, and all. Plus, I didn’t have any plans, anyway…
Still fall, so I might as well do this tag, right? Doesn’t *feel* very fall-like—we just got our first big snow on Thursday night, and it’s mostly melted now, but it’s still pretty chilly. We’ve still got a few straggler leaves, though, albeit very damp ones now.
Anyways, this tag was created by Silver Button Books, and I found the tag over at Classy x Book Reviews. I’m always up for a seasonal tag, especially if it’s my favorite season!
Let’s begin, shall we?
🍁FALL INTO FALL BOOK TAG🍁
APPLE PICKING: A bright, shiny book on your shelf
My copy of A Song of Wraiths and Ruinhas the most GORGEOUS gilded spine, and it always catches the light whenever I come into my room!
PUMPKIN SPICE: A book that everyone loved that just didn’t sit well with you
Everybody seemed to love The Space Between Worlds,but it left me wanting so much more—with such an expansive concept, I feel like there were so many more creative directions it could’ve taken, but alas…
FALL LEAF TOUR: A gorgeously written journey
I Am the Ghost in Your Housenot only presented an incredibly compelling piece of magical realism, but it gave us the poignant journey of Pie, an invisible girl grappling with how the world sees—and doesn’t see—her.
PUMPKIN PICKING: A book that reflects the pumpkin you always pick
My main criteria for pumpkins is just a) being light enough for me to pick up, and b) not super beaten up, so I’ll pick The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea—a solid length, and almost flawless.
HALLOWEEN COSTUME: A book with a character whose style you admire
Asta from The Reckless Kindis not only an absolute delight in personality, but also in her cheeky sense of style—nothing like split-dyeing your hair in the 1900’s to match your heterochromia!
FALL BEVERAGE: A book that reflects your favorite fall drink
I’d probably pick hot chocolate or cinnamon tea for my favorite fall drink, even though I technically drink cinnamon tea no matter the weather. Both of them make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, and the same can be said for Heartstopper!
CORN MAZE: A book you can get lost in
The expansive, colorful world of Tillie Walden’s On a Sunbeamis one that I love to get lost in.
HOT FOOD: A book you waited all summer to read
Alright, technically, A Prayer for the Crown-Shy came out in July, but it was on hold so long that I only got around to reading it this October. Worth the wait, though!
+ anyone else who wants to participate! if you see this tag and want to do it, then I’d love to see your answers! and if I tagged you and you’ve already done this tag/don’t want to do it, my bad.
Today’s song:
welcome back to this season of sad girl autumn, I’ll be your host—
That’s it for this book tag! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
The Bookish Mutant 