In February
When we can’t read + book club news + subscriber giveaway
The subscriber giveaway is back! Begin or renew an annual subscription in February, and you’ll be automatically entered into a prize draw to win a lovely box of goodies, including a copy of our group read, The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, a signed copy of Enchantment, some of my writing essentials (a refillable ink pen, a bottle of ink, a Rhodia notebook, Blackwing pencils), and assorted Clearing goodies.
Goodbye January. I’ll be glad to see the back of you. You have been cold, but not cold enough to be interesting (I speak very much from a Whitstable perspective here: American friends, you look like you’ve been teleported to Siberia); unrelentingly damp in a way that makes it impossible to truly enjoy going out. You have also been quite terrifying (again: Whitstable perspective; my friends overseas may wish to opt for ‘absolutely terrifying’).
Hello, February. Do I feel hope in the air? It’s hard to say. It may be that the global mood is shifting toward defiance; but it may also be February doing its work. When I take my lunchtime stroll from my front doorstep, I now see lime-green hazel catkins shivering in the hedgerows, and primroses tucked beneath them. I have yet to spot any snowdrops, but I probably haven’t looked in the right places yet. They will be there, somewhere. The world rolls its eyes and carries on regardless of our misbehaviours that rage across its surface.
Several people have told me lately that they’ve stopped being able to read, echoing my own experience that I shared in Enchantment. In the book, I described it as ‘frictionless, this sliding of attention… It’s as if some kind of lubrication has been applied to my choices. I intend to do one thing, but my unconscious shunts me discreetly away. It has other plans for me. I am supposed to be watching. I am supposed to be looking over my shoulder, alert to the next threat.’
We are, all of us, in this animal place now, this place of anxious vigilance. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It’s a bodily response to the threat of violence and oppression, a sign of the times. Even for those of us who are lucky enough to not be in direct contact with the threat (and I write this knowing that many who read this newsletter are on the frontline), we are activated by the information alone, the sight of other humans dragged from their homes, children separated from parents, the execution of those who speak out. Painful as it is, this is nothing to be ashamed of. This is how compassion speaks in our bodies. It is not a soft thing. It is a kind of agony.
It seems cruel, though, that we struggle to read in these times, particularly when we’re used to reading for comfort. I just wanted to offer a few thoughts that may help:
Firstly, are you certain you’re not reading? You are, after all, five paragraphs deep into this newsletter. Consider whether you’re not reading at all, or simply not reading what you think you ought to be reading.
Sometimes the familiar paths don’t work anymore. This is a new era for many of us. Allow the pause, and see what wants to fill it. Be open to a change. Try turning your attention to shorter forms: poetry, essays, articles, short stories. Allow this to be enough.
You could also try audiobooks, so that you can listen while moving your body or going about your daily chores.
Put your phone in another room. When we’re frustrated with a task we’re trying to do, we often reach unthinkingly for something that’s easy. For most of us, this is our phone: social media or a simple scroll will give us that instant dopamine hit. So, while you’re trying to place your attention on something more complex for a while, place your phone out of reach and set a timer for five minutes. If you can’t read, just do nothing for a while. Notice how you’re feeling. If you can read, gradually increase the time.
Read to understand. It may well be that your usual reading material is not what you need right now. Maybe some books or articles that help you to grasp the current social and political climate would feel more useful?
Return to old favourites. I realise this is the opposite of the last point, but sometimes it’s so deeply comforting to return to words that you already love. Allow yourself a rest. Children’s books are excellent options here.
This, above all else: give it time. Life is full of pauses. Sometimes, we just have to let them be. If your love of reading endures, it will come back, but maybe not in the form that you currently expect it.
Sorry to recommend my own book, but Enchantment really does speak to these moments of dislocation and distress, exploring ways to feel grounded again. It might help.
Please do suggest any reading that you find soothing, helpful or unblocking in these times!
My recent offerings
What I’ve Learned About Rest From My Podcast
A Year of Journaling Prompts - a compendium of all last year’s prompts, should you wish to do a deep dive or revisit old favourites.
I launched my new podcast in December! Thanks for all your incredible support! You can listen to episodes from Cariad Lloyd, Laura Pashby, Sam Baker, Oliver Burkeman, Martha Beck and Rowan Mangan, Melissa Hemsley, Kaitlin Curtice, Andy J Pizza, and most recently Ece Temelkuran. There’s much more to come. You can catch up here.
Coming up
Our next group read for February/March will be The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey - a luscious exploration of one woman’s attention as she endures a debilitating illness. There will be a post this Friday to get the ball rolling - who’s reading along?
The Retreat Tier is changing. In March, we’ll be moving it to its own separate newsletter space, which will make it possible for people to pay monthly rather than by annual fee. We’ll also be offering 10 retreats a year instead of just quarterly. If this sounds interesting to you, watch this space for more information!
Later this month, I’ll be in Sri Lanka for the Ceylon Literary Festival. If you happen to be in the area, do join me. If not, I’ll make sure I send a full report!
I’m loving…
Hand cream. I have reached an age where my hands are basically arid stubs if I don’t continually moisturise them. Instead of graceful acceptance, I’m leaning into the frequent application of lotion. My current favourite is a jasmine-scented one that I bought in a gallery gift shop last week. So uplifting.
RitLit. Yeah, I made up a term that no-one should seriously use because it’s awful, but there’s a definite trend for books about reconnecting with the seasonal year and reinventing folk practice. Two great books that are coming soon: Finding Albion by Zakia Sewell (March), and The Book of Mysteries by Rebecca Tamás (June).
Marmite XO. This is aged Marmite for a more intense flavour. I bought a jar for Bert for Christmas as a joke, and now I’m obsessed. It is absolutely delicious, and a genuine improvement on the original. There are fruity notes! The tang of treacle! I’m a convert.
The art of proto-surrealist Odilon Redon. I saw some of his work in Basel at the Kunstmuseum’s excellent Geister/Ghosts exhibition, and remembered how much I love his shadowy, dreamlike images.
Shrinking. Yes, I came very, very late to this Apple TV series, but the new season has just begun and I adore it. I cannot get enough of third age Harrison Ford, and I want to be Jessica Williams’ Gaby. It restores my faith in humanity.
Writing messy, cathartic notes to myself in dip-pen and ink. Recommended.
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Wow. I thought I was the only one not reading and that is truly terrifying for a word addict. And I am writing from central Canada just an hour's drive north of the US border which is increasingly terrifying, and then there's the polar vortex we've been under that is pushing the temperatures 👇 and the heating bill ☝️How does one stay on the safe side of insanity?
Thanks for your suggestions, Katherine!! Here are one or two others. Francis Weller's book of short essays IN THE ABSENCE OF THE ORDINARY: Soul Work for Times of Uncertainty. Secondly, I participated in a haiku writing workshop recently and discovered that English haiku has been relieved of the 5-7-5 rule. This lit a spark under me and I've been sharing daily haiku with two friends ever since. It's making winterrrrrr bareable.
Ahhhhh. A heart felt exhale. Thank you. Thank you for telling me it’s okay and that I’m not alone in not being able to read — and for offering up some alternatives. I can usually get through an email, sometimes a short story, but a book?? Foggettaboudit!!
I was just thinking of all the changes my body has gone through… I’m disabled… they are many, I feel the worst about not being able to read anymore. I adore books and have, all my life, been a voracious reader, though less so after grad school. But I feel like I’m missing so much important information. It makes me dizzy sick to contemplate it.
So, thank you. Thank you, so much, for being so quintessentially human.